Stuck in the Middle (7 page)

Eric came into the kitchen in time to follow Tori and Allie through the back door. Joan stepped into the place Allie vacated and plunged her hands into the hot, soapy water. Through the window she saw Ken on the other side of the chain-link fence that separated his yard from theirs, throwing a tennis ball for Trigger. The delighted dog raced after the ball as it sailed through the air, and skidded to a somersaulting stop when he caught up with it. Ken looked up as Tori called a greeting.

Joan rinsed a clean plate and stood it in the rack to drip dry. She should have gone outside. She could have introduced Ken to her sisters and Eric, and listened as Allie extracted all the personal details of his life. So why was she inside, watching through the window?

Mom picked up the dishtowel and started drying the dripping plate. “You don’t seem all that impressed by our new neighbor.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You just don’t.” She set the dry plate on the counter and reached for the next one, stealing a sideways glance at Joan. “Don’t worry, honey. The right man for you will come along soon.”

A warm flush crept up Joan’s neck. Did Mom think she was desperate for a guy? Well, she wasn’t! Ever since Roger dumped her . . . she winced . . . everyone treated her like the family spinster. She was sick of it. She didn’t
need
a man to make her happy.

Of course, an occasional date would be nice. And who wouldn’t want to go out with a handsome doctor?

Oblivious to Joan’s irritation, Mom’s gaze fixed on the scene outside. “Would you look at her operate?”

She didn’t have to ask which
her
Mom referred to. Following her mother’s gaze, she saw petite Tori leaning gracefully on the fence. As she watched, Tori tilted her head sideways toward Ken and flashed her ready dimples.

When she saw Ken’s answering grin, Joan’s insides knotted.

~ 5 ~

“And why he is talking to me for the way I raise my daughter? Because he sent a check maybe three or four times?” Rosa’s dark eyes flashed as an angry finger sliced through the air. “He no is telling me what to do.”

Seated at her desk, Joan glanced over last month’s P&L report as the woman ranted. Rosa didn’t mention Tiffany’s father often, but when she did, Joan had learned to stay out of the way of her fiery Latin temper. Normally she begged Joan to help her improve her English, because she was so eager to be accepted in the country she’d adopted seven years ago when she moved from Mexico. But her mood today made Joan keep her mouth shut. When Rosa got really angry, she lapsed into Spanish, and Joan remembered enough from her high school and college classes to be thankful she couldn’t understand it all.

The store was quiet today, unusual for a Monday. The heat was probably keeping people indoors. Or driving them to the swimming pool, maybe. On her way to work this morning, she noticed a line at the public pool, waiting for the gate to open.

Rosa paced in front of the counter, her black hair whipping in the air at every turn. “Tiffany no will talk to him again. He made her cry.”

He made that sweet little girl cry? Joan jerked her head upright and sucked in an outraged breath. “What did he say to her?”

“That he has no time to visit this summer. He is going somewhere else to work.” She stopped pacing and slapped a hand on the desk. “I say
good
! We no need him anyway.”

“
Don’t
need him,” Joan corrected, despite her better judgment.

“We
don’t
need him anyway.” She flashed a quick smile of thanks.

Poor Tiffany, her heart broken once again. How many times had her father promised to visit? Tiffany hadn’t seen him since he left for Nevada two years ago, a third of her young lifetime. She couldn’t possibly even remember what he looked like anymore.

Joan struggled to picture her own father. If she didn’t have the family photo albums to refresh her memory, she was sure she wouldn’t be able to draw up a mental image of him. At least Tiffany’s father called every so often. Joan hadn’t heard from hers in thirteen years, not since Mom threw him out.

Rosa’s feet abused the cheap carpet. “He say why spend money on piano when our families are hungry in Mexico. I say they are not hungry because he sends them money, more to them than to me. I send money when I have extra. He say I have more extra without piano lessons.”

The tirade ended as quickly as it had begun when Rosa stomped around the counter and threw herself into the empty chair beside Joan. Her shoulders drooped. “You think Luis is right? You think piano lessons are . . .
cómo se dice
. . . not useful?”

The last thing Joan wanted to do was get involved in a fight between Rosa and her estranged husband. She tore her gaze away from the intensity in Rosa’s face and looked down at the report. “I don’t know, Rosa.”

“Joan.” Rosa pronounced Joan’s name in half a syllable, the J a touch softer than someone who spoke English as a native. Her tone forced Joan’s eyes to her face. “Do American girls take piano lessons?”

Rosa’s determination to give her daughter an upbringing as American as possible influenced every decision concerning the child. Even Tiffany’s name had been chosen to brand her as a thoroughly American girl.

Joan gave a hesitant nod. “Some do.”

“Then my Tiffany do too.” She raised her chin. “And when Luis calls the next time, I will tell him—”

The door alarm interrupted the details of the terrible things Rosa intended to tell Luis. Grateful, Joan rose from her chair and headed toward the front. When she caught sight of the customer who stood just inside the store, her heart thudded in her chest.

Ken stepped into the store, the cool air bringing instant relief from the sticky heat outside. He looked around, letting his vision adjust to the fluorescent light after the glaring sunshine. The odors of furniture polish and new fabric were a welcome change from the antiseptic of the hospital. He spotted two people coming toward him.

There she was! He shoved his hands into his pockets as she approached. “Joan Sanderson, just the lady I wanted to see.”

She looked different from the girl he met on the street yesterday morning. More professional. Her ponytail looked more severe, tighter. Or maybe it was the suit. Or the way she studied him through slightly narrowed eyelids as though appraising his credit worthiness. Whatever the difference, he felt a little intimidated by this new version of the girl next door.

Where was Trigger when he needed him?

“Ken.” She held out her hand. “Good to see you again.” A shy smile softened her lips when her eyes captured his. The momentary awkwardness fled as he returned the gesture. This was more like it. “You too.” Joan’s mouth went dry. What would Mom say when she found out about this? Would she say this was one more reason Gram couldn’t be left at home alone?

Her hand felt cool in his, and soft. A faint blush stained her round cheeks as he squeezed gently. Or was that her makeup? Whatever, the color set off the sparkle in her eyes and made him want to stare. She pulled her hand away, her gaze sliding to the woman beside her.

“This is my associate, Rosa Garza. Rosa, this is Dr. Ken Fletcher. He just moved to town and needs some furniture.”

Rosa, a petite Hispanic woman, aimed a wide grin up at him as she clutched his hand and pumped it up and down a few times. “Nice to meet you.”

“Sorry about the clothes.” He gestured at his wrinkled hospital scrubs. “I just got off work and thought I’d stop by before I go home and rescue Trigger from the back porch.”

Joan dismissed his concern with a wave. “You look fine.”

The door behind him opened, and he stepped out of the way as a woman entered.

“Good morning.” Joan greeted the woman, and then turned an expectant look on Rosa.

Good. For a minute Ken thought Joan might hand him off to the other woman, but it looked like she would wait on him herself. Rosa gave him another wide smile and stepped around him to greet the new customer. He followed Joan a few steps into the store.

“So, what can I show you today?”

“Everything.” He grinned. “My sister is coming to visit next Sunday and my house is empty except for my desk. That’s the only piece of furniture I own.”

A crease appeared between her eyebrows. “You’ve been in the house several days. What are you sleeping on?”

“A sleeping bag.” He arched his back to stretch stiff muscles. “And it’s making me feel like an old man.”

Hands on her hips, Joan cocked her head to deliver a sideways look. “You’re a doctor. You should know better! Come on over here. We’ll start at that side and work our way across the store.”

He followed her past a display of dinette tables. “Hey, where were you yesterday? I met your sisters.”

“Oh, I was inside.” She zigzagged between two formal dining room sets and stopped at the first of a row of bedroom displays. “I was in the middle of something.”

He stood beside her and ran a hand over the gleaming headboard. Ornate carvings decorated the rich wood and rose to a graceful peak in the center like a crown. A matching nightstand and a huge wardrobe-thing stood sentinel on either side. Not really his taste. “This is nice. How much is it?”

She picked up a yellow tag and pointed. “That’s the monthly rental, and that’s the rent-to-own price.”

He gave a low whistle. “I know I’m a doctor and we’re supposed to be rolling in dough, but I’m up to my eyeballs in debt. Do you have anything cheaper? And maybe a little less, uh, fancy?”

That seemed to please her. He felt like he’d passed some sort of test when she grinned and jerked her head toward the back of the showroom. “I started you out at the high end. Come on back here.”

“Do you make a commission on what I rent?” He teased as he fell in beside her.

Her lips twitched. “Of course.”

“I’m in trouble now.”

They passed several displays and stopped before an unpretentious set with a woodlike finish. Ken crossed to the matching nightstand to pick up the yellow tag. “Now this is more like it.”

“I thought you’d like this one.”

“Karen will say it’s too plain, but she’ll get over it.” He plopped down onto the bed and bounced. “Feels great.” Stretching out, he closed his eyes and settled deeply into the pillow. “Really great. Mind if I try it out for a couple of hours, just to make sure it’s the one I want?”

“That depends. Do you snore?”

He opened an eye to find Joan standing at the foot of the bed with her arms crossed, watching him from beneath arched eyebrows.

“A little,” he admitted. “Especially if I’m tired.”

“In that case, yes, I mind. Get up, Dr. Fletcher. You’re not finished shopping yet.”

With an exaggerated sigh, he sat up and swung his feet to the floor. “Okay, furniture lady. Lead on.”

Actually, he didn’t feel tired at all. He felt energized following Joan around the store. This was fun, picking out furniture with her, trying to draw out the quick smile that ignited her eyes. She guided him next to a series of living room displays. He selected a sofa and lay down on it, his head resting on the padded arm.

“I like this one. And it looks nice too. My sister will approve.”

“You’re supposed to sit on it, not lay on it.”

“Except when Karen and Jordan are here. Then I’ll be sleeping on it.”

“Jordan’s her husband?”

“No, he’s my nephew. Neal has to work, so it’ll just be Karen and the kid next week.” He sat up and extended his arms across the back. “I want you to meet them. After all, I met your sisters.”

Joan’s head dipped. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Ken reached for the yellow tag and did a quick calculation. “I’ll take the sofa and the chair and the end table. But I can get by without a coffee table for a while.”

“Done. Now what about the dining room?”

“Actually, I thought I’d just get some bar stools. There’s a wide counter in the kitchen.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Your sister won’t mind that you don’t have a properly furnished dining room?”

He laughed. “I’ve given you a bad impression of Karen. She’s really great. In fact, she’s a lot like your sister Tori, energetic and funny and beautiful. Smart like Tori too, and she has a heart of gold. I admire her more than anyone else I know.”

For the briefest of moments, Joan’s features became immobile. Then the corners of her mouth lifted in a smile that failed to light her eyes. “I can’t wait to meet her. We’ve got some bar stools over here.” She walked away and left him sitting on the sofa.

What did I say?
Surely she wasn’t jealous of Karen. Some women were like that, though. Didn’t want to hear a guy say anything nice about another woman, even a relative. Ken had no patience for people like that. Spending time with someone who insisted on being the center of attention was just plain tiring.

But Joan didn’t seem like that sort of woman. He probably just read her wrong.

He got up off the sofa and followed her, but their easy banter had turned cold. She was all business as he selected four stools and filled out the rental application. Try though he might, he couldn’t coax a genuine smile back to her face.