Ruth Herne - Made to Order Family

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Rita stared at the phone, thinking of all the things she wished she could say, then sighed. Not one of them would change the outcome, change Ed’s outlook or make a difference in the long run, so why say them?

Complete satisfaction?

Sure, yanking Ed’s chain with a long-winded spiel might offer some sense of momentary comfort, but it was better she leave things be. She’d called, she’d tried, made an honest attempt. Now she’d go to the banks knowing she’d given it her best shot with Ed. Yeah, she’d come up short, but she hadn’t chickened out or gone off on him. Two good things.

Having bank officers see her financial state of affairs unnerved her. Life hadn’t been easy since Tom died and her drinking had messed the whole family up, but since she’d gone into recovery a year before, everything had been paid on time. That should count for something, right?

Maybe.

She pulled in another deep breath, turned her back on the phone and called Skeeter’s name as she headed for the car.

“Liv? Skeets? You guys ready? We have to get to the wood shop.”

“We’re ready.” Liv’s light footsteps pattered down the stairs. Skeeter’s followed at a more measured pace, but she wasn’t testy, and Rita chalked that up as a quiet victory. “Do you need me to put anything in the car?”

“Nope. I did it while you were finishing your homework. Skeets, did you make progress on your room?”

Skeeter’s expression said she hadn’t.

Rita thrust up a brow. “This will come back to haunt you, kid. At some point you’re going to ask to do something and I’ll say, ‘Is your room clean?’” Rita slanted her best mother-knows-everything look down to her youngest daughter. “And then you’re going to be really mad at me and yourself for not getting it done like I’ve asked.”

Choosing to let Skeeter stew on that, Rita climbed into the driver’s seat, popped in a Taylor Swift CD, started the engine and headed toward North Country Woodcrafter, ready to immerse herself in creative expression. Sure, it was just painting whimsical wooden flowers to fit Liv’s perceived motif for the spring-summer window, but she’d been looking forward to this all day.

Because you love seeing Brooks. You love it when he asks your opinion on fabrics, colors and stain tones or washes. He includes you and that makes you feel good.

It did, she realized. He sought her opinions, her ideas, as if her thoughts mattered.

Of course, he was like that with everyone, she assured herself, shutting down that twinge of inner knowledge. Brooks liked to help people in his quiet way, and he’d been a good friend and a patient listener since meeting her in AA. That was all she wanted or needed. A friend, a confidant. There was absolutely no way she was interested in anything more than that, not now, not ever, despite how his gray eyes crinkled in amusement when she was around.

Rita hadn’t been accused of being amusing since about age eleven, and even then it was most likely accidental.

But Brooks laughed with her and at her, nudging her forward, fine-tuning her sense of humor. He wasn’t afraid to spar with her, go toe-to-toe.

She wondered to herself why on earth that felt so marvelously good.

Once parked, Rita tugged the big plastic tub from the trunk of her car, balancing it on the trunk’s lip as she juggled for a decent hand grip.

Strong arms descended around her, the scent of fresh-sawn wood and sweet oils tickling her nose.

Brooks. Smelling far too wonderful to ensure her peace of mind. A part of her longed to lean into the scent, the press of soft cotton knit comforting against her face.

He hoisted the tub from her hands, stepped back and surveyed it, then her. “You could ask for help, you know. It’s not exactly a foreign concept.”

“Why ask when I can do it myself?”

His frank expression offered more than his words. “Because I’m here? And available?”

Whoa. An opening too good to resist. Rita grinned. “I’ll spread the word. Half the local singles will be dropping by with cookies and cakes, showing off their talents.”

“I’ll let that pass,” Brooks told her. He grinned at Liv as she came around the side of the car, Skeeter’s hand clutched in hers. “Ladies’ night, hmm?”

Liv smiled up at him. “Yup. And Tootsie’s hanging out with us. Skeeter’s our gopher. What we need, she gets.”

To Rita’s relief, Skeeter smiled. She saw Brooks note that, and was pretty sure the big guy breathed a sigh of relief. She knew she did. “Liv, if you and Skeeter can get the door, I’ve got the grass mat to get.”

“Grass mat?” Brooks rearranged the tub to a more comfortable position and hiked a brow. “For?”

“You’ll see,” Rita promised. She hauled the folded mat from the backseat and headed inside. “We’re about to welcome spring full force at North Country Woodcrafter.”

“I see.”

She ignored the twinge of concern in his tone. Brooks didn’t hand over the reins often or well. Better he should go to a meeting or work in the wood shop or in the clean room or anyplace other than the showroom while they broke down the winter display and replaced it with Liv’s creativity. Having him on hand would make her the tiniest bit crazy. Just before they got to the door, Rita did an about-face. “Head in with that, Brooks. I forgot something.”

She hurried back to the car, swung open the front passenger-side door, reached down and grabbed the folder she’d brought for his approval.

Her prospectus, the layout of her bakery. Clutched in her right hand lay the career dreams and aspirations she’d kept on hold for years.

Would he laugh at it? Criticize? Advise?

She wasn’t sure. It had been a lot of years since her business classes at SUNY Albany, but Rita understood the basic concepts as well as anyone. Exercise minimal risk to the maximum financial advantage. Guard the pennies, the dollars will come. Sage advice.

Brooks met her as she pushed through the entrance door. He took the mat from her hands, frowned as if thinking too hard, then shrugged. “I’m getting pizza later for everyone. Seven-thirty good?”

Rita surveyed the window, measuring time and space. “That gives us two hours. We should be fine. If not, we’ll finish before the meeting at St. Luke’s tomorrow.”

Brooks shook his head. “I can’t ask you to give up two nights in a row. I know how crazy your schedule is, Reet.”

She waved a hand, already unpacking the tub, setting things out, giving Liv an overall view of what they had to work with. “You didn’t ask, I offered. Whole different thing. And Liv and I don’t do half-baked, Brooks. Really, you should know that by now.”

“And here’s more stuff,” offered Tootsie as she entered from the wood-shop area, her arms full. “These are things we’ve used in the past.”

“I’m totally loving the wooden flowers,” exclaimed Liv. She stepped back, hair swinging, head tilted in a manner much like Rita’s despite their dissimilar coloring, and nodded. “Skeets, can you help Tootsie carry the stuff that was in the window to the back room please?”

“Sure.”

Brooks almost choked. He stared at the little girl, wondering who had taken over her body in the past thirty-six hours, then realized the truth with a full-fledged thunk. Skeeter Slocum had been taken over by a pod person.

All Brooks really knew was that the sweet, smiling kid in front of him offered a welcome respite from her usual prickly nature.

“Brooks, you need to leave,” Rita instructed.

A part of Brooks loved seeing her take charge, get a little bit bossy. Another part fought for total control. He subdued that with effort. “Where would you suggest I go?”