Lynnette Kent - Now That You're Here

“That’s nice ’n all, lady, but…”

“But?”

“Well, this part of town is where I hang out most of the time, and I’ve tangled with Mr. Falcon before. He’s not big on handouts.”

Jimmy had warned her about this boy and his friends. They were drug addicts, he’d said. Best left alone.

But Jimmy wouldn’t expect her to ignore a hungry boy. “I’ll pay for the sandwich, if that will make you—and Mr. Falcon—feel better. You’ve got five minutes.”

Just as she set a full plate on the table, he tapped at the door. “Are you sure, lady? I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

For an answer, Emma opened the screen and waved him inside. “Wash your hands and then sit down. And my name is Emma. Emma Garrett.”

He grinned again, and she blinked against the shine of it. “Pleased to meet you, Emma Garrett. I really appreciate the lunch.”

And he did—he ate every crumb in silent pleasure and asked for a refill on the glass of milk. Draining the last drop, he sat back with a sigh. “I won’t be hungry again anytime soon. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She’d worked while he ate to give him privacy, but now she leaned back against the counter, watching him as she dried her hands. “Isn’t there somewhere you call home where you can get a meal?”

“Not this side of Amarillo. I’ve been on my own for a couple of years now.” He stood and picked up his paper plate and cup. “All right if I put these in the can over there?”

“Yes.” She waited until he closed the lid. “You don’t have a job?”

“Not steady work, no.” He glanced at the table. “I got a drop of mustard on your table. Let me wipe it up.”

Emma handed him the sponge. “Do you go to school?”

“Not since Amarillo.” A sheaf of dark blond hair fell over his eyes as he bent to his task. He was too thin and not very clean. Except for his hands now. Beautiful hands.

With a glance at the door into the club, he placed the sponge in the sink and stepped back. “I’d better get lost. Mr. Falcon’s car is out front. He wouldn’t like finding me in here.” At the screen door he paused. “Thanks again, Emma.”

“You’re welcome, Harlow.” She thought of urging him to come back. But he seemed convinced that Jimmy would disapprove. Until she had that situation figured out, she wouldn’t press. “Take care.”

With a quick nod, he slipped out the door. Emma looked outside an instant later to see which way he went. But the alley was empty. Harlow had disappeared into thin air.

WHEN EMMA CAME OUT of the kitchen at about six o’clock, Tiffany was in the storeroom, Jimmy had disappeared behind the closed door of his office, and Darren was sweeping the main room, with a book propped between his hands on the broom handle.

Smiling, Emma sat on a bar stool. “I hope you’re getting a lot of reading done, because you’re missing quite a bit of the stuff under the tables.”

Jerked out of his concentration, he looked at the floor around him. “I should know better.” He sighed, slapping the book onto a tabletop. “I guess I’ll just pull another allnighter after work.” He ran a hand through his curly brown hair, then gripped the broom handle with grim determination.

The next question came automatically, after twenty years in academic life. “What’s the assignment?”

Darren bent to brush napkins and potato chips out from under a chair. “I’ve got a paper to write for my history class. I have to get this primary-source reading done before I can even start thinking about what I want to say.”

“When is the paper due?”

“Tomorrow by three.”

“Darren! And you’re just starting this afternoon?”

“Well, I had a music-theory final this morning. I’ve been studying for that all week.” Darren’s passion for music—his dedication to the band he’d organized and played with—was the reason he worked at The Indigo. More than once he’d confided to Emma his dreams of performing and composing jazz.

“Are you a fast writer?”

“No. I hate it. But I have to take this history course to meet graduation requirements.”

“How much do you have left to read?”

“Four stupid pages.”

“Here.” She crossed the room and held out her hand. “I’ll sweep. You read.”

“Nah, that’s okay.” He kept hold of the handle.

“Come on, Darren. I can sweep for you. I can’t write your paper.”

He grinned, an endearing, mischief-filled expression. “You sure? I hear you’re an expert.”

“Idiot.”

Darren released the broom this time and Emma took over the job. Judging by the condition under some of the tables along the far wall, the server had been doing a good deal of double-duty work while sweeping up.

She was bending to whisk the last of the refuse into the dustpan when someone behind her cleared his throat. Upside down, Emma looked awkwardly around her jeans-clad legs and saw Jimmy’s black shoes, the soft gray of his cuffed trousers.

Damn and blast.

She finished the task and straightened up. “Hello there.”

Her face felt hot, wisps of hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks. She almost certainly had a swipe of dust over her nose, while Jimmy looked cool and controlled in a black shirt and silver tie. One of them had grown up quite nicely. The other had remained an adolescent mess.

His eyebrows were drawn together, but his eyes held amusement. “I could swear I hired somebody else to do that.”

“A bit of sweeping is good for the soul now and again.”

“Where’s Darren?”

“Um…on break.”

“On break.” Jimmy thought that over. “He comes in at six. He needs a break before seven?”

“He needed a chance to finish up some reading for school. I’m ready for the evening—I thought I could help him out.”

“Emma, you can’t do everyone’s work around here.”

“Oh, I know. I haven’t the faintest clue about mixing drinks.” She offered him a cheeky grin. “Tiffany’s job is safe.”

He shook his head, chuckling. “I don’t think I knew what I was getting into when I hired you to work here.” With a smile, he headed back to his office.

Emma watched almost greedily. Even considering the limp that marred his once-athletic gait, he was a wondrously attractive man.

“Neither did I, Jimmy,” she murmured. “Neither did I.”

“NO SHIT, she gave you lunch?” Tommy pounded the heel of his palm against his forehead. “Why didn’t I go?”

Stomach still full, Harlow grinned. “You’re freakin’ stupid, maybe?”

“Maybe.” Tommy didn’t mind knowing he was as dumb as a brick. He was big enough not to need brains. “Man! Ham and cheese.”

“And milk.”

“Chocolate milk?” Ryan stood beside Harlow, shivering in the summer heat.

“Not chocolate. Just cold. In a glass.” Harlow hadn’t had milk in a glass since he’d left home. Or a decent bed. Or a good pair of shoes.

But if he was gonna feel invisible, if people were gonna look at him like he’d just murdered somebody—which, to be truthful, he had—Harlow figured he might as well do it with strangers. Tommy and Ry and his other friends on the street didn’t treat him like anything but what he was. A kid with nowhere to go.

“What I’m thinking,” he said, distracting himself, “is that we can play Emma Garrett for a real good deal. She all but freakin’ melted when I smiled at her. So I butter her up, put on some manners, she’ll be giving me steak before too long. Then I’ll bring in Ry, and he’ll look real pitiful and she’ll feed him. Then Tommy—you practice looking nice, okay? You scare the shit out of most people just standing there. Anyway, if we behave ourselves and keep out of Falcon’s way, we’ll be in fat city.”