Another Man's Treasure Read online

  Chapter Two

  Charis switched the phone to her other ear and glanced at the clock. Seven-fifteen a.m. She had never known her mother to rise before nine o’clock in the morning. Then again, she’d never known Lita to admit her faults as a parent either, but that seemed to be exactly what she was doing on the other end of the line. Not only that, she was evidently without a man and looking for work, making Charis wonder if she’d fallen victim to a prank phone call.

  “Sure, that sounds great, Lita. See you then.” Charis ended the call then stared at the telephone. Was she dreaming?

  She hadn’t seen her mother since the day she’d married Vic. The wedding had been a fiasco; Lita had made sure of it. She and her boyfriend had shown up drunk, laughed throughout the ceremony then cussed out Daphne—Charis’s best friend and Maid of Honor—for telling them to show some respect. In hindsight, Charis wished she’d seen the whole mess for the bad omen it really was.

  She returned the phone to the nightstand and threw her legs over the side of the bed. Maybe her mother had done some serious changing over the past six years. She’d seen it happen before, although rarely. People, aging and discontent, finding strength they never knew existed. Strength to take on the world. Or at least the strength to face another day. Soon enough, she’d find out if such was the case with her mother.

  Lita’d said she wanted to see her. She was on her way from California and would be in Shaydn by nightfall. Things had fallen apart with the latest man in her life, not the man from Charis’s wedding but some other man, a native Californian. Charis knew Lita’s track record well enough to know it didn’t matter where he was from. He was no doubt cut from the same seedy cloth as all the others. Maybe, hopefully, he was the infamous last straw.

  So much for sleeping late. She padded to the bathroom to shower, looking forward to her lunch date with Daphne. Charis wondered, with a twinge of dread, how Daphne would receive the news of Lita’s visit. She hadn’t taken well to Lita’s insolence at the wedding—Daphne usually did the cussing and wasn’t accustomed to being on the receiving end. But that was a long time ago. Surely she’d put it behind her by now.

  ****

  “Hey, have I told you what a hottie my best friend is?” Daphne raised her eyebrows, exchanging gazes with the red and blue macaw parrot perched on her thick forearm. “I think she’ll like you, JoJo. When it comes to Charis’s men, the fouler they are, the better.”

  “Fouler the better. Fouler the better.” The macaw repeated, flapping his wings.

  “Ha. You’re hysterical. How long did it take you to teach him that?” Moving slowly, Charis touched the bird on his head, petting him with her fingertip.

  “Most of the morning.” Daphne walked the bird to his cage and coaxed him from her arm. “It’s been dead around here. I’ve been bored spitless.”

  Charis decided this probably wouldn’t be a good time to ask Daph for a job application to give to Lita. She looked around the shop, flicking her gaze over a dozen birdcages and at least that many fish aquariums, wondering how anyone could ever get bored here.

  “If you’re hurting for something to do, you can pull apart that stack of newspapers in the back. Unfold them, get them ready to go in the cages,” Daphne’s mother, Maxine, interjected, leaning on a broom. She jerked her thumb toward the back of the store.

  Daphne circled her gaze to the ceiling then back to the old woman. “That’s what you pay that annoying kid that comes in after school for isn’t it?”

  “About her own son, she talks that way!” Maxine shook her head as she resumed sweeping.

  Winking at Charis, Daphne grabbed her purse from behind the front counter. “Ma, I’ll be back in an hour. We’re going to lunch.”

  “Fine, fine. Go have your fun. Pigs will be flying around here with the birds the day I get to leave this place for lunch.” Maxine continued to shake her head as she swept. “Work and slave your fingers to the bone and it gets you nowh—” The cowbell rang noisily against the door as it fell closed behind them, cutting off Maxine’s mutterings.

  “Bye, Max,” Charis called over her shoulder too late.

  They stepped over the curb to Daphne’s maroon Chevy Blazer, parked right out front.

  “I’m taking you to Bamboozles—my treat,” Daphne said as she craned her neck and eased from the parking space.

  “Bamboozles? Sure you want to go from one animal house to another?” Charis asked, picturing the loud, dark, teenage hangout just down the block from Suds Bar. The place was no-doubt packed with high-school kids on their lunch break.

  “Why not? Afraid we’ll get mistaken for a couple of hot cougars?” Daphne said, starting the five-block drive to the restaurant.

  “Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.” She turned to Daphne and chuckled.

  “It’s always too crowded in the front. We’re parking around back.” Daphne pulled into an alley before they reached Main Street then nudged the Blazer between the trash dumpster and the gas meter.

  “Are you sure that’s legal?” Charis eyed the makeshift parking space suspiciously. “You won’t get towed?”

  “Come on, worry wart, I park here all the time.” Daphne bobbed from the vehicle then chirped her alarm. Charis followed, the blaring bass rhythm already rumbling in her chest as Daphne squeezed through the small back door.

  “Hey, Shane,” Daphne yelled over the music, chopping a wave through the air at a lanky, thirtyish man in a pink shirt, skinny jeans and a narrow black tie. She motioned him over. “How many times have I told you cupcake, you need to widen that back door? Makes a gal feel self-conscious, squeezing in all her lady lumps like that, just to get into the place.”

  He chuckled then wrapped his arms around her full figure. “And miss out on a good scolding from my favorite dominatrix? Not a chance.” Shane growled and nipped at the air around her face then ducked into the saloon doors of the kitchen.

  Charis raised an eyebrow.

  “Kidding. He was kidding. Dominatrix…funny...” Daphne fluffed her auburn hair and let her voice trail off, a gleam in her eye. “Let’s grab a seat.”

  They wound down the dark, fried-onion-scented hallway leading to the kid-packed dining area and slid behind the only available table. Daphne wiggled around in the roomy booth, looking satisfied.

  “What’ll it be?” asked a morose, spiky haired twenty-something with metal poking through every pore.

  “Bamboozle cheeseburger with mayo, extra fried onions and an order of fries. And a diet Coke—you make a crack, I crack you in half.” Daphne handed the menu to the waitress.

  Charis’s face warmed. She squirmed in her seat, wanting to crawl under it.

  The waitress grinned, her cheeks rising despite the tiny silver anchors dangling from both sides of her face. “Got it.”

  The girl turned to Charis, her gloom settling back in. “And you?”

  “I’ll have the same. Only make my Coke regular. I want to be sure and make my calorie quota for the day.” She attempted a joke, hoping the smile would reappear. It didn’t.

  “Be right out.” The waitress skulked away, obviously unimpressed.

  “Oh, and could you please bring me a job application?” Charis called.

  The waitress nodded without turning around.

  “Planning to moonlight?” Daphne asked.

  “No…it’s for Lita. She’s going to be in town for a while and is looking for work.” Charis braced herself for the sarcasm she knew was coming.

  “Lita. As in your drunk, wedding-crashing mother? Wait. No, can’t be her. You said this Lita wanted to find a job. I must’ve heard you wrong.” She tossed her gaze to the canister lighting then back to Charis.

  “Trust me, I know what you’re thinking and I don’t blame you. But she sounded really good on the phone, different somehow, like maybe she’s changed. I’d really like to believe she has.”

  Daphne stared at Charis then shrugged. “Whatever. It’s your heartache, not mine.”

  �
��Gee, thanks.”

  “I just don’t want to see you hurt again.”

  “I know. But life is short, and she’s my mother. I have to give her a chance.”

  “Okay. But if you end up disappointed—”

  “Let me guess. You’ll be sure and say, ‘I told you so.’”

  Daphne narrowed her eyes. “No. What I was going to say, before I was so rudely interrupted, is that if you end up disappointed, I’ll be here for you, regardless of my opinion of Lita. Which, by the way, is a very low opinion. Just in case I wasn’t quite clear on that.”

  Charis grinned. That was Daphne—hard on the outside, squishy in the middle.

  “I’ll run you over to Suds Bar later. You can pick up a job app for Lita there. It’s more her speed.”

  “Not funny.”

  Daphne shrugged. “Okay, enough about Lita. Let’s talk about something more interesting.” She leaned across the table, ample cleavage struggling against her polka dot blouse, green contact lenses intently on Charis. “Spill it.”

  “Spill what?” Charis asked, pretty sure she knew.

  Above the unmoving emerald gaze, both eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? You’re going to try that?” She clicked her tongue. “Well, before you embarrass yourself, I already know. I got a text from Lexi, who is dating Ben, who just happened to be at Suds on Tuesday night—the same time Victor Locke was. I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but Ben said Vic was running his mouth to anyone who would listen. Bragging about how he put Deason McKindle ‘in his place,’ and made him ‘beg for mercy.’ Unfortunately for Vic, Carl Smith was there too, with a whole different version. He said his mom saw the whole thing from her front porch.”

  It all sounded so…Jerry Springer. Charis’s cheeks grew hot as she listened, hoping the music was loud enough to discourage eavesdroppers. “Okay, okay, I can’t take anymore. I feel like I’m on some redneck version of Jersey Shore. I’ll tell you what happened.”

  Charis recounted Tuesday morning, starting with the moment she went out to get the paper and ending with Mr. Barnaby informing her that Deason McKindle had once worked as his stock boy.

  “And now you know the whole story. Satisfied?” she asked, picking up a cold French fry. She wondered when the food and grease-stained job application had arrived.

  Daphne pushed her near-empty plate away, folded her arms on the table, and stared at Charis. One side of her mouth pulled into a half-smile.

  “What?” Charis asked, bugging her eyes, raising her hands to her shoulders, palm up.

  “What was his name again?”

  “Deason McKindle,” Charis said.

  “Sorry, didn’t quite get that. What was it?”

  “Daphne. I’ve told you five times—plus, you knew it before I said anything. You mentioned his name in the bar story.”

  “This is the last time, I promise. Just say it. Please.”

  “Deason McKindle,” Charis repeated, drawing the name out slowly as possible.

  “Yep. That’s what I thought. Your eyes turn two shades darker each and every time you say that man’s name. And they get all starry—like you’ve been hit over the head with a frying pan.”

  “That’s crazy.” Charis shook her head, reaching for another French fry. “I barely know him. Plus, all I need is more drama in my life. I told you, Vic said Deason punched his supervisor in the nose for sleeping with his wife.”

  “Sounds to me like his wife was a tramp and the sleaze deserved a fist to the face. That’s not drama. That’s justice.” Daphne widened her eyes at her plastic wristwatch then wiggled frantically from the booth. “Time to go.”

  “But I’ve hardly eaten anything yet—”

  “Hey, Spikes,” Daphne shouted over the music. “My friend needs a doggy bag.”

  The girl raised a finger to the table of kids she was waiting on then jogged to the back, tossing a Styrofoam container beside Charis’s plate on her return trip.

  Daphne turned Charis’s plate over into the container and fastened the lid. “Let’s go,” she demanded, tossing a handful of bills on the table.

  Charis frowned, leaving the container of food. She folded the job application and stuffed it in her pocket. “What’s gotten into you?”

  Daphne grabbed Charis’s hand and bustled through the dark hallway. Then, yanking her by the arm, she squeezed through the small back door.

  Sunblind, Charis stumbled from the building, nearly tripping over the gas meter. She snapped her head toward the loud rumbles and bangs that now jarred her chest, replacing the thump of the bass. Shading her eyes, she stared up at the monstrous garbage truck that held the restaurant’s dumpster in its grip.

  “Right on time,” Daphne said, smiling ear to ear at Charis then waving her arms at the driver.

  Charis squinted at the wide windshield. “Daphne. What are you doing?”

  “Just giving my bff a little fun on her day off. Now, chill—he sees you.”

  Charis’s eyes met Deason’s through the smeared windshield. She looked away, glanced around, contemplated a mad dash down the alley. Instead, she lifted her fingers in a hesitant wave.

  Deason’s passenger frowned at him then raised his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug as Deason killed the engine.

  “Man, what’re you thinkin’, shuttin’ the engine off like that? Odds are the monster won’t start up again and we’ll be under the hood all afternoon. Can’t treat this old Mack like the newer trucks, McKindle,” the man ranted, his voice carrying through his rolled down window. He grabbed a cigarette from the dash and lit it, holding his elbow high in the air as if refusing to relax. He glanced at Charis and she looked away.

  Ignoring him, Deason opened his door and sprang to the ground then stepped to the front of the truck.

  “Hey, handsome. Glad we caught you.” Daphne pursed her fuchsia lips.

  Uncomfortable to the point of sweating and not sure exactly why, Charis scooped the hair from her neck and twisted it into a bun. She let it fall back down, realizing she didn’t have anything to hold it with—not even an ink pen.

  “Fish and Chirps.” Deason walked toward them, calling Daphne by her pet store’s name. “You’re in the wrong alley.” He smiled, his hazel eyes bright and flecked with gold like a little boy’s prized marbles.

  Charis’s heart skipped as he turned his gaze to her. “Good to see you again, Charis.”

  “Thank you.”

  Where on earth did he get those fantastic eyes? He winked, prompting her to jerk her eyes to the ground and snap her mouth shut. God, had she been gaping? Her gaze landed on his grass-stained sneakers. They looked out of place.

  “Real classy, I know. My work boots are MIA.” He kicked one foot against the other.

  “No insults coming from someone who wears Crocs nearly every day,” Charis said. “In fact, they look pretty comfortable.”

  “Holy smokes.” Daphne rolled her eyes. “What’s your buddy’s name? I’m going to bum a smoke and have a decent conversation. You two are boring me to tears.”

  “Jagger’ll talk, but I’m not sure it’ll pass for conversation. Damn sure won’t pass for decent.” Deason grinned and raised his eyes to the windshield. Jagger met his gaze and scowled, throwing his cigarette butt out the window.

  “I believe that’s littering, mister. Figured a professional such as yourself would know better,” Daphne shouted, circling the truck. She stared at Jagger through Deason’s open door.

  Charis blinked in disbelief as Jagger raised his middle finger to her friend.

  “Man after my own heart.” Daphne threw her head back and laughed as she gripped the truck’s rail, grunted up the step, and then jostled behind the wheel.

  Through the windshield, Jagger’s eyes widened as his jaw slackened.

  Deason chuckled deeply, shaking his head, dark strands brushing his forehead. “I have a feeling my final days here are going to be miserable. Jagger is all about payback.”

  Charis silently denied the fact her heart was si
nking. “Final days?”

  “Yeah, I have a ranger position lined up at Glacier National Park in Montana, less than two weeks from now. Personally, one year dumping trash is one year too many.” Something besides the sun flashed in his eyes.

  Charis nodded, glad she hadn’t let herself fall for the hazel-eyed hero with the easy grin and muscles no grime-spattered coveralls could conceal. It hurt having a hero. Not the kind of hurt that fattened your lip or blackened your eye. The kind that bruised your pride by reminding you that you needed to be rescued.

  She stared up at the garbage truck. “This one’s a lot bigger than the one you drive on Tuesdays.”

  “Yeah. We call this one Big Al. It’s our commercial truck, our alley runner. The other one’s residential. They’re both relics. It’s all I can do to keep them going. The boss feels I deserve the worst of the litter.” He shrugged. “Maybe I do.”

  Charis peeled her gaze from his, certain those incredible gold flecks were magnetized.

  “Well, we’d better get back at it,” he said, a faint crease touching his brow.

  Charis motioned to Daphne, who opened the door and bumped down the step, cigarette in hand. She strode to the front of the truck and waved at Jagger through the windshield.

  Scrunching his face into what may have been a grin, he flapped his hand in return.

  Deason, smile back in place, lifted a hand in the air before turning from Charis.

  “Cheer up. He’ll call.” Daphne nudged her as they watched him climb into the truck cab.

  “Stop it.” Charis nudged back. “Even if I was interested, and I’m not, he doesn’t have my number.”

  “Does now. I wrote it down on a napkin along with my own. Told Jagger to pass yours along to Deason.”

  “You gave Jagger your number?”

  “He asked for it.” Daphne smirked. “How could he resist?” She wiggled her hips as she turned toward the Blazer and disarmed it.

  Charis took one last look over her shoulder before climbing into the vehicle. Deason grinned as his truck engine chugged, and then roared to life.