Winning Over Skylar

“Hey,” she said. “What’s the score?”

“Five–zip, Dodgers.”

Skylar might not be a baseball fan, but she knew Karin’s three-word report meant the Los Angeles Dodgers were ahead. “Isn’t that the team you’re rooting for?”

Karin shrugged. She wasn’t crying, but she wasn’t happy, either. “It’s only the bottom of the fourth inning. They’ll probably blow it.”

Skylar let out a discouraged breath. Karin was a bright, enthusiastic kid...except when she was thinking about her dad being gone. “And they might win,” she reminded gently. “I’m sure Grandpa Joe would love to get on the phone with you.”

Karin didn’t respond, but she inched farther toward the end of the sectional couch. Right. She didn’t want the phone; she wanted someone sitting next to her...she just didn’t want to ask someone to sit next to her. Skylar thought of the dozen different tasks she should get done. It was a busy week, and she had a meeting on Thursday at City Hall that would take all evening.

She sat down. “Okay,” she said. “It’s time I learned more about baseball. Tell me what’s going on. The ones in white are the good guys, right?”

A small giggle escaped from Karin. “You’re really silly, Mom.”

* * *

AARON DROVE PAST the Nibble Nook the following morning and scowled. He had a huge job in front of him getting Cooper Industries back in shape, and Skylar wasn’t making it easier by befriending his sister. Well...her daughter had befriended Melanie, but it was essentially the same thing.

There were numerous cars at the hamburger stand, along with motorcycles and a couple of big rigs parked at the side of the road. They obviously served breakfast, and he had to admit, the scents wafting into his car were tempting. On the other hand, the presence of motorcycles and 18-wheelers was disturbing—the drivers of those vehicles weren’t necessarily a bad element, but there were no guarantees.

Almost as if taunting him, a tattooed cyclist got up from a table and strolled to his Harley. He spat on the ground and adjusted himself in his grubby-looking jeans before roaring away.

Wonderful.

Exactly the element an impressionable teenage girl needed.

Peggy was at her desk when he walked in, and he gave her a brief nod. He wasn’t thrilled with having Peggy as an assistant; she was efficient and responsible, but she was zealously loyal to his grandfather and likely calling him daily with reports on the company. Someone was informing George Cooper of the changes and new policies being made by his grandson, though he wasn’t showing a great deal of interest other than to say, “What’s good for Cooperton is good for Cooper Industries.”

Any warmth George possessed had mostly been shown to his employees and the town. He could be a genial man-of-the-people in the flash of an eye, but inside his own home he was cold and uptight. No wonder Aaron’s mother had rebelled—she’d fled Cooperton and done nothing but play ever since.

The phone rang before he reached his desk. It was Peggy, saying his father was on line one.

“Yes?” he said, punching the button.

“That’s a fine way to greet your old dad.” Spence Hollister was only “your old dad” when he wanted something.

“I don’t have time for games, Dad.” Aaron tucked the receiver under his chin and sorted through a stack of phone messages Peggy had left on his desk. A new phone system with voice mail had been installed months before, but he hadn’t decided whether his calls should continue to be screened by Peggy in a traditional executive style, or to take them himself.

“That’s always been your problem—you don’t enjoy life.”

“Some of us have a job. Why didn’t you call my cell phone?”

“I assumed you’d changed the number after moving to that Hicksville. You didn’t have to take over the Cooper company, son. For God’s sake, give it a decent burial and get out. Your mother never wanted to go back there—it’s the only thing we ever agreed on the entire time we were married.”

A headache stabbed Aaron’s temples. Much as he regretted giving up his lucrative position as CEO of a computer company, he couldn’t abandon Cooper Industries. He might have to give it a decent burial, but not until he’d done his best to keep it alive.

“What do you want, Dad?”

“I... Hang on. We’re having a spot of trouble with a champagne cork.”

A feminine laugh sounded in the background, and Aaron shook his head. His father was between wives, so his companion could be anyone from a London society deb to a belly dancer. Spence liked his ladies young, beautiful and endowed—and since he had an abundance of charm and wealth, they liked him, too.

“Sorry, son. I wanted to know if you’ll join my crew in next year’s America’s Cup race.”

“I haven’t been on your yacht since I was nineteen and foolishly took a semester off from college to train and compete.”

“Foolish? Nonsense. That was a damn good race—we won two of the heats, so I know you’re the key to the Sea Haven finally getting the trophy. Will you do it?”

Aaron practically snorted. Spence wasn’t into effort; he ran a yacht in the America’s Cup because he loved the publicity and being seen as a sportsman. He’d particularly reveled in the media coverage the year his eldest son was a crew member. On the other hand, Aaron was still fighting the dilettante image he’d earned.

“Not a chance, Dad.”

“But you can’t save that place. What’s the point of trying?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. By the way, Melanie is fine. I’m sure she’ll appreciate you asking,” Aaron said, his voice laced with irony.

None of S. S. Hollister’s kids had any illusions that he was especially concerned about them. You could be sure he didn’t even remember your name, and five minutes later he could make you feel as if you were the most important person in the world. As a kid, Aaron had craved the moments when his father focused on him and would have done almost anything to get his attention. Now he was mostly wary. When S.S. called, he wanted something, and it usually wasn’t to your benefit to give it to him.

“You would have let me know if Melanie had a problem,” Spence said easily. “Are you sure you won’t be a member of the Sea Haven’s crew? I’d make you skipper, but I’ve finally gotten Bill Driscoll to sign on and we have an ironclad contract. I do get to pick one crew member, and you’re the one I want.”

“Why don’t you ask Matt? He doesn’t have anything to do.” Aaron’s second brother was almost as much a playboy as their father, except he avoided serious relationships and was scrupulous about birth control. “Or Tamlyn or April or Oona?”

“Yachting isn’t their thing.”

Aaron snorted, suspecting his father had gone first to Matt and his three adult sisters before calling him. Spence wouldn’t have asked Jake, though. Even Spence knew his second son couldn’t be pried away from risking his neck in pursuit of the next great photograph—Jake’s photography was stunning, but his pictures weren’t taken in safe, convenient locales. It wasn’t any wonder that some people speculated whether Jake had a death wish.

“Yachting isn’t my thing, either, Dad. Give the choice back to Driscoll and let him win for you.”

“Ah, well. Let me know if Melanie wants anything. I’ll buy her a car as soon as she has her driver’s license.”

“No, you won’t,” Aaron insisted, a surge of adrenaline going through him. He did not want Melanie to have a car—he had good reason to know that teenagers did insane things when they were driving, and he had no desire to see his sister wrapped around a tree. She was going to have a top professional driving instructor and lots of practice before getting her own car was an option.

“Oh? I gave you a Mustang when you were sixteen. A sweet job. Just what a teenage boy needed to get girls.”

“And you gave me another when I was seventeen. I totaled the first one, remember?” Aaron knew it was a miracle he hadn’t killed himself when he’d spun out and slammed into a telephone pole—instead he’d gotten off with bruises and minor cuts. “Anyhow, Melanie is young for her age and I want her to have experience driving before she’s handed her own set of keys.”

“Fine, fine, just let me know when. Bye for now.” Spence didn’t sound upset—few things ruffled S. S. Hollister.

Aaron dropped the receiver in its cradle and looked around the office. He’d made a few modifications since returning to Cooperton, shifting the desk and adding file cabinets, but it remained furnished with his grandfather’s ponderous mahogany furniture and deep red carpet. Redecorating was out for a while though; other things were needed more.

On a sturdy new worktable by the window was his proposal for updating and expanding the factory. To finance the project he would have to sell some of the land the Cooper family had held for generations throughout Northern California, but he was convinced the company wouldn’t survive otherwise.

“Mr. Hollister?” Peggy said from the door. “The foreman in the tortilla chip division says there’s still a problem with the repairs he phoned you about yesterday. It seems a part in the machine is no longer replaceable—the company that used to make the equipment is now manufacturing air conditioners.”

“That’s what happens when you’re operating with antiques,” Aaron muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. Have them assign additional employees to tape the boxes, then get the records on the equipment and special parts needed. I’ll research the matter.”

Peggy left, and Aaron tried to unclench his jaw. His grandfather hadn’t invested in significant capital improvements at Cooper Industries for almost three decades. The company needed so much, and here he was, spending time on an ancient machine that sealed boxes for shipping.

Perhaps if he got it taken care of quickly, he could get on with what he’d planned to do with his day. Three experts had reviewed the plans he’d worked up with an industrial engineer and now he needed to submit them to the Cooperton City Council for their approval—the town was so small they didn’t have a planning department. Besides, there was a zoning issue.

It was frustrating that elected officials, rather than trained professionals, would have a hand in deciding the future of Cooper Industries, but it shouldn’t be hard to get their support. After all, his company was the biggest employer in town.

* * *

“MELLIE, WASN’T THE game awesome?” Karin asked as they waited in line at the cafeteria to pay for their lunch. Her mom wasn’t crazy about the food the school served, but didn’t make her bring a sack lunch or anything. Thank God. Only the dorky kids ate sack lunches. It would be nice to eat at the Nibble Nook, but the school didn’t allow them to leave the grounds except with a parent or written permission.

“Yeah, but I’ve never watched baseball before,” Melanie confessed. She gave the cashier a fifty-dollar bill; the woman looked at it twice and glowered as she started counting out the change.

“How come?”

“I guess because I’ve moved around so much. A long time ago, before my mother got married again, one of her boyfriends was a football player, but I never knew what was happening when we went to his games. Baseball is easier.”

“I don’t get football, either, though some of the players are okay.” Karin nudged her friend, and they gazed longingly at Nick Jakowski as he talked to his friends across the room.

Nick was the yummiest guy in school and the captain of the football team. He was nice, too. He’d stopped the team from hazing a new boy who’d transferred from their biggest rival, Trident High, and he was friendly to freshmen, unlike most of the other seniors.

“Do you think he’s really going steady with Tiffany Baldwin?” Melanie said wistfully.

Tiffany was a cheerleader and thought she was, like, the most beautiful girl who’d ever lived. Most of the time she wasn’t too unbearable, except for an annoying, high-pitched laugh. And you couldn’t deny that she was pretty, with light gold hair and green eyes.

Karin sighed. “I don’t know. Susan Lightoller saw them kissing at the movies this summer, and Tory Wilson says they were holding hands at the Labor Day parade.”

“Oh.”

“But he wouldn’t let her share his ice cream at the carnival afterward,” Karin added, brightening at the recollection. “And Andrea Crane said that if they were French kissing a bunch he wouldn’t mind if she licked his cone.”

Melanie perked up as they took their trays to a table. “Your mom was great yesterday. She sure let Aaron have it.”

“You don’t like him, do you, Mellie?”

“Nobody does. Even so, I’m glad that I get to stay here this year.”

“Me, too.” Karin was still worried that Melanie’s brother would say she couldn’t come to the Nibble Nook. It was too weird being around her other friends now that her dad was dead; they wanted her to act as if everything was the same, and it wasn’t. Melanie never tried to get her to act different.

Karin poked the cheese enchiladas on her plate, no longer hungry. Sometimes almost a whole week would go by without her getting that awful knot in her tummy, or the horrid cold chills that came when she remembered her dad’s accident. Then she’d feel guilty, as if she was forgetting him.

“I wish we could eat lunch at the Nibble Nook,” Melanie said, taking a bite of her Mexican rice. “But this is better than the stuff at my last school.” She made a gagging gesture.

“Yeah, Mom makes awesome burgers.” Karin determinedly began eating.

Chapter Three

BY MIDAFTERNOON Aaron had located a small company that specialized in replacement parts for equipment no longer used by most manufacturers. It was a niche business that probably got most of their profits from outdated places such as Cooper Industries.

“We’ll send your order by overnight courier,” the representative assured. “But I’m surprised we have these parts in stock. Did you know they stopped making this model way back in the nineteen—”

“I know,” Aaron interrupted in a dour tone. “Thank you.”

He hung up and called the tortilla-chip division, letting them know they’d soon be back to full working order. Hiring someone to handle this sort of problem was becoming a priority; it still boggled his mind that his grandfather had gotten involved with the nitty-gritty of daily operations. The company needed midlevel managers to take responsibility and make decisions.

They also needed a whole new factory.

An email message came in from Peggy, telling him the next city council meeting was in a couple of days. Surprisingly, Peggy was willing to use the computer system he’d put into the executive office. The only other area where she’d shown support was his attempt to watch after Melanie. Thinking of which....

He stepped to the outer office.

“Peggy, are there any known problems with drugs or anything at the Nibble Nook? Some of the customers I’ve seen there look questionable, and I’ve heard that in small towns, a local hamburger stand can be a center for drug pushers and gang activity.”

Her perpetual frown deepened. “I’ve heard that, too, but the Gibson family built the Nibble Nook over thirty-five years ago, and their regular clientele largely come from Cooper Industries and other businesses. You wouldn’t have known Jimmie Gibson when you were a boy here—he was four or five years older and living in Trident by then. He’s gone now, killed in a car accident last year.”

So, Skylar was a widow.

While Aaron had noticed she wore a wedding ring, he hadn’t given it much thought. Mostly he had worried that being around Skylar and a busy, roadside hamburger stand were a bad idea for a shy, sheltered girl like Melanie. The issue of his employees eating there was valid, as well—they weren’t happy about his new rules and could take it out on her.

“You seem to know something about the Gibsons.”

“I should hope so. I’ve lived in Cooperton my whole life.”

Somehow, Peggy’s reply sounded critical, though Aaron didn’t know why. Did she think he should have returned to the company after college and graduate school, working as second fiddle to his grandfather for the past seven or eight years? It would have made him crazy, and he wouldn’t have learned anything about effective management.

“I... Yeah,” he muttered. “Does Mrs. Gibson have any boyfriends who hang out at the Nibble Nook?”

The thought of tattooed bikers or knife-toting gang members had kept him awake more than once after discovering where Melanie was spending so much time. Honestly, it was hard to see Skylar Naples as a solid, upstanding member of the community.... Skylar Gibson, he reminded himself. She’d made so much trouble as a teenager, even his grandparents had been aware of her, partly because she’d get drunk and do insane things like balancing on the roof of a moving car and flashing her breasts at city hall as one of her hoodlum buddies sped past.

She’ll end up dead. Or in prison, Sarah Cooper had grimly pronounced on more than one occasion. Then she’d shaken her finger at Aaron, We’re not letting it happen to you.

Honestly, they had acted as if he was the devil’s spawn. He understood they’d wanted him to turn out like them, rather than their flighty daughter, but why treat him as if he was one step away from reform school?

“Boyfriends?” Peggy sniffed, dragging Aaron’s attention back to the present. “Skylar had quite a reputation once, but I wouldn’t know about it now. I don’t gossip about my neighbors.”

“Of course.” It wasn’t the definitive answer Aaron would have preferred. “Your email said the city council is meeting on Thursday. Do you know how I get on their agenda?”

She shrugged. “Call city hall and ask, probably.”

Plainly, she wasn’t in a helpful mood. He hadn’t confided in her—it might be different if he’d hired Peggy himself, but he hadn’t; she had started in potato chips and moved up from there. Ironically, she could have been a valuable resource for him; instead she was a pain in the ass.

“Thank you,” Aaron muttered, returning to his office.

He found the listing for city hall in the small Cooperton phone book and dialed it.

“Mayor’s office,” a woman answered. “Micki Jo speaking.”

“This is Aaron Hollister, of Cooper Industries. I want to get on the agenda for the next city council meeting.”

“Oh. Mr. Hollister.” Micki Jo’s youthful voice suddenly went ten degrees south of freezing. “What is this regarding?”

Aaron hesitated. He didn’t want to discuss the matter with a secretary, especially since no one in Cooperton knew about his expansion plans yet. It would be best if he could speak to the council without them having any preconceptions.

“I’d like to make a presentation about Cooper Industries.”

“With that and four bucks I can get a macchiato latte,” she said drily. “The council has a full agenda this month, Mr. Hollister. I’ll need more details before adjustments can be made to the schedule.”

“I...uh, have some plans to discuss.”

“What kind of plans?”

Aaron kept his temper with an effort. “For modifications at the company.”

“What type of modifications?”

Great. He’d have to tell her—sounding too secretive would just make things worse. “Expansion plans. And there’s a property-use rezoning issue that needs approval.”

“Very well, I’ll let the mayor know. You’ll be notified if you’ve been added to the agenda.”

If he’d been added?

“But I—”

The phone clicked off before Aaron could say anything else and he stared at the receiver in disbelief. What had changed in Cooperton in the past fourteen years? The town used to fall all over themselves to make his grandfather happy.

* * *

ON THURSDAY AFTERNOON Skylar pushed a large box of burgers and fries across the counter, followed by a half dozen milk shakes. “Here you go, Fernando.”

“Gracias, Skylar. I promised my crew a meal and nothing would satisfy them except the Nibble Nook.”

“That’s a real compliment.”

Fernando Rodriguez leased farmland that grew a variety of organic produce, and he’d brought a truckload of his workers over for a late lunch. Although Skylar had closed for the day by the time they’d driven up, she hadn’t been able to turn him away.

She began counting out the cash registers while her remaining three employees cleared the counters.

“Greg, don’t you need to go?” she asked the fry cook, who also managed the Nibble Nook every Saturday for her. Greg was a single father with chronic child-care issues and couldn’t stay late as a rule, while his coworkers loved overtime.

“I’m okay for once. My sister doesn’t work this afternoon, so she can watch the twins a while longer.”

Skylar nodded, grateful she wouldn’t have to empty the oil from the fryers herself. Delays always seemed to happen on the days she had something to do in the evening—not that she had a social life aside from Karin’s school, church or city events.

Karin and Melanie arrived as she finished tallying the day’s receipts. They sat at a table near the farmworkers, and Skylar hoped that Aaron wouldn’t see them and stop. Fernando’s employees were a great bunch of guys, but she was sure their rough appearance would appall Mr. Big Shot Hollister.

Skylar tucked the deposit into a bank envelope and locked it in the sturdy safe they had installed several years before.

“Hey, girls,” she said, stepping outside. “How was school?”

Melanie smiled shyly. “It was okay, Mrs. Gibson, but we have a bunch of homework.”

“Every day they load it on,” Karin muttered. “The teachers don’t care about the baseball play-offs.”

“Your team isn’t playing tonight,” Skylar reminded her. “It’s a travel day for them.”

Her daughter stuck her nose in her book. She was in one of her moods. Living with her would be a challenge until the World Series was over, along with the constant reminders that her dad wasn’t there to share it with her.

Skylar went back to work, hurrying through her routine so she could get to her meeting on time. Melanie’s presence troubled her. The teen had continued to show up every day, despite her brother’s disapproval of the Nibble Nook, and the girls did their homework together. Of course, a fair amount of giggling and whispering accompanied the studying, but Skylar periodically checked their progress to be sure they were getting enough done. They also had plans for the weekend—something Aaron was certain to refuse to give his permission for.

Her employees left and she finished by scrubbing the picnic tables and watering the whiskey half barrels she used as planters. She and Jimmie had always taken pride in keeping the Nook clean, and she wasn’t going to let it slide.

“Melanie, do you need a ride home?” she called as she stowed the hose in an outside storage cabinet.

“If you’re not too busy, ma’am.”

“No problem. Hop in the truck.”

Skylar dropped Melanie off and got Karin settled at the house with dinner before racing to the bank, and then to City Hall. Jimmie had become a member of the city council years before and the mayor had “named” her as his replacement...without even asking. She’d wanted to strangle Chester, yet in a way it had been good for her. Still, she wouldn’t mind if she didn’t win the position in the next election.

“Did you hear?” twenty-four-year-old Micki Jo said as Skylar got a cup of coffee. It was hideous, but better than nothing at the end of a long day.

“Hear what?”

“Aaron Hollister is coming tonight to discuss expanding Cooper Industries.”

“He’ll probably increase mechanization so he can cut jobs,” Chester chimed in before Skylar could say anything. “And he’s going to stop buying local products. His purchasing agent told one of the farmers that Hollister claims it’s more efficient to purchase from large producers. I know because Mr. Okishida told Doctor McWilliams’s receptionist who told the pharmaceutical rep, and she mentioned it to our pastor.”

Skylar tried to sort out who had been told what on the rumor mill and decided it didn’t matter. “Maybe somebody heard the story wrong.”