A Ready-Made Family

Lia’s heart beat a little faster. Rose’s brother, she presumed, but was it the ex-con or the military man? What direction had he come from? And where were her kids?

She sidled over a couple of steps. “I didn’t mean to snoop. Well, yes, I suppose I did, since I was snooping. But I didn’t mean to be rude. I wondered where everyone had gone, that’s all. The house seemed deserted. I, um, that is, we—me and my kids—came for the wedding.”

“You’re late.”

“I know. My car broke down.”

“The wedding was yesterday.”

“I’m sorry we missed it.”

He scanned her again, apparently not happy with what he saw, because he scowled, the color in his tanned face getting even darker. “Rose is on her honeymoon.”

“Oh.” The dregs of Lia’s last hope leaked out of her. She realized what a bind she’d put herself in. No cash, nowhere to stay. Only a small amount of wiggle room remained on her credit card. “I figured it was something like that. But we had a long drive and it was too late to turn back.” She crossed her fingers inside her pockets. “So we came anyway.”

“How many is we?”

“I have three children. Oh—I didn’t introduce myself.” But then, neither had he. She didn’t stick out her hand. He looked as if he might bite it. “I’m Lia Howard.”

“Jake Robbin.” He didn’t budge an inch.

“You’re Rose’s oldest brother. She’s mentioned me?”

“No, ma’am.”

“She invited me to the wedding a while back. I told her then I couldn’t make it, only I changed my mind at the last minute. We were neighbors several years ago.” She was babbling.

His nod was neither an acknowledgment nor an agreement. “Too bad you missed her.”

“Yes, too bad,” she said. The sympathy on his face was underwhelming. “We’ll move on, of course.” She gritted her teeth so the desperation wouldn’t show. “We wouldn’t want to put you out.” Not that he’d offered. “My kids can be quite a handful.” She gestured toward the front yard, embarrassed to see Kristen’s stretchy pink-lace-and-glitter ponytail holder around her wrist like a bracelet. “They’re over there—”

On cue, Kristen came chugging around the side of the house with her hands flapping. “Mom! Mom! Howie found a skunk!” She barreled into Lia’s legs. “It’s gonna bite him.”

Lia winced. “Do skunks bite?” she asked Jake. Before he had time to answer, she hurried off the way Kristen had come.

Jake loped beside her, ducking tree branches because he was so tall. “Probably not. Unless it’s rabid.” He put out his arm, slowing her down as they reached the path to the cottages. “Don’t run. Sudden movement will scare it, and—believe me—you don’t want that to happen.”

Kristen had caught up to them. She stared up at Jake with a finger in her mouth. She took it out. “What happens if we scare the skunk?”

Jake’s firm lips twitched. He squeezed two fingers on the tip of his nose and said, “Pew.”

Kristen giggled, copying the gesture. “Pew!”

Lia blinked. “Did you say pew?”

“Haven’t you ever smelled skunk?”

“Of course. I was— Never mind.” She was amused by the word, that was all. Maybe he wasn’t a hard case all the way through. “Let’s rescue Howie before he’s sprayed.”

“I’ll go,” Jake said. “You keep the little girl out of range.”

Lia almost laughed at the way Kristen’s upper body swayed forward. Her lower lip protruded. “I’m not a little girl. My name is Kristen Rose.”

Jake was moving silently along the path, but he stopped to look back at them. “Kristen Rose, huh? Pretty name.” He shot a look at Lia. “After my sister?”

She nodded. “I told you we were friends.” When she’d gone into labor, Rose had stayed home from work to look after Sam and Howie while Lia delivered the new baby. During the especially tough times immediately after her divorce, Lia had learned to treasure such small acts of kindness.

Howie’s voice floated from the trees. “Mo-om?”

“Don’t move, Howie,” she called. “Stay there and tell us where you are.”

“I’m sitting on the step of one of the little houses.”

Lia crept after Jake, trying to keep Kristen behind her. They moved past the first two cottages and came to the third, where Howie perched on the doorstep, his arms and legs pulled close to his skinny body. A skunk sniffed through the long grass at the cottage’s foundation, barely two feet away from the boy. Its silky tail swept the ground. A faint but distinctly bitter aroma scented the air.

Jake stopped. He rested his hands on his hips, as casual as if they were on a Sunday afternoon stroll. “Howie? Don’t move, okay?” He spoke in a soft, even voice. “I’m Jake. I live here and I’ve seen this skunk before. Don’t worry. He’ll go on his way in a minute.”

The creature lifted its head. A moist black nose twitched in Howie’s direction.

He cringed. Behind the glasses, his eyes were big and scared. “It’s gonna spray me,” he whispered in a quavery high pitch.

Jake moved closer. He squatted. “No, see how his tail is down? The skunk’s curious about you, but he’s not afraid. He uses his sense of smell and hearing because he can’t see very well. He needs glasses like yours.”

Lia chuckled to ease Howie’s fear, but he didn’t seem to be persuaded that this was a laughing matter. “You’re sure he won’t spray me?”

“Yep,” Jake said. “Only if he thinks you’re going to hurt him.”

Howie’s chest hitched. Lia’s heart melted at how brave he was trying to be. “Uh-huh. I kn-know that. I read about skunks in my science and nature book.”

“What else did you read?”

Howie watched warily as the skunk lowered its head and the tail came up slightly. “I read—I read—” He closed his eyes. “Skunks are mammals. And they’re nocturnal.”

“What does that mean?” Jake asked gently.

Howie squinched his nose. “They sleep in the day. So how come—” He gasped as the skunk turned toward him.

“Slide over,” Jake directed. “Slowly.”

Howie inched sideways until he sat at the very corner of the step. The skunk ambled out of the grass, toward the path blocked by Jake.

He kept his eyes on Howie. “Now you can stand. Do it slowly. That’s right. The skunk’s okay, just going for a stroll. He’s not even looking at you.”

Lia stooped to see past the obscuring evergreens. Jake was right. The animal was ignoring Howie because it was waddling toward Jake. She held her breath.

Jake didn’t move. His voice remained calm. “Keep going, Howie. Walk past me toward your mom. You’ll be fine.”

Jake waited until Howie had crept by, then rose slowly off his heels, keeping himself between the boy and the skunk. His boots scuffed the ground as he edged backward, widening the distance.

Lia caught Howie’s eye. She gave him an encouraging smile. He grinned sheepishly, hitching his thumbs in his belt loops and swaggering just a little, as if he’d never been frightened in the first place.

Kristen pushed against Lia’s leg. “Can I pet the skunk?” she whispered.

“That’s not a good idea with an untamed animal.” Lia reached down and swung Kristen up in her arms in case the girl got it into her head to run toward the small striped creature.

“But it’s pretty.”

“We’re in the wild, honey. It’s not like a petting zoo.” Lia turned back in the direction of the car, keeping her eye on Howie to be sure he was following. But he’d stopped, too busy looking up at Jake with awe to worry about escaping from the skunk.

Which was when disaster struck.

“Hey, guys!” Sam’s shout was impatient. The sudden blare of the car horn shattered the silence as she punched it over and over again.

“Sam!” Lia shrieked. “Stop it!”

Too late.

The skunk’s tail had shot straight up. Jake let out a shout and sprang backward, his arms pinwheeling as an overwhelmingly putrid, eye-watering stench coated the air.

CHAPTER TWO

JAKE PLUNGED INTO THE cold water of the river, a bar of soap in hand. His eyes and nose stung with the acrid stench that rose off his body. He dived for relief, surfacing quickly as he remembered that he wasn’t alone.

The boy stood shivering at the shore, stripped to shorts and T-shirt. He’d hadn’t received the full brunt of spray like Jake, but had insisted that he needed to bathe in the river, too, once he’d seen that was what Jake intended. The kid’s mother had been hesitant, staring up at Jake with big, blue, scaredy-cat eyes. And sure enough, he could see her through the trees at the top of the hill, wringing her hands as she watched over them.

“Jump in,” Jake said.

Howie waded deeper. “How come it’s so cold?”

“It’s a fast, deep river. It’s always cold, even in July.” Jake began scrubbing with the soap. Little good that would do except maybe take the edge off. The skunk smell was so strong he could taste it.

The boy’s eyes were watering. He squeezed his shoulders into his neck and took another wobbly step deeper into the swirling water.

His timidity made Jake impatient. “C’mon. Get dunked.” He thought of his father, Black Jack, roaring with laughter as he tossed a five-year-old Jake and his even younger brother into the deep water although they could barely dog-paddle at the time. Your mother doesn’t want you drowning, he’d said. Be men, not pansies. Swim!

Jake had swum. He couldn’t remember if he’d been scared like Howie, but he supposed that was possible.

“Stop thinking about it. Jump.”

The boy sucked in a breath and surged forward, sputtering and flailing as the current swept him toward Jake. He paddled strenuously, holding his head high out of the water like a nervous dog. Up on the hill, the woman started down, then stopped as Jake reached out and plucked her son from the water, setting him upright near a heap of rocks that protruded into the river.

“Good man.” Jake passed the bar. “Soap up.”

Without his glasses, Howie looked owlishly at bare-chested Jake, then stripped off his own shirt, exposing a skinny white torso. He rubbed himself into a froth and they plunged into the deep water again to rinse themselves clean. The scent of skunk was not so easily defeated.

Jake urged Howie out of the water. He collected their discarded clothing into one reeking armful.

The boy fumbled for the glasses he’d tucked in his shoe. He put them on and studied Jake’s tattoos with fascination. After a minute, the corners of his mouth jerked into a tight little smile. “Hey, Jake. You still stink.”

“So do you.” Jake squeezed water from his boxer shorts, then chafed his arms and legs. “And you look like a drowned cat.”

“My mom’s gonna be mad.”

Jake didn’t think so. She seemed more like the fussbudget type. “Not your fault the skunk found you.”

“I was exploring in the forest.”

“So you’re saying that it was you who found the skunk?”

“Sort of. I think it followed me.” The shivering boy looked up with a worried face. “I’m sorry you got sprayed.”

Jake clapped him on the shoulder. “Not the first time. No big deal.”

“But you really stink. Worse’n me.”

“It’ll wear off.” Jake shoved his feet into his boots and started up the slope to the house. “C’mon. Your mom will have dry clothes for you.”

She did. Towels, too, unfamiliar to Jake. “Yours?” he said, taking the one she offered—a faded beach towel printed with some kind of cartoon character.

“I had them in the car.” She was vigorously rubbing down her son, and the poor kid stood there and took it, jiggling like a bobblehead doll.

“Uh, thanks, but I’m liable to ruin it.” Jake tried to hand back the towel. “According to Howie, I still stink.”

“Yeah, you do.” She screwed up her face. “But go ahead and use the towel anyway. It’s an old one.” Her glance bounced off him. “And you look pretty cold.”

Jake had dropped the pile of ruined clothes. He stood before her in nothing but unlaced boots, soaked cotton shorts, tattoos and dog tags. He was probably showing a little too much of the raw package down below. While he had no modesty left after decades as an Army Ranger, she obviously wasn’t as easygoing.

He dried himself, then wrapped the towel around his hips. He watched her help Howie step into a pair of jeans and asked, “What was your name again?” even though he remembered she was Leah…something.

She looked up from a kneel. “Lia Po—Howard. Lia Howard.”

“Huh.” He looked at the boy. “So you’re Howie Howard?”

Howie opened his mouth. Lia thrust a polo shirt down over his head. “Howie’s a nickname.”

Her daughters came around the corner of the house, holding hands. They stared at Jake.

He eyed them. The little girl was a cutie. The teenager clearly had an attitude, considering the way she thrust her chin and glowered at him, the sun glinting off the silver stud pierced beneath her lower lip.

She made a choking sound and pressed the back of her hand to her nose. Black polish was chipping off her nails. Around one thin wrist was a wide leather band, heavy chain link on the other. “That smell. I can’t stand it.”

Lia frowned. “Sam, don’t be rude.”

“But, Mom, he reeks.” The girl gagged, then gagged again with her hand pressed over her mouth. “Gross. It’s making me sick.” She turned and ran off. They heard the car door slam.

“That was Sam,” Lia said. “Samantha. She’s fourteen with a vengeance.”

“Needs a paddling.”

Lia’s words popped like mortar fire. “I don’t hit my kids. Violence solves nothing.”

Jake shrugged. “That depends on the situation.”

“You’re the soldier, then.”

“The soldier?”

“Rose told me. One brother in the Army, one brother…” She trailed off as if embarrassed.

Jake gave her a look. “In the big house.”

“Where’s the big house?” the little girl asked. She pointed. “That one?”

“A different kind of house, honey.”

“Prison,” Howie said. He was looking at Jake with the same rounded eyes his mother used. “Were you in combat?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going back?”

“I’m retired now.”

Howie squinted. “You don’t look that old.”

“I’m thirty-nine. Old enough to retire from the Army. I enlisted when I was eighteen.”

“My mom got married when she was seventeen.”

“Oh?” Jake watched the emotion that crossed Lia’s face before she felt his interest and made herself go blank. He directed his comment at her. “You went through a different kind of combat, huh?”

She let out a little snort. “You could say that.”

“We’re divorced from Daddy,” piped up Kristen Rose.

Lia clenched her hands. “I’m divorced, not you kids.”

“Then when can we see Daddy again?”

“I don’t know.” Lia evaded Jake’s curiosity by reaching for the discarded clothing. She got one whiff and dropped the garments. “The smell is really bad, even on Howie. We’re going to have to do something about it or we won’t be allowed into a motel.”

The boy cocked his head. “A motel? But—”

“Hush, Howie. We’re going to a motel.” Lia sent a distracted but apologetic smile at Jake. “We’ve caused enough trouble for Mr. Robbin.”

Jake knew that he ought to keep his mouth shut and let them leave. He wanted them to go. He had big plans for the place and he surely didn’t want to work around the distraction of three kids and a needy woman. Only the thought of Rose scolding him for being a bad host in her stead made him speak up. “You’re going to run off and leave me stinking like this?”

Lia showed surprise. “Well, of course I’d like to help, but I don’t know what I can—”

“I know,” Howie said. “We have to take baths in tomato juice.”

“Sounds kind of icky, but if you want to try it…” Lia looked at Jake. “Do you have any tomato juice?”

He thought of the nearly bare cupboards and fridge. Chili and beans, a few cans of tuna. Beer, mustard, ketchup. “I sincerely doubt it.”

“I, um, I guess I could go to the store.”

Jake had heard the racket when they drove up. That car shouldn’t go anywhere until he’d taken a look at the engine and the brakes. “You can take my truck.”

Lia hesitated, looking worried. “All right.” She reached for her daughter’s hand, protective as a mama bear. “We’ll all go to the store for tomato juice.”

“I’m staying here with Jake,” Howie announced.

“Oh, no, you’re not.”

Jake tightened his jaw and kept silent. For about two seconds. Then he glanced at Howie’s hopeful face. “It’s okay. He can stay.”

The boy beamed.

Shit, Jake thought, but mostly out of habit. “He reeks too much to go in my truck.”

Howie sniffed himself. His narrow chest expanded. “Yeah, I reek.”

Lia aimed the big blues at Jake. “Are you sure?”

He scowled, not used to being questioned. “I know my own mind.”

“Lucky you.”

Lucky? “And I don’t say what I don’t mean.”

Her stare became skeptical. “That must be interesting.”

“Not so much. I also know when to keep my mouth shut.”

“Huh. There’s a talent.”

She sounded weary, maybe a little wistful. Jake’s antennae went up, before he reminded himself that she was a mom who’d been on a road trip with a broken-down car and three children who weren’t shy about their opinions.

She looked the worse for the wear. Her pale blond hair was caught up at the back of her head with straggly wisps hanging loose. A wayward bra strap peeked out from the sleeveless pink blouse that was wrinkled and untucked from a pair of baggy shorts. Nice legs. But no tan. White socks sagged at her ankles. Her five-dollar-bin tennis shoes were scuffed and fraying at the pinkie toes. Around one wrist was a rubber band, a grimy braided string knotted into place and a stretchy bracelet made of pink sparkly frills and doodads.

Jake’s eyes went back up. Lia’s face was pretty enough when she wasn’t looking hassled or worried, but she wasn’t his type. Not that he actually had a type except for knowing from the age of sixteen what he didn’t need: women who clung, women who whined, women with great expectations.

Since he’d been back in Alouette and seen tough little Wild Rose so happy and content with her fiancé, there’d grown a few doubts in Jake’s mind that maybe the Robbin siblings weren’t destined to be loners after all. He’d even experienced a rare loneliness, on his own, without his squadron, without orders, without a firm plan for the future. Rose had been thrilled to have him back—hell, she’d hugged him so hard he’d had bruises the next day—but she’d also been busy with her new family and wedding plans. When the twittering bridesmaids had descended, Jake had made himself scarce.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, already grown out some from its Army-issue zip cut. Rose would read him the riot act if he didn’t offer her friend a place to stay. But she was on her honeymoon for a week or so, which would leave him with too many days of goggle-eyed attitude, worship and questions from the Howard children. What he’d get from Lia was anyone’s guess.

Jake kept his mouth shut, not so sure he wanted to find out.

Lia had taken another sniff of Howie. “It’s not that bad. You should come along so we don’t impose on Mr. Robbin more than we already have.”

Howie’s face fell. “But I stink.”

She gave him a stern look. “Not that bad. You’re mostly smelling Mr. Robbin.”

Howie looked at Jake, hoping for help.

He shrugged. If Lia was going to be stubborn, he wouldn’t insist.

Now she was looking doubtfully at his heavy-duty pickup truck, a GMC Sierra, parked in front of the main house. “You know how to drive a stick?” he asked and tossed her the keys that had been in his pocket when he’d gotten skunked.

She caught them, her expression remaining hesitant even when she nodded. “I can drive a stick. But I need— I need—” Now she was pained. “Money,” she finally blurted. Her face went red. “For the tomato juice. I’ll have to get a lot of the large-size cans to make a bath for…” Her gaze skipped across his chest before pinning itself on his left ear while she said in a rush, “A big man like you.”

“No problem. My wallet’s inside. In fact, if you don’t mind, you can pick up a few groceries for me while you’re at it.” The thought at the back of his mind was that the food was actually for them, but if she was broke, he didn’t want her to feel like a charity case. “Milk, bread, eggs, fruit, hamburger—that kind of stuff. Okay?”

“Okay.” She let out a breath of relief. “I’m happy to help. I owe you for taking one for my son.”

“Forget it.” Jake suppressed the urge to give her one more lingering look. He went inside instead. If he stomped more than usual, it was only because that with all of her darting glances, she’d made him aware of how odd he must look wearing a towel and combat boots.

“I dON’T WANT TO STAY there.” Sam crossed her arms and glowered at the rows of garishly colored boxes of breakfast cereal. “He’s a big grump.”

“Takes one to know one.” Lia put a box of corn flakes into the cart. “Besides, he hasn’t invited us and I doubt that he will.” She worried her lip, reading over the list she’d made of the items that Jake had reeled off while he’d handed her a wad of twenties, more than enough for groceries. The thick lump of cash in her pocket only reminded her how much she’d come to count on Rose’s hospitality as her meager savings had dwindled on the trip north.

“Then where will we go?”

Lia sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Do you have any money left?”

While Lia had tried as best she could to shield the children from their circumstances, Sam was aware. In the past year, she’d heard “I don’t have the money for that” so often from Lia that she no longer asked for luxuries. She’d taken babysitting jobs and saved for months to buy the iPod.

“What if he does? Will you say yes?”

“Sam, please. I don’t know.”

“Well, you’d better decide,” Sam said snottily.

Lia meant to scold her daughter’s tone, but when their eyes met, she read Sam’s distress despite her daughter’s attempt to keep up the tough front. Another piece of Lia’s heart chipped away.

“We’ll be okay,” she soothed. “Rose said rent is cheap in Alouette. If I can find a job, we’ll manage.”

“I can get a job and give you the money.”

“I appreciate the offer, but you’re only fourteen.”

“So? I can work.” Sam unzipped her backpack. “I have thirty-six dollars saved from babysitting. You can have it—to pay for a motel.”

Lia wanted to refuse. She’d promised herself that she’d make it on her own from here on out.

Get real. The only way you’ll make it is with Rose’s help—now Jake’s—and maybe Sam’s babysitting money, too. Her pride hurt, but she’d been humbled before and she could do it again to give the kids the basics of food, shelter, safety. And eventually, she hoped, a better life.

“Thanks, honey,” Lia said. “I may need a loan, but you hold on to your money for now.”

Sam clutched the backpack. “I don’t want to stay in those stinky cabins.” Her voice was shrill.

“We’ll see.” Fighting to stay on an even keel despite her daughter’s pushing, Lia rolled the cart into the next aisle. She met up with Howie and Kristen, who’d gone to get milk and eggs.

Howie put the cartons in the wire buggy. “I got two percent—is that okay, Mom?”

Kristen had glimpsed the cereal boxes around the corner. “Mommy, Mommy, Mom.” She grabbed at Lia’s shirt, untucking it again. “Can we have Honey-bear Crunch? Pleeese?”

Something a little like hysteria crawled up Lia’s throat. At four ninety-five a box? she wanted to screech. She pried her hand off the cart handle and took her daughter’s shoulder to aim her at the toothpaste-and-soap aisle. Nothing there she’d want. “No cereal. We’re not shopping for ourselves this time.”

“Mr. Bubble!” Kristen took off like a shot.

“Howie?”

“I’ll get her, Mom.” He trudged after his sister.

Sam was staring at the floor. “Can we go now?”

Lia consulted the list. “Just a few more things.”

“Mo-om. Come on, already.” Sam stamped a clog. “I hate this stupid town. Why did you bring us here?” When Lia didn’t answer, she flung herself into the next aisle.