The Family Solution

“So you’re stuck with the lease payments.”

“Right. And the mortgage, and the rent, and the overdue invoices, and the credit-card debt. And he knew the business was doomed.” She could hear a hint of hysteria creeping into her voice. “There’s my kids’ dental bills, groceries, school fees…”

He whistled. “Gordon sounds like someone you’re well rid of.”

“Thank you. You’re a very perceptive man.” Bella realized she was smiling at him, and quickly scowled instead. What did she know about him, really?

“I still have contacts, and I could probably help you find him if you wanted to.”

Now that was interesting. “You could? I really want to get that Volvo back. As far as Gordon goes, he can stay lost for all I care. But I think it’s a case of find him, find the car.”

“Where do you figure he is?”

“Mexico. He lived down there before we were married, and he’s fluent in Spanish.” It was one thing they’d had in common, their interest in the language. In fact, it was how they’d met, at a night-school class. He’d taught her how to swear in Spanish.

“Write down all the particulars.”

She grabbed a pad and pen and scribbled down age, weight, height and name.

“Big country. Any location come to mind?”

“West coast, I’d guess. He spent time in the Puerto Vallarta area before we were married. And we went there for our honeymoon.”

Bella handed him the paper, with Gordon’s full name and description, and the Volvo’s license plate number and color.

“I’ll need a photo.”

“Damn, I tore them all up and burned them.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Kidding. Okay, I can hunt one up.”

“A minute ago you were looking at me as if I was pulling a con.” Charlie laughed at her surprised expression. “You know, your face really is an open book.”

He pulled out his wallet. “Here’s my driver’s license, my Realtor’s ID, my social insurance number. I’ll give you my brother’s cell number, my mother’s name and my home address. You’re welcome to check me out. In fact, being a former cop, I’d recommend you do exactly that.”

Bella glanced at the pile of cards, but only for a moment.

“I don’t need these. All I have to do is call my mother and give her your name and she’ll know everything about you in ten minutes, including whether or not you dye your hair. She has an amazing network of blue-haired sleuths.”

He stuck his wallet back in his pocket. “Whatever works for you. I just want you to know I’m a man of my word.”

“Yeah? Well, it doesn’t run in the family, then.” Bella’s voice hardened. “I told your brother up front I was selling my own house, and he said no problem—he’d help me with pricing. Public service, he said. And then he sent every real-estate person in Greater Vancouver after me.”

Charlie nodded. “Rick tends to be a bit overenthusiastic about his work.”

“No kidding.” A customer had come in, but for the moment he was browsing among the nails and screws. “How did you end up working for him? I mean, wouldn’t it be less stressful with strangers?”

Charlie glanced at the customer and lowered his voice. “Probably. Unfortunately, no other person recognized my incredible potential.”

“You couldn’t get a job anywhere else.”

His smile was rueful. “You could say that. So, Bella Monroe, what’s your decision on my really excellent proposal?”

She looked at him seriously. She knew you couldn’t tell by a person’s appearance whether he was honest or not, but you could tell whether or not he might recognize the business end of a shovel and a hammer.

She liked the way Charlie met her eyes and held her gaze. His face was weathered, good-humored and lived-in, with smile lines radiating out from his mouth and bracketing his eyes. She liked the fact that he looked strong and that his nails weren’t manicured—in fact, several of them were cracked and all of them were cut short. His big hands looked as if he’d done his share of manual labor. And he didn’t have any sign of a potbelly, the soft, little kind that Gordon had been working on.

Quite emphatically not. This guy’s body tapered in quite an interesting fashion down from his significant chest, inside its checked green shirt, into narrow blue jeans worn low on his hips. Not designer jeans; these looked more like the kind you bought at the Army and Navy. Utilitarian.

She said slowly, “I guess we could give it a try. When would you start?”

He shrugged. “No time like the present. I could go over to your place right now, take some measurements in that bathroom and figure out what we’re going to need in the way of materials.” He glanced around. “You’ve probably got most of the stuff we’ll need right here. I can pick up the rest at Foster’s.”

She gave him a look. “Wash your mouth. I’d drive to Richmond for an hour in rush-hour traffic to buy a single washer rather than shop at Foster’s. They’re the reason I’m being forced out of business. A small hardware store like this can’t compete with a big-box store like that.”

He shrugged. “A guy I know says we never know what anything is for. Maybe what seems a disaster for you right now might turn out okay in the long run.”

“Oh, yeah? My mother has some of those sayings, too, such as, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Which makes me want to be sick.”

His laugh was low and deep and even gentle, and sounded as if he meant it. As if he was genuinely amused. But amused or not, there was no way she was handing over house keys to a relative stranger. She told him so.

“I can understand that—it’s wise on your part. How about I go over there and assess the landscaping issue, then? I didn’t take a close look the other day, but I did get the general impression it was sort of like an undeveloped parking lot.”

“The guy who was building it went bankrupt before he could finish. My soon-to-be ex wanted to live in a posh neighborhood, and that about sums it up.” What harm could it do to have him look around outside? “I’ll be home in—” She squinted at the clock. “Less than an hour. My kids should be there around the same time. We can make a list of supplies, then. Do you happen to have a pickup?” Monroe’s had people with trucks who would deliver orders, but using them was expensive.

“I do, lived-in but reliable. See you in an hour.”

The minute he was gone, she had second thoughts. If Charlie did what he said and she managed to sell the house, she’d be too busy finding a place to rent and getting settled to do much painting for him. And how many houses was he talking about here? Just the three he’d mentioned, or had she just made a commitment that could last the rest of her natural life?

The good thing was she hadn’t signed anything.

The bad thing; neither had he.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN SHE DROVE up to her house an hour later, a battered old blue Ford pickup was parked at the curb and a red wheelbarrow was positioned beside Charlie Fredricks, who was already digging, turning over clods of earth and putting them into the barrow.

“Hey,” he called cheerfully. He’d stripped off his green shirt and put on a ratty old, long-sleeved tee. His pants were different, too—jeans still, but old and holey in the knees. He’d changed into brown, well-worn work boots.

“What are you doing?” She eyed the growing pile of clods.

“Making a berm, first one over there and then we’ll see.” His voice was excited, eager. “You have to imagine a garden as a series of rooms. I thought we’d make this the entrance hall, raised beds of flowers, trees along here to shelter the sidewalk…Which is going to be shaped irregularly, winding slowly to the front door. It makes it interesting for guests. And it’s good feng shui.”

Entrance hall? Feng shui? She glanced at him, thinking he must be joking, but he looked as serious as he ever did—which wasn’t very. His face was so good-humored that he always seemed on the verge of a smile. Bella told herself she found that irritating. Nobody could be in a good mood all the time.

“Your youngsters are in the house. I suggested they might want to help, but they weren’t too enthusiastic.”