Barefoot Season

“I was pregnant. I didn’t think I had much of a choice. I wanted to avoid being a single mother.” She gave a hollow laugh. “Not that it made a difference.”

She walked to the counter, then turned back. The distance seemed necessary. “Here’s the part I don’t get. You’re not even sorry you slept with him. You never once apologized. You were supposed to be my friend.”

“So were you.”

“What did I do?”

Michelle studied her for a long time. “Aside from having a convenient memory, nothing, I guess.”

She was obviously bitter about something, but Carly couldn’t figure what. She’d been the one betrayed by the two people she should have been able to trust. Talk about a convenient memory.

“I’m sorry my mother lied to you about the inn.”

Carly opened her mouth, then closed it. “All right,” she said cautiously, not sure she wasn’t being set up.

“I mean it. It was never hers and she used that to keep you around. Neither of us is surprised by that, but it’s still wrong.”

“Thank you.”

Michelle nodded.

“He left it to you in a trust?” Carly asked.

“Until I was twenty-five. Brenda kept running it after that. I would rather have had him than this,” she said, raising her glance to the ceiling. “He didn’t give me the option.”

Carly thought about pointing out she’d lost her mother at the same time, with equally devastating consequences, but didn’t want to spoil their very tenuous détente.

“I’ll stay,” Carly told her. “I’m happy to sign an employment agreement.”

“For two years?”

Which was a whole lot longer than she’d expected. She wasn’t sure they could work together for two years. But she was willing to try.

She nodded.

“I’m giving you a raise,” Michelle told her. “It won’t be much at first, but as soon as we’re on better financial footing, it will be more.”

Like Carly believed that. “Okay.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’ve heard it before.”

“I’m not Brenda.”

“I’m not a lot of things but that doesn’t stop you from not trusting me.”

Michelle surprised her by smiling. “Point taken. I’ll put it in writing.” The smile faded. “You’re going to bite my head off, but I have to ask. Why don’t you have your dad’s house? Shouldn’t you be living there rather than here?”

“I sold the house. It was Allen’s idea.” Her shiny new husband had convinced her they needed something bigger for their growing family. She’d foolishly agreed, accepting his plan for them to sell it first and then go looking for something else.

“He took off with all the money two days after we closed escrow. Every penny. It was in a joint account, making it community property. The cops patted me on the head and told me I was pretty enough to find another husband, but to be a little smarter next time.”

She raised her chin slightly, waiting for the blow.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s it? No emotional punch? No low blows?”

“I’m having an off day.” Michelle pushed off the wall and limped toward her. The grayness was back, along with an air of weariness. “We have to talk about the inn. Who’s going to work where. I’d like to do that tomorrow.”

“Sure. Oh, I spoke with some people a couple of days ago. Psychologists. They have some kind of seminar in the area. A marriage retreat. They want to rent three rooms a week, Tuesday to Thursday, through the summer. I’ve checked the reservations and we have openings. I wanted to talk to you before I agreed.”

“Tell them no problem. We need the money.”

“I’ll call this afternoon.” She hesitated. “Do you need to take a pill or something?”

“I look that bad, huh? I’ll be fine. Everything hurts. It’s going to hurt for a long time.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“Anything.”

“With you?” She laughed. “No.”

“If you change your mind…”

“I won’t. Even if you mean it, you couldn’t handle it.” The laughter faded. “I’m not a project, Carly. I’m your boss. If you remember that, we’ll get along fine.”

She turned and limped out.

Carly watched her go, torn between bitter anger and really annoying empathy. While she resented Michelle and the inherent unfairness of the situation, she could see her point. Michelle was her boss. The fact that they’d once been friends didn’t seem to matter.

As for what Michelle had been through—she had a feeling it was worse than anything Carly could imagine. Maybe understanding wasn’t possible, but a little compassion couldn’t hurt.

She sighed. Who was she kidding—it would hurt a lot. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try.

Eight

“Why’d your mother name you Mango?” Michelle asked in a gasp, her breath coming in pants. “Was it a fruit thing? Do you have a sister named Nectarine?”

Jolts of agony ripped through her hip, up her side and down her leg. Mango, a tall, dangerous-looking, dark-haired guy with the heart and soul of the devil, grinned.

“It’s a family name,” he said easily, adding tension to the machine. “Five more.”

Her sweat-slicked hands slipped on the grips.