setting something up for this afternoon. If not sooner.” Daisy turned back to the phone and Susan felt a sense of doom settling over her.
* * *
That afternoon, Susan climbed out of her car in front of Sam’s modern-day mansion on the edge of Rescue River, grabbed her portfolio, and headed up the sidewalk, all the while arguing with God. “Daisy says You’ll make a way where there is no way, but what if I don’t like Your way? And I can say for sure that Sam Hinton isn’t going to like my way, so this is a waste of time I could be—”
The double front doors swung open. She caught a glimpse of a high-ceilinged entryway, a mahogany table full of framed photos and a spectacular, sparkling chandelier, but it was Sam Hinton who commanded her attention. He stood watching her approach, wearing a sleeves-rolled-up white dress shirt and jeans, arms crossed, legs apart.
Talk about a man and his castle. And those arms! Was he a bodybuilder in his spare time or what?
“Thanks for coming.” He extended one massive hand to her.
She reached out and shook it, ignoring the slight breathlessness she felt. This was Sam, Daisy’s super-traditional businessman of a brother, not America’s next male model. “No problem. Daisy thought it would be a good idea.”
“Yes. She had me squeeze you in, but you should know that I’m interviewing several other candidates today.”
“No problem.” Was God going to let her off this easy?
“It seems like a lot of people are interested in the job, probably because I’m paying well for a summer position.” He ushered her in.
“How well?”
He threw a figure over his shoulder as he led her into an oak-lined office in the front of the house, and Susan’s jaw dropped.
Twice as much as she’d ever hoped to make waitressing. She could send Donny to camp and her mom to the spa. Maybe even pay for another graduate course.
Okay, God—and Daisy—You were right. It’s the perfect job for me.
He gestured her into the seat in front of his broad oak desk, and Susan felt a pang of nostalgia. Her dad had done the exact same thing when he wanted to talk to her about some infraction of his rules. Only his desk had just been an old door on a couple of sawhorses in the basement. How he would have loved a home office like this one.
“I don’t know if you’ve met Mindy, but she has some...limitations.” His jaw jutted out as if he was daring her to make a comment.
“If you think of them that way.” The words were out before she could weigh the wisdom of saying them, and she shouldn’t have, but come on! The child was missing a hand, not a heart or a set of lungs.
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “I think I know my child better than you do. Have you even met Mindy?”
Rats, rats, rats. Would she ever learn to shut her big mouth? “I teach at Mindy’s school, so I’ve been the recess and lunchroom monitor during her kindergarten year. I know about her hand. But of course, you know her better, you’re her father.”
Sam was eyeing her with a level glare.
“We have a sign up at school that reads, ‘Argue for your limitations, and sure enough, they’re yours.’ I think it’s Richard Bach. I just meant...it’s an automatic response.” Stop talking, Susan. God might have a nice plan for her, but she was perfectly capable of ruining nice plans. She’d done it all her life. She fumbled in her portfolio. “Here’s my résumé.”
He took it, glanced over it. Then looked more closely. “You’ve done coursework on physical disabilities? Graduate coursework?”
“Yeah. I’m working on my master’s in special ed. Bit by bit.”
“Why not go back full-time? At least summers? Why are you looking to work instead?”
“Quite frankly, I have a mother and brother to help support.” Hello, Mr. Rich Guy, everyone’s not rolling in money like you are.
“Doesn’t the district pay for your extra schooling?”
“Six credits per year, which is two classes. I’ve used mine up.”
He was studying her closely, as if she was a bug pinned on the wall. Or as if she was a woman he was interested in, but she was absolutely certain that couldn’t be. “I see.” He nodded. “Well, I’m not sure this would be the job for you anyway. I go out in the evenings pretty often.”
“Really?” She opened her mouth to say more and then clamped it closed. Shut up, you want this job.
“I know, being young and adventurous, you must go out a lot yourself.”
“Don’t make assumptions. That’s not what I was thinking.” She looked away from him, annoyed.
“What were you thinking?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Try me.”
“I was thinking: you work super long hours, right? And you go out in the evenings. So...when do you spend time with your daughter?”
* * *
Sam stared at Susan as her question hung in the air between them. “When do I...? Look. If you’ve already decided I’m a terrible parent, this isn’t going to work.”
Truthfully, her words uncovered the guilt that consumed him as an overworked single dad. He hated how much time he had to spend away from Mindy. Half the time, he hated dating, too, but he’d promised Marie that he’d remarry so that Mindy wouldn’t be raised without a mother in the home. Probably, she’d made him promise because she knew how much he worked and feared that Mindy would be raised by babysitters if he didn’t remarry.
Well, he’d changed and was trying to change more, but he’d made a promise—not just about remarrying, but about what type of mom Mindy needed, actually—and he intended to keep it. Which didn’t mean this snippy schoolteacher had the right to condemn him.
“Look, I’m sorry. It’s not my place to judge and I don’t know your situation. Ask Daisy, I’m way too outspoken and it always gets me into trouble.” Her face was contrite and her apology sounded sincere. “The thing is, I know kids and I’m good with them. If you’re struggling, either with her disability or with...other issues, I could help. Build up her self-esteem, encourage her independence.” Those pretty, almond-shaped brown eyes looked a little bit shiny, as if she was holding back tears. “Don’t turn me down just because I’m mouthy, if you think I’d be a help to Mindy.”
She was right. And he was a marshmallow around women who looked sad, especially seriously cute ones like Susan. “It’s okay.”
And it was okay. He recognized already that his burst of anger had more to do with his own guilty feelings than with her comment. But that didn’t mean he had to hire her.
The doorbell chimed, making them both jump. “That’s probably my next interview. I’m sorry.” He stood. “Here’s your résumé back.”
