through the lunch rush at her sister Clara’s café, or manned the counter at her half sister Jody’s flower shop, Elise could almost lose heart. She was deeply disappointed in herself.
Because it wasn’t the fire that had ruined her life. She’d been in trouble long before the idiot tenants who leased a shop on the ground floor had disabled the fire alarms and then left a hot plate turned on in the back room when they slipped out to run errands. By then, bad choices had already brought Elise to the brink of ruin. The fire had only slathered a thick helping of frosting on her own personal disaster cake.
Elise was one of four siblings. She had five half siblings. Of the nine children of Franklin Bravo, Elise was the only one who’d blown through her very generous inheritance. Shame dogged her for every one of her stupid choices in life, in love and in business. She was circling the drain and she didn’t really know what to do about it.
Except to hold her head high, work hard and keep moving forward.
* * *
After the lunch rush at the Library Café on that fateful day in June, Elise took off her waitress apron and transferred her tips to her purse. Her sister Clara waved at her as she went out the back door.
It was a warm, sunny day. Elise had walked to the café. Now, she set out on foot along Central Street headed for Jody’s shop, Bloom. It was good exercise, walking. Not to mention, it saved on gas. Walking fast, she could reach Bloom in six minutes and be right on time to give Jody a break at two o’clock.
She made it with a minute to spare. Jody, at the counter with a customer, glanced over at the sound of the bell. “There you are.”
“What? Am I late? I thought we said—”
“You’re not late,” said a voice to Elise’s left. She whipped her head around in surprise as her other half sister popped out from behind a ficus tree and grabbed Elise’s arm. “We need to talk.”
“What the...?” Elise tried to jerk free. “Nell! Let me go.”
But Nell, who worked in construction, had a grip like a sumo wrestler. “Come on in back.”
Elise sent Jody a pleading look as Nell dragged her toward the swinging café doors on the far side of the counter. “Jody, will you tell her to let go of—”
“Hear her out,” Jody interrupted. She was tucking a stunning arrangement of succulents and red anthuriums into one of Bloom’s trademark green-and-pink boxes. “This could be good for you.”
“This? What?” Elise huffed in frustration as Nell knocked the doors wide and dragged Elise into the back room. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”
“This way.” Nell pulled her into Jody’s office and shut the door. “Sit.”
Elise plunked her purse on Jody’s desk. “This is ridiculous.”
“Just sit down and listen.”
“Fine.” Elise dropped into the guest chair. “But Jody has errands to run and she needs me out front.”
“Don’t worry about Jody. She’ll manage without you.” Nell braced a hip against the desk and crossed her arms over her spectacular breasts.
Actually, Nell was spectacular all over. She had legs for days and long, thick auburn hair and lips like Angelina Jolie. A half sleeve of gorgeous ink accentuated her shapely left arm. Elise, on the other hand, possessed neither the style nor the courage to get a tattoo. She had dark brown hair, ordinary lips and a body that was heavier than it used to be due to some serious stress eating since the fire. Really, how could she and the gorgeous creature in front of her possibly share half of the same genes?
Elise and Nell had a difficult history. Recently, they’d healed the old wounds. But Elise still felt guilty about the way she’d treated Nell when Nell’s mother married their father. And lately, with all that had gone wrong in Elise’s life, the guilt was worse than ever. Now, she looked back on her earlier sense of entitlement and verging-on-mean-girl behavior and couldn’t help wondering if she deserved the hard knocks she kept taking.
Still. Nellie had no right to go dragging her all over the place.
Elise folded her own arms tight and hard to match her sister’s pose and demanded, “All right, I’m listening. What do you just have to talk to me about?”
Nell tossed her glorious hair. “A job, that’s what. A lot better job than busting your butt waiting tables for Clara and running the register for Jody.”
“What job?” Elise tried to stay pissed off, mostly in order not to get her hopes up. But still, she could feel it. A sudden pulse of optimism, a lifting sensation under her ribs. She used to love it when she got that feeling. Not anymore. Lately, hope only led to disappointment. She’d had way more than enough of that already, thank you very much.
Nell uncrossed her arms and hitched a long jean-clad leg up on the desk. “This is the deal. Jed Walsh is in need of another assistant.” Jed Walsh, so the story went, had grown up in a one-room cabin on a mountain not far from Justice Creek. He’d moved away right out of high school, eventually becoming the world-famous author of a series of bestselling adventure novels. Several months ago, he’d come back to town.
And yep. There it was. The sinking sensation that came when each new hope was dashed. “Of course Jed Walsh needs a new assistant. He always needs a new assistant. How many has he been through now?” Since his return to town, Walsh’s inability to keep an assistant had become downright legendary.
“Don’t be negative,” her sister muttered.
“Nellie. They run away screaming. He’s that bad.”
“Let me finish. I was at Walsh’s house an hour ago switching out custom hardware and—”
“What are you doing switching out hardware?”
“Stop changing the subject.” Nell worked with their brother Garrett running Bravo Construction. They’d built Walsh’s new house.
“But switching out hardware is way below your pay grade.”
“If you must know, when Jed Walsh wants a tweak or an upgrade, I handle it. He can be annoying and I don’t want him giving our people any crap. And because I was just there at his house, I heard him fire the woman he hired a few days ago.” She leaned toward Elise. “I know you can type, Leesie. I remember you took keyboarding class back in high school and Mrs. Clemo kissed your ass because you were so good at it.”
“So what? I hate typing.”
“Yeah, maybe. But you can do it and do it well. And that’s what Jed Walsh needs. Someone to type his book while he dictates it. The man pays big bucks.”
“Come on. No one ever lasts. They all say he’s a slave driver. And just possibly borderline insane. I’ve heard the stories. He terrorizes them. Seriously, why would I last when no one else has?”
“Because it’s a lot of money.”
“Not if I run away screaming, it’s not.”
“You’re not running anywhere. You’ll be the one who lasts.”
