Winning Sara's Heart. Mary Anne WilsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
mother had died. That was it for Ray. There had been women now and then over the years, but as Ray said, “None worth bringing home.” He faced Ray and nodded to the door. “I’m leaving.”
“I’m walking you out.”
The two men went together through the sprawling main house, their boot heels clicking in unison on the terra-cotta floors of the heavily beamed, adobe-walled rooms.
“You want me to come with you?” Ray asked as they crossed the great room, which was done in a southwestern decor and took up the center of the house and cut toward the back of the building.
“No, just take care of things here, and don’t volunteer me for anything else.”
“There was one other thing,” Ray said as they got to the side exit, the one that led across a stone patio to a helicopter pad beyond a breadth of rolling lawn. “But it can wait.”
E. J. didn’t open the door, even though he could hear the throaty vibration of the helicopter ready to take him to Houston. He turned to look at his father. He didn’t remember much about his mother, except her voice when she sang to music, but Ray had been the rock in his life. They’d been in the oil fields together, worked side by side, and when he’d “struck it rich,” Ray had been there. But over the years, he’d learned to never let a casual “one other thing” pass unchallenged.
“Spill it,” E. J. said.
“You gotta go, Sonny. You said you didn’t want to be late for the meeting this morning.”
“Don’t call me Sonny,” he said tightly. “And I’m not going until you tell me everything.”
Ray shrugged. “I sort of told them you might be able to get some of your friends to come to the ball.”
E. J. rolled his eyes and sighed with exasperation. “Dad, for the love of—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ray said quickly. “I can make some calls and ask them to—”
“No,” he said quickly.
“But they’ll expect—”
“No! Just tell me that’s it, that you didn’t offer me for anything else.”
“Just that you’ll participate in a few things.”
This was going from bad to worse. “Like what?”
“An auction they’re going to have.”
“And?”
“That’s it. Everything.”
“Nothing else?”
Ray spread both hands palms-up to his son. “I swear.”
E. J. shook his head. “No more volunteering me for anything. Got it?”
“Got it,” Ray said.
“Okay, I’ll be back in a few days. If anything comes up—” he paused, looking his dad right in the eye “—anything, you call me.”
“Absolutely,” Ray said with a nod, then held out his hand. “Can you leave the key to the SUV? My truck’s acting up and I need to do a few things while you’re gone.”
“Sure, but get the spare key from the drawer in my dressing room. I can’t find the original anywhere.”
“Okay. Have a good trip, Sonny,” Ray said.
“That’s the plan,” he said as he opened the door and the throaty engine of the helicopter made the air around them vibrate. He hurried out onto the patio and jogged toward the waiting helicopter. Damn it, he loved his dad, but he never knew what he’d get them into. Or get him into. This had turned out to be a rough deal, from leaks to miscommunication, and probably the decided perception the top brass at LynTech had about him. Truth be told, if Jackson Ford hadn’t been there to talk him into reinstating the negotiations, this would have been over long ago.
He ducked low, climbed into the passenger seat of the helicopter and nodded to his pilot, Rick Barnes, who handed him a headset. He slipped it on and spoke into the mouthpiece. “Any word from Martin?” he asked Rick.
“He’s in Houston already and will meet you at the car when you get there. He’s got all the papers.”
E. J. nodded, then, as the motor’s rpms increased and the helicopter took off, he glanced back at the house. Ray was still there, lifting a hand toward him, and he waved back. Ray’s assurance that there were no more surprises waiting for him in Houston hadn’t rung true, but he hadn’t had the time to dig. When he got back, he’d straighten everything out, including his dad.
SARA HURRIED INTO THE BACK of the restaurant, past Hughes’s office and into the small room used for employee lockers. She quickly changed from her waitress uniform to jeans, a pink T-shirt and running shoes. “Wear something comfortable,” Mary had told her last night when she’d called to check to make sure Sara would be bringing Hayley into the center before going to the restaurant for her shift. “Nothing good. Fingerpaint tends to find its way onto everything.”
Sara had dropped Hayley off at the center before her shift, and was relieved when her daughter had been thrilled with the array of toys in the playroom, a wonderful climbing tree in the center of the space, with “tree houses” off in each corner. She’d squealed at a huge black-and-white pet rat in a fancy cage decorated with ribbons and with the plaque reading Charlie that hung over the door.
The three-year-old had barely spared Sara a hug when Sara had said she was leaving, but she’d be back. “She’ll do just fine,” Mary had said with a smile as Hayley ran off with a group of kids. “And we’ll see you when your shift is done.”
Sara had fought the urge to check on Hayley on her break, but now she was anxious to get over to the center. She tugged the pins out of her hair, freeing it from the knot, then she turned to the mirror by the stand of metal lockers. She was shocked to see she was actually smiling. It seemed forever since she’d smiled for no reason. She smoothed her hair, tugged the T-shirt down, then gathered her things, pushed them in her backpack and headed out of the room.
Ten minutes later, she was entering Just for Kids. At the moment it was a quiet space, with soft music playing through hidden speakers. In the main playroom, murals of children holding hands and laughing hung on the wall, and soft carpet covered the floor where the real children lay on colorful pads at the base of the huge, handmade, paper tree. Mary was sitting on the floor with her back against the trunk, her eyes closed. A large storybook lay open on her lap. The child was lying on her stomach on a bright pink pad, sleeping.
Mary must have sensed Sara’s presence, because her eyes opened, then she held a finger to her lips. She got to her feet and smoothed her navy dress. “Nap time,” she whispered, crossing to Sara and smiling. “We don’t want to shorten it in any way. Hayley just wore herself out, but she had a good time, I think.”
Sara looked at her daughter, a tiny child for three, with blond hair, slightly flushed cheeks and dressed in pink overalls. “I bet she did.”
Mary glanced at a helper Sara had met before, a sixteen-year-old girl, who wore black jeans and a black top with Whatever splashed in gold across the front. Even her hair was black and caught in two pigtails. She was helping at the center during her summer break from school, and was a daughter of one of LynTech’s executives. “Mallory, keep an eye on things?” Mary asked in a hushed voice. The girl nodded and sat down where Mary had been.
“Come on into the office where we can talk,” Mary whispered, then turned and led the way to the back of the room and down a short hallway. “We can talk in here,” Mary said as she closed the door to Lindsey Holden’s office and crossed to a desk that was over-flowing with papers.
She sat down and motioned for Sara to do the same. “What a mess,” she said, looking at the papers that littered the desk. “This charity ball is nothing but work,” she said.
“It sounds