Somebody Like You (4 page)

“I’d love that, Mrs. Willis.”

“Dottie, please. Have a seat.” She bustled about the small room, pouring two glasses of cold milk and fussing with a delicate porcelain salver of cookies, the chips melted and gooey still.

When Annelise reached for one, Dottie stopped her by grasping her hand. She turned it over and studied the blisters. “You poor dear. What was Cash thinking? I’m gonna have to turn that boy over my knee. Give me a minute.”

She left the room.

Annelise mourned the few seconds Dottie was gone because it meant postponing the cookie tasting. She couldn’t ever remember a banquet as appealing as this simple snack. But then, she couldn’t remember ever being quite this hungry. Manual labor certainly improved the appetite.

Down the hall, she heard something drop to the floor, followed by a muffled oath. Then Dottie hustled back into the room, scattering her first-aid paraphernalia over the center island.

“Okay, dear, let’s see those palms again.” She snagged her dangling glasses, set them on her nose, and went to work on Annelise’s ill-used hands. She cleaned each one, then covered them with Neosporin.

The sting instantly disappeared. Annelise could have kissed her.

“There,” she said. “That’ll keep the blisters from getting infected and make them feel a bit better.”

Annelise found herself fighting back unexpected—and unwanted—tears. This woman, a virtual stranger, tended her without expecting anything in return.

“Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome. Now eat your cookies and ask what you came to ask.”

She blew out a breath, just like that having been put back on an even keel by Dottie. True, she’d found this place on the Internet, but, without being aware of that, Cash had known instinctively this was exactly where she needed to be right now when he’d thought of this as the place for her to stay.

Fighting to organize her thoughts, she chewed her lower lip, a habit her mother detested.
Never show nerves or weakness.
In the world according to Georgia, lip-chewing did both.

“Okay, Dottie, first things first, I guess. I didn’t bring much with me.”

“On that Harley of yours? I’d guess not,” her landlady replied.

“Right. Anyway, the clothes I wore to the ranch today stink to high heaven. Where do I get them done?”

“Done?” She tipped her head. “You mean where do you do your laundry?”

Annelise swallowed. “Yes. I guess that’s what I mean.”

Oh, brother. Nobody in town did laundry? Another new experience coming up.

“’Fraid there’s no washer or dryer upstairs. No room for them. Mabel’s Suds and Dry is on the north corner of Main Street, though, and she runs a nice clean place.” Her eyes narrowed on Annelise, who’d reached for a second cookie. “For tonight, why don’t you bring them on down? I’ll toss them in for you. You look plumb tuckered out.”

Oh, she wanted to. It would be nice to let this grandmotherly soul pick up the slack for her. But, Annelise couldn’t. “That’s okay. I appreciate it, but I have to get groceries anyway, so I’ll do it all at the same time.”

“Nonsense. It’ll take you twice as long. You run upstairs now and get them.”

“They’re filthy.”

“Imagine they are. From the looks of those hands of yours, you worked the business end of a pitchfork most of the day. Tossing manure tends to make your clothes want to get up and walk away. But believe me, my machine’s seen worse.”

“I seriously doubt that. Put those clothes of mine in your machine, and you may never be able to use it again.”

She flicked a hand at Annelise. “Do as I say. Then you can ask the rest of your questions while I get them started.”

Annelise gave in. Heading upstairs, she walked straight to the bedroom and scooped the offending articles off the floor. Not wanting to get too near them, she stuffed them in a plastic bag from a convenience store she’d stopped at for lunch the other day.

She shook her head, wondering when a cellophane-wrapped sandwich, a bag of chips, and a soda had come to constitute a meal. But when in Rome—

Back downstairs, Dottie opened the louvered doors to her antiquated laundry. She held the bag over the washer and dumped in the whole mess. Then her hand dipped into the tub and came back out with a lacey bra and thong.

“Whew! Pretty expensive looking little thingamabobs. Don’t know I’ve ever seen anything prettier. Can they be machine-washed?”

“I don’t see why not,” Annelise said.

“Okay.” Dottie sounded skeptical, but she added detergent and softener, then closed the lid and turned the dial to start the machine.

Annelise watched carefully, tucking the procedure away for when she made her first trip to Mabel’s. As much as it pained her to admit it, she’d never done a load of laundry. A silent, invisible army of household help ensured she had clean undies, pressed clothes, fresh linens on her bed, and on and on.

Even on the road, she hadn’t needed to worry about it. Her sorority sister’s housekeeper had washed some things for her before she’d left, and one of the hotels she’d stayed at had laundry service.

Embarrassed heat flushed her face. She’d taken so much for granted. Well, no more. She could and would take care of herself.

“Finish your milk and ask away, sweetie.” Dottie sat back down at the table, snagging a cookie for herself.

“I think you’ve managed to answer all but one question already.” She fidgeted in her chair. “I wondered if it would be all right if I painted the rooms upstairs.”

“Honey, I flat out love you.” Dottie grinned. “That place needs a fresh coat of paint worse than an orphaned puppy needs a home. If you don’t mind doing the work, I’ll be more than happy to buy the paint.”

Annelise laughed. “That’s okay. I can afford it.” She caught the dubious look on her landlady’s face. “Honest.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m positive. Despite the fact that I went off to work today, money isn’t a problem. I must be really looking down on my luck, though, because Cash tried to give me an advance this morning.”

“You’re a puzzle is what you are, dear. I know enough to realize that motorcycle you’re riding cost some major money. I’m also honest enough to admit the place upstairs isn’t the Ritz.”

“No.” One corner of Annelise’s mouth turned up in a half smile. “I’ve stayed there, and you’re right. My new home isn’t the Ritz. That said, there are things here in Maverick Junction I can’t find at the Ritz.”

“Such as?”

It irritated her no end that Cash Hardeman and his dancing green eyes were the first things to pop into her head.

The irritation must have shown on her face. Dottie laughed and winked, too perceptive by half.

Annelise bit the inside of her cheek and answered, “The most important? Freedom to be me. When you’re at a place like the Ritz, there are expectations. Here, no one expects anything from me, except maybe a hard day’s work for my pay. And I like that. The people here are friendly and unassuming. And, the Ritz doesn’t come with your cookies.”

Dottie patted her hand. “Are you running from someone, dear, or from yourself?”

Annelise pulled her hand away. Cash had asked basically the same question. She had to be careful because, despite the fact she’d initially started this trip for her grandfather, she’d soon realized she was on a quest for herself, too. To discover if people liked her, Annelise Montjoy, for herself, or if it was simply her money and what she could do for them that attracted them to her. And wasn’t that sad?

She couldn’t screw it up by revealing her true identity—not even to Dottie. If she did, she’d never have a chance at an untainted relationship with the townspeople—their view of her would be colored by preconceived notions about her, about her life, and about her family. Her money.

Despite her sweet grandmotherly appearance, Dottie was one very intuitive lady, and Annelise didn’t want her anywhere near the truth.

“I…I’m not running from anyone, Dottie. I just…I wanted to get away from—” She broke off a piece of her cookie and crumbled it. “I was in a dead-end job.”

That was true enough, she supposed. She was stuck in the family business. Like it or not, at some point in the future, she’d be expected to pick up the reins. No options. She felt almost claustrophobic at times.

She met Dottie’s eyes. “I have something I need to do. And a nice bonus has been finding a place where I can try something totally different while I’m doing it.”

Her landlady studied her a moment. “Well, if I’m not missing my mark, I’d say you succeeded.”

“And then some,” she said. Time to move this discussion away from her. “About the paint.” She ran a hand up and down her milk glass. “I don’t want white.”

“Okay.”

“I mean, I love color.”

“Good for you.” Dottie reached behind her for a small plate on the counter. “Try one of these.”

The pale pink dish held more cookies, but they weren’t the chocolate chip variety.

“Oh, but I already had—”

“One more won’t hurt you. You’re skinny as a rail. Besides, you’re my guinea pig. This is a new recipe, and before I run them over to Vonda for the bazaar, I need a second opinion. Go ahead.” She nudged the plate closer to her. “See if they taste okay.”

Annelise reached for one, bit into it, and sighed. “Dottie, any time you need a guinea pig, I’m your girl.” Cinnamon mixed with coconut and vanilla all wrapped up in a shortbread texture. Pure ambrosia.

She waved the half-eaten cookie. “If you don’t like my color choices or if they’ll make the apartment hard to rent when I leave, I can always redo them.”

Dottie looked up from the sink where she’d started drawing dishwater. “Leave? Land sakes, I hope that won’t be for a long time to come.”

“Me, too.” And Annelise realized how much she meant that. Right now, she was feeling slightly, okay, a lot, off-center, but she’d get her feet under her. She’d secretly check on the leads Ron found, then find a way to talk her great-aunt into being tested—if she was still alive or ever existed. Maybe after that, she could enjoy some time simply being Annelise. Steal a little time to live life her way, by her rules where money wasn’t the be-all, end-all. And she’d do it privately, rather than under a microscope.

Dottie nodded. “If you look around, you’ll see I don’t cotton much for white.”

Annelise smiled. “I noticed. But, ah, pink’s not really my thing, either.”

“That’s okay. It’d be a pretty boring world if everybody wanted exactly the same, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am. It sure would be.” She cleared her throat. “I’d like to pick up some different furniture, too.”

Dottie chuckled. “What’s up there’s not your style, huh?”

Annelise pictured the broken-down couch, the lawn chair, the rickety kitchen table, and winced. “Not exactly.”

“Can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that. Roger Barry lived there before you. He filled the place with whatever he could find. His daughter came and got him ’bout two months ago. Took him to live with her and her husband. They left all that stuff behind, not that I blame them.”

She put the leftover cookies on one platter and covered them with plastic wrap. “I had Stella come in and give the place a good cleaning, but that’s about all. Hadn’t really made up my mind what I was gonna do up there. Figured I’d advertise it, see if I had any takers before I decided. Anything you don’t want, we’ll have my neighbor Curtis and his son take care of. I reckon most of it probably needs to go to the dump. Anything worth keeping can be stored in the shed out back.”

Dottie wiped a few stray crumbs off the counter. “Not that I want to get rid of you, but you’d better get going. Night’s not getting any younger. I’ll slip in and put your clothes on the table when they’re done if that’s okay.”

“Absolutely. And thank you, Dottie.”

“Don’t mention it.” She patted her arm.

Purse in hand, Annelise stepped outside just as Cash’s big blue Caddy slid into the driveway. Country music pierced the nighttime quiet.

“Hey, Annie!”

She winced.
Annie?

“For the umpteenth time, my name is Annelise.” She hesitated. Didn’t she want to escape her rigid, straitlaced, Annelise world behind for a bit?

Annie could be anybody she wanted. Annie could live in a second-story apartment with secondhand furniture and work on a ranch scooping poop. Annie could ride a Harley.

Annie. A good name. One that spoke of independence.

“What’s going on in that head, Annie? You left me for a minute there.”

She swallowed the quick laugh. Like she had anything to say about the name. Cash Hardeman would call her whatever he wanted. What the heck? She threw him a smile, one meant to dazzle. “Not a thing. What can I do for you?”

“Didn’t get a chance to see you before you left the ranch today, so I thought I’d stop by to make sure you’re okay. Hank said he pushed you pretty hard.”

“He did, but I’m fine.” She wavered a few seconds, then decided there was no sense beating around the bush. “Do you pay house calls to all your new hires?”

He paused just long enough that she knew he was considering a lie.

“No. No, I don’t.”

Ah, an honest man.

“I only visit new ones who are female—”

She knew he saw the flash in her eyes because his hand shot up.

“Let me finish before you light into me. Only new hires who are female and new to town. I was worried about how you fared.”

She wanted to hold on to a thread of anger but couldn’t. Instead, she asked, “And how many of us are there in that club?”

“You’d be the first and founding member.”

Then, as Mrs. Willis had done earlier, he turned her hands over, palms up, and studied them. “I’m sorry.” His voice was gruff. “Hank shouldn’t have—”

“Treated me differently from any of your other workers? I’m hired help, Cash.” Her stomach dropped as she spoke the words, but she went on. “I don’t expect any special treatment.”

These blisters were, in a very real way, her badge of honor.

“Still,” Cash argued. “He could have broken you in a little slower.”

“Well, he didn’t, and I survived. Besides, Hank did offer me a pair of gloves which I stupidly declined.”

He grinned and chucked her on the chin. “Coming back for round two?”