Sweet Justice (14 page)

Katelyn frowned. “What number?”

“I can't remember the number, but you'd written it in hot pink on a corner newspaper. There wasn't a name with it. You need to—”

Her sister tossed her head. “Oh, that. I've saved it in my phone contacts. You can toss it. And I know. Write the name and the number... I'm not an idiot. It was my legs that were messed up, not my brain.”

Then use that lump in between your ears sometimes
, Mallory was tempted to say.

A knock at the door serendipitously interrupted her before she could give voice to her gripe. Mallory stood up, called out a “Coming!” and smiled down at her sister. “I've got a delish batch of fluffy balls, as Ma calls 'em. Don't you want some?”

“Ma can have my share, thanks. I'm gonna chill out here, okay? And I won't be, like, in your way.”

Mallory brushed her sister's cheek with her palm. “You are not ever in my way, Katie-bug. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mal. I can be a colossal brat, I know that. Thanks for putting up with me. Lots of sisters wouldn't. They'd have just dumped me in some foster family.”

Mallory swallowed hard and turned to answer the door. Time to be the big sister and see if she could earn her way to an emergency fund for her and Katelyn. Maybe that way, she wouldn't feel so stressed and blow her top over a two-buck shake.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T
WO
HOURS
LATER
, Mallory was again ready to pull out her hair. The logistics of cramming Kimberly, Ma, Cara, DeeDee, Maegan and the wedding dress muslin into the living room seemed impossible.

“This is like one of those old jokes about how many clowns can you fit into a VW bug,” Ma remarked finally as Mallory had to resort to letting Kimberly stand up on the coffee table for them to all get a good look at the bride.

“I am sorry. I should have packed everything up and taken it out to the farm,” Mallory muttered around a pair of pins she had tucked into her mouth. Slipping one out and adjusting the fit of the bodice with it, she stepped back—and onto DeeDee's toe.

Only her good balance saved her from falling into the woman's lap. “Let me up, and you sit here,” DeeDee suggested. “You've been on your feet all day, I know. I've worked retail before.”

“Oh, no, you're the client—” Mallory insisted.

“Well, this client wants some more of those falafels. Delish! I want the recipe!” DeeDee wandered into the kitchen.

Mallory surrendered to the impulse to take DeeDee's seat. She looked up at Kimberly perched on the coffee table, dressed in the muslin she'd made to guide the final sewing of Kimberly's dress.

“Well, what do you ladies think of it so far? Kimberly?” Mallory's stomach fluttered with nerves. What if Kimberly hated it and she had wasted all this time on something that wouldn't do?

Kimberly smoothed the muslin underskirt with her palms and preened. “I feel bridal, even in this. It's beautiful, Mallory! The fit is perfect. Are you sure I'm paying you enough? Because if I were to pay for a custom dress in Atlanta, it would be way more.”

Mallory exhaled with considerable relief. “Pshew! I'm on the right track, then. No, Kimberly, I'm fine with our bargain if you are. My only worry is actually finding enough room to sew everything once I start in on the tulle. Because that tulle takes up a lot of space.”

“That, I can fix,” Ma said. “I've got a great big sewing room out at the farm. You bring that fancy machine of yours and all your gadgets out there, and you set up shop.”

For a moment, Mallory was tempted to blurt, “Yes!” to Ma. She'd seen that space before, with its long counter and built-in sewing machine below the shelves of neatly arranged storage bins and a peg-board full of sewing items. To have a space like that would be heaven.

But...that would mean dealing with Andrew.

Andrew, who had gone cold on her again in the past few days. He practically ran from her whenever she picked up Katelyn.

“Oh, that's okay—”

“Nope, I insist. It'll be nice to have some company.”

Kimberly bent down and took Mallory's hands in hers. “This battle is lost, trust me. Ma has adopted you and Katelyn. She's decided you need the space, and that's that.”

DeeDee, Cara and Maegan bobbed their heads. “Saying no to Ma is as pointless as telling the rain to stop,” DeeDee said.

“And to sweeten the pot,” Ma tacked on, “I'll cook supper for you while you sew. I know how it is trying to cook in the middle of a sewing project. I'll even try my hands at your fluffy balls if that's what you want.”

“Ma, your cooking is divine—”

Ma sat back, pleased with herself. “Well, then, it's settled. You need me to send Andrew here tomorrow to help you pack up everything? I'd tell you to move out there with everything and give up this rinky-dink place, but our bathrooms won't work for Katelyn. As soon as she gets shed of that wheelchair, though, the offer stands.”

Mallory had no chance to respond, because Ma stood up, gave her a kiss on the cheek and a quick hug and said, “Girls, somebody needs to run this old gal home.”

Cara and DeeDee offered, leaving Maegan to wait for Kimberly to change. While Kimberly used Mallory's bedroom to take off the muslin, Maegan followed Mallory's lead and began toting glasses and plates into the tiny kitchen.

“Where's Katelyn? I haven't heard a peep out of her,” Maegan commented.

“She's in her room. I
hope
she's been using the time to work on her homework.”

“She still in that accelerated program? The one where she takes college-level courses?” Maegan set the plates in the sink. “Where's your sponge, and I'll start washing?” she offered.

“Oh, that's—”

“Hey, you might as well take me up on it, because as soon as Kimberly gets through, your free help is gone, sister.” Maegan grinned.

“Under the sink, then, if you're so willing to do someone else's dishes. I'll rinse and dry.”

“Now, how'd you know I hated that part? I used to con Andrew into doing that for me when it was my turn to do the dishes. Rob and Daniel were too savvy to fall for my tricks, though.”

A flutter went through Mallory at the mention of Andrew's name. “Speaking of MIAs, I haven't seen too much of Andrew lately,” she said casually.

“Daniel's kept him busy with some spring coat drive—the fire department's collecting everybody's outgrown winter coats before people pack them up. That way, the department will have them on hand before folks need them. You wouldn't believe how many people can't afford a good winter coat,” Maegan said.

Oh, wouldn't I? That would be me. I'm so glad the weather warmed up to the point I can do without.
“He's been busy, huh?” Mallory asked instead.

“Between work and helping me and training Joker—yep, I hardly see him myself. I can tell him you were asking after him, if you'd like.”

“No!” Mallory nearly dropped the glass she was drying.

Was Maegan chuckling? She was. Blast it.

“I just mean...it's not important...or anything. Conversation, that's all.” Even to Mallory's ears, her words sounded unconvincing.

“You and Andrew... If you guys could get over being so prickly around each other, you'd be a good match. You're exactly his type, but at the same time—”

“Everybody keeps telling me that I'm Andrew's
type
. But that doesn't make any sense.” Mallory gave the plate an extrazealous rub. She set it down and reached for the next one.

“You're pretty as a picture. Listen, my brother has excellent taste,” Maegan said. “And you fit the bill. Always so polished. I need you to give me a fashion makeover.”

“You don't need it,” Mallory countered.

“I do whenever I have to get gussied up to go somewhere. I never know what goes with what. If I do have to attend something fancy, will you help?”

“Sure! I love doing that. We'll go through your closet, see what you have—”

“Ooh, really?” Maegan clapped her damp hands, making water and suds spray everywhere. “Yay! See? That's what I mean, that you're his type, but you're
not
his type.”

Mallory frowned. “What's that supposed to mean? Either I am or I'm not.”

“On the outside? You're it, buddy. On the inside? You're nothing like the gals he's brought home. To be charitable, they weren't awful, but you could tell they wanted to be anywhere but on a farm.”

“How...” Asking how she was an improved version of Andrew's type seemed to border on fishing with a net for a compliment.

“It's awful when they dump him, of course,” Maegan allowed. She handed the last plate to Mallory and yanked out the sink stopper. “He mopes around for months. And then, wouldn't you know, he gets one as bad or worse. Honestly, I was a bit snippy with you when you first showed up, because I was sure you'd be another one. And if you'd broken my brother's heart, you would have had me to answer to.”

Mallory's mouth went dry. She hadn't a clue what to say. “I don't think that will be a problem, because I don't think Andrew thinks of me that way.”

Maegan arched a brow. “I'd say I was pretty much an authority on the subject of Andrew Monroe... I wouldn't be surprised if he does ask you out, though why he's waited this long beats me. If he does... Just remember. You don't know mad until you've seen a Monroe mad, so if you don't feel the same interest in him that he seems to in you...don't lead him on. Or else, be prepared to face me.”

Kimberly's arrival back in the living room saved Mallory from having to make an answer one way or the other. How disappointed would Maegan—all of the Monroes, really—be if they knew she was planning to sue the county for Katelyn's medical expenses?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“M
A
,
I—
T
HIS
IS
not a good idea. Have you talked to Daniel about this?” Andrew asked into his cell phone. He ran his other hand through his hair, realized that it was getting longer and that he needed to get it cut.

“Andrew! This
is
for Daniel—for Kimberly, anyway, and besides, why do I need permission to invite someone to use my old sewing room? Is Daniel suddenly going to take up sewing?”

What could he say?
Uh, the lady you trust so much may be more interested in suing than sewing?
Daniel and Dutch had ordered him not to speak to anybody about the suit, lest others' reactions might irritate Mallory into suing when she'd decided against it. As Dutch had said, “No need to go poking a bear.”

Not that Mallory was a bear.

He sighed. “I'd feel more comfortable about this if you would talk to Daniel—”

“Andrew Monroe. I've invited her and that's it. Unless you know something definite about this woman that means she isn't fit company, and if you do, you sure don't act like it when she's around.”

“This isn't some elaborate matchmaking scheme, is it? Sending me by to get her things, moving her sewing machine—”

Ma sniffed. “First time I ever heard you might need help in that department, Andrew. Seems to me you can land any girl you set your mind to, but my advice has always been don't settle for just a pretty face.”

That advice, sage and familiar, made Andrew relax. If Daniel had thought the suit threat was serious, he'd have warned Ma and Maegan earlier. “My shift ends in a few minutes, so I'll go by there and pick up her stuff.”

“You call her and tell her you're on your way, then, because I said it might be the afternoon.”

They rang off and Andrew dialed Mallory's cell phone. She answered, breathless. For a nanosecond, Andrew allowed himself to believe that she'd known it was him and raced to answer.

That wishful thinking died an early death with her confused “Andrew?”

Who had she been hoping it would be?

He recapped Ma's plans, which seemed to cause her to be even more flustered. “I—well,
now
?” Mallory asked. “It was nice of her to offer, but...”

Inexplicably he was disappointed in her answer. Yes, rationally, it was better for him that she didn't move her dressmaking operation out to the farm. He found it was hard enough to avoid her these days when she came out to drop off or pick up Katelyn. Avoiding her when she was in their actual house? Impossible. Dutch would be thrilled at how neatly this had turned out.

Why did Andrew feel as letdown as a kid expecting a bike for Christmas and not getting one?

“Ma was pretty insistent. She's got it all worked out.” He kicked himself. He should have said, “I'll let Ma know.”

“She won't be—offended? Will she?” The doubt was almost palpable in her voice. Andrew could sense he could push her either way.

He didn't want to manipulate Mallory into changing her mind.

“She won't be offended,” he assured her, sticking to the truth. “She'd be disappointed. We all would.”

Again he gave himself a virtual slap upside the head. That last confession was taking truth-telling a step too far. He rushed to temper the remark with, “She would definitely understand that you know best about these things.”

Silence reigned as Mallory apparently weighed the pros and cons. “It
would
be nice to have more space,” she confessed. “Still, I don't want to intrude.”

Andrew's disappointment lifted like an early-morning fog burned off by the sun. “She wouldn't have offered if she'd considered it an intrusion. Trust me, she does this sort of thing all the time. That's why half the county calls her Ma.”

“She is
so
nice—all of you are,” Mallory blurted out.

“I can come by, then? Grab your gear?”

“Can you give me a few minutes? I was getting ready for work.”

Right. The request brought Andrew back down to earth and to the real world. No matter how easygoing she sounded on the phone, appearances still mattered the most to her. A woman like Mallory would definitely devote a good chunk of the morning to apply her war paint.

Was it that she had to get so gussied up to do her job? Or did she choose the job because it gave her an excuse to dress so fancy?

He agreed to wait, then loaded his own gear into his truck.

He'd picked up coffee while he waited, and sure enough, when he showed up at Mallory's door, she was picture perfect in her usual skirt and blouse and heels and all the accessories from the fine gold chain at her throat to the jangly bracelets on her wrist.

Now he realized he'd wanted to catch her without her makeup on—in jeans and a T-shirt. He could pretend, then, that she wasn't like all the other girls he'd dated.

But this polished perfection? She must have gotten up before dawn to get dressed. Something about a person stressing about her looks that much irritated him.

She took the coffee and thanked him. “I haven't gathered all my things up—”

“No problem. I can wait. I just got off work, so I don't have anywhere pressing to be.”

Mallory's guilty expression deepened. “Oh, no! This could have waited—”

“Actually, it saves me a trip.”

He could tell she hadn't expected his curtness. Andrew tried to dial his irritation back a notch. “If you need me to come back, I can,” he offered. “It's only that I was leaving the fire station and I told Ma I'd stop off and get your things as I was heading out to the farm.”

“No, no need for you to make two trips, not with the price of gas as high as it is,” she said. “Your truck can't get more than fifteen miles to the gallon, and it's seven miles out to the farm. A round trip would take almost a whole gallon of gas.”

Money again
, he thought.
The woman counts every nickel and dime.

“That's right. Gotta save some for the shoe fund, huh?” he asked, allowing the sarcasm to needle through.

She pressed her lips together, the corners of her mouth pulling down. “Gotta save some for the shoe fund.”

Andrew wondered why it always seemed to come down to this: the thing that attracted him to her was the thing that irritated him.

“Let me get everything together for you,” Mallory said suddenly, and bustled off toward the living room.

As he came into the apartment proper, he realized why Ma had offered her space. Almost every inch of the previously neat area was covered with cloth, patterns, lace or some sewing apparatus he dimly recognized. Everything was neatly stacked—but even an idiot could see they had no room to wiggle in the apartment without knocking something over.

Mallory had bent over to tuck things into a beautifully quilted sewing box that looked as though it cost big bucks. Yep, beans for supper, skip the winter coats because they spoiled the outfit and choke on the price of a gallon of gas—because appearances were most important.

“It matters how things look to you, huh?” he found himself asking.

His question must have startled him—or maybe his tone—because she wound up whirling around and dropping all the implements she held in her hands.

“Oh, shoot!” Now she was kneeling down, mindless of her skirt, her knees on the bare floor, which looked as though it had seen better days. Some of the items had rolled under the edge of the cheap futon.

Hmm. Guess futons don't have to meet a certain standard, because that's the ugliest one I've ever seen.

She was mumbling invectives to herself, and he picked up a host of not-so-kind self-critiques. A twinge of shame coursed through him. He joined her on the floor and reached for the items that were escaping her reach.

She was close to him now, her hair smelling sweetly of the strawberries that Joker had liked. Andrew had to admit, he liked them, too, on her. A slim locket dangled from the thin gold chain at her throat as she tried to rescue her tools, and when she leaned forward, it got caught in the metal frame of the futon.

“No, wait— Don't—” Andrew placed a hand on her shoulder as she started to jerk back, unaware. “Your locket is caught in the—”

“Oh! I don't want to break it or the chain—”

“Easy, easy—” Suddenly, Andrew felt as though he were calming a nervous horse early in its training. “Let me try.”

She was impossibly close as he worked to free the short length of chain and the locket. Her proximity assaulted his senses—the warmth of her body, the way her huge green eyes were filled with worry that the jewelry would be ruined, the scent of those strawberries. Even at this close distance, her skin was perfect.

She's pretty enough to have anybody she wants. Why on earth would she stick with some blue-collar type like you? Haven't you learned anything?

“Should I try to take off the necklace?” Mallory asked.

Andrew tore his focus away from her and forced it back to the task at hand. The locket itself was free, but the chain was still snagged. Andrew conceded, no engineer in his right mind would have ever dreamed of the possibility of some woman getting a necklace caught in his design.

He examined the nape of her neck—pale and smooth, her hair swept up in a careless-looking bun that he figured took her hours to do. The chain dug into the soft flesh of her nape, and when he tried to unfasten it, he found there wasn't enough slack.

“No, you've caught the chain too close—you don't have enough room to lean forward so I can slip my finger under the fastener. I'm going to have to work it loose where it's caught, I think.”

“Can you get it? Without breaking it, I mean?” Her words were filled with worry, and he saw her clench her fingers into white-knuckled fists.

“I'm trying— Wait, no, thought I had it—” He didn't dare to tug too hard. “Is this real gold?”

“Yeah. It's twenty-two karat.”

Andrew swore softly. “That means it's soft, right?”

“Yes. The higher the number, the purer the gold.”

Leave it to Mallory to wear only the best. He was probably handling a two-or three-hundred-dollar chain—maybe more, because he had no clue how much something this fine and delicate would cost. And the locket, which was heavy and ornate with deeply carved roses, probably cost another arm and a leg.

Finally, with a clink of the locket, the chain slipped free—so quick that he wasn't sure whether he'd managed to do it without breaking it. He grabbed it before it could get snagged again.

“Pshew! It's pretty much unharmed—though I have to tell you one of the links has a tiny dent in it,” Andrew said, releasing the length of chain.

She touched the locket reassuringly, and then unexpectedly wrapped him in a hug. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

This much fuss over a silly piece of jewelry? So he kind of liked having her throw herself at him as though he'd just rescued her kitten from a tree, but...jewelry? Really?

Now Mallory sat back again on her heels. She held the locket and stared down at it, rubbing her fingers along the mellow finish. “It was my mom's,” she whispered.

Slipping the chain from her neck, she pried the locket open with a perfectly pink nail and handed it to him.

Two redheaded babies stared back at him. Even in their baby plumpness, he could recognize that one was Mallory and the other Katelyn. “Dad gave this to her when I was born. She always wore it,” Mallory explained. “She was wearing it the day she died. I wear it now. To keep her close.”

His breath caught in his throat. Not some silly necklace after all, not an expensive bauble. It hadn't been the money that had panicked Mallory, but the sentimental value.

Thinking of how important Ma was to him—to all of the Monroe children—made him realize he couldn't imagine not having a mother. Sure, he'd lost his dad...but so had Mallory. In one fell swoop, she'd lost both parents.

And he'd nearly cost her the last family member she'd had.

Her eyes were shining with tears that threatened to spill over. For a moment, he thought she'd lose it. Instead, she lifted her chin, closed her eyes and seemed to will herself into control. Somehow that moved him more than if she'd dissolved into a puddle of tears.

“Mal—I am so sorry—” he started.

Then Dutch's warning came back. No apologies about Katelyn, which was where he'd been headed.

He clamped down on his words. Held back, they felt as though they were live animals, desperate to force their way free, out into the world. When she reached up and clasped his hand, stared at him with grateful, wet eyes, Andrew found it even harder to bite his tongue.

“It's okay. I know this thing—it's just metal and screws, and if we sold it, it could feed us for a month, but...” She pressed the locket to her lips. “I can't. There are things I simply can't let go of.”

“Nobody's asking you to,” he assured her. “It's safe and sound.”

“Thanks to you. Guess it's handy to know a firefighter, huh?”

“Cats from trees, dogs out of drainage pipes, necklaces out of futons. All in a day's work, and it's been a pleasure to be of service, ma'am.” He doffed an imaginary cap at her.

“Well, now that I've completely ruined my makeup and look a fright, I'd better double-time it, get this stuff packed up and get to the shop. Otherwise, Eleanor will wonder where on earth I am.”

Andrew saw that her knees were trembling as she stood.

“Oh, no! I forgot the rest of the things that fell!” Mallory said. “Uh, can you press into service some more of those firefighter skills and move that futon so we can get whatever else slid under there?” she asked.

“Yep.” With one hand, he flipped up the futon and with the other hand grabbed the single item remaining: a pair of scissors. He held them up for her inspection. “Think you should trust me with these?” he joked.