Two of a Kind (12 page)

Angel and Ford took off at a run.

“What happened to the easy jog?” Consuelo asked.

“You ever see them do something the easy way?”

“Good point.” She sighed. “I hope Ford wins. The loser will cook for a week, and Angel’s better in the kitchen.” She glanced at him. “I’m Felicia’s friend.”

He met her dark gaze. “I heard.”

“What are the odds of her getting out of this with her heart in one piece?”

“She hasn’t decided if we’re dating yet.”

Which didn’t answer the question, but he should get points for trying.

Consuelo raised her eyebrows. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t want to hurt her,” he said. “I want her to be happy.”

“With you?”

“No,” he admitted. “Not with me.” At one time, maybe. But not for a while now. Ignoring the fact that he didn’t have the skill set, he wasn’t interested in belonging. In caring. He liked living on the edges, pretending he fit in when he knew better. It was easier. Safer. Comforting.

“You tell her?”

“In many ways.”

“Is she going to listen?”

“Do women ever?”

He half expected that to earn him a quick flip over her shoulder with a hard landing, followed by her boot on his throat. Or at least the attempt. He knew the counter moves, but it had been a while. He might work out regularly, but he didn’t spar with anyone.

“Women usually hear what they want to hear,” Consuelo said grudgingly. “Felicia might be smarter than most, but she’s no different when it comes to reading men.”

Part of that was a lack of experience, Gideon thought. Felicia had missed out on what most women her age took for granted. She’d never dated. He might not be able to give her a picket fence—despite her claim it made for lousy containment—but he could let her practice on him. Let her figure it out with a guy who only wanted the best for her. As long as they both remembered his limitations.

In the distance they heard two quick gunshots. Nearly fifteen seconds later, another set echoed off the mountains.

“What did you leave for them to find?” Consuelo asked.

Gideon grinned. “A thumb drive.”

“Damn,” she muttered. “I really hope Ford wins.”

* * *

FELICIA COULDN’T GET comfortable in Pia’s office. This was her third day and she still felt like an interloper. In her head she understood that the space didn’t belong to anyone. Technically someone could own a building or a house, but this was different. She’d been given the keys to the office. The issue wasn’t her right to turn the lock—it was what happened when she stepped inside.

The office itself was small. Not much more than a desk, a few chairs and a lot of filing cabinets. The large dry erase board listed all the festivals, and under each festival was a to-do list. The remaining free wall space was taken up by posters of various events.

No matter that she knew where everything was or understood in her head that she was now in charge of the festivals—she couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t belong.

She felt dominated by the monster Rolodex and all the stacks of paper. Pia’s system was well organized but still relied on actual paper. There was a scent to the small office. Nothing unpleasant. Instead, it seemed as if she’d entered an ancient and sacred place where change was forbidden and those who tried were punished.

Felicia was itching to start a searchable database and put everything on the computer. Then she could relegate the old filing cabinets to storage and have some room. But not here, she thought, chiding herself for feeling superstitious yet unwilling to challenge the sense of unease.

Just one more week, she told herself. She was already set to move next Monday. Justice, Angel and Ford would be helping her. She would pack up herself and have everything ready to go. Once she was settled in her new place, she would feel more connected to her new job. At least she hoped so.

She was still worried about doing everything right. Not the logistical parts of the job—that was easy. But the rest of it. The connecting with people, the making memories. What if she got it wrong? What if she was a square peg in a round hole?

The use of the cliché made her smile. She liked clichés and common phrases. Not only did they fit easily into many situations, they implied universal understanding. Clichés provided a commonality with those around her.

Someone knocked on her half-open door. A blonde woman in her mid-fifties smiled as she walked in. She was of average height, with pretty features and a welcoming air about her.

“Hi. I’m Denise Hendrix. Do you have a second?”

Felicia knew about the Hendrix family. Ford was the youngest of the three boys. He had three younger sisters who were triplets. This must be his mother, although Denise looked much younger than she was.

“Of course,” Felicia said, coming to her feet. “I know Ford.”

Denise moved toward her, hand outstretched. “The young woman who is so good with logistics. Yes, Ford has mentioned you. From what he says, you’re going to whip our festivals into shape.”

“I’m hoping to keep them going,” she said. “I want to respect the history of the town and its celebrations. I’m not sure I’ll need a whip.”

She paused, hoping the joke made sense. Denise laughed and took a seat. Felicia settled behind the desk, relieved she’d managed to be a little funny. Humor was so complicated, she thought. Nuanced and subjective. She preferred situations where she could predict the outcome.

Denise leaned forward. “I want to rent a booth in the Fourth of July festival. Is it rent or lease? I don’t know the exact terminology. But I want a booth.”

“The city requires an application,” Felicia told her. “It’s a fairly straightforward process. Will you be cooking and serving food? That makes it more complicated. There are sanitation laws and the like.”

“No food,” Denise assured her. “I want to set up a booth so I can find a wife for Ford.”

Felicia stared at her. She must have misheard the other woman’s statement. Or not understood precisely what she meant because...

Denise sighed. “You think I’m crazy.”

“No, ma’am.”

“All right. Not crazy, but misguided.” Denise shrugged. “I can accept that. I refuse to get desperate, so I’m taking matters into my own hands.”

Another cliché, Felicia thought still stunned. “It helps to be in control,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

“Exactly.” Denise nodded. “Ford was gone for so long. I missed him every day. I know why he left and I can’t really blame him, but now that he’s home I want to keep him around. So I thought if he fell in love and got married to a local girl, he’d want to stay. From what I can tell, he’s not dating, which means this is going to take a while. That’s when I realized I don’t technically need him to find the right girl. I can find her for him.”

Felicia honestly didn’t know how to respond. This time it wasn’t her lack of social conditioning that had her silent, but the fact that her brain had suddenly, unexpectedly, gone completely blank.

“Does Ford know that you—”

“Plan to marry him off?” Denise shook her head. “No. He’ll find out soon enough, but by then it will be too late. Oh, and I’m going to find someone for Kent, too. He has finally given up on that ex-wife of his. Thank goodness. Lorraine turned out to be a total bitch. I could forgive her walking out on her marriage. It’s wrong, but, okay, relationships fail. But she walked out on her son, on my grandson, and that crosses a line in my book.”

Felicia felt as if she’d lost the ability to reason. There was too much going on and she didn’t know which thought to address first.

“I, ah...”

Denise smiled. “I thought I’d decorate the booth simply. Maybe with an eye-catching sign. ‘Do you want to marry this man?’ or something like that. I’ll have baby pictures of my two boys to show the women. That way they’d have an idea of what their children will look like.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “It’s all about the grandchildren. Kent has Reese and Ethan has Tyler and Melissa and Abby. My girls are all married with children. Ford owes me. I want him married, and if he won’t take care of that on his own, I’ll do it for him.”

She reached down and pulled a folder from her purse. “I have a list of traits I’m looking for. I was thinking I’d have the young women fill out an application and then I’d sort through them myself.” She handed over a piece of paper.

Felicia glanced at it. Sure enough, it was an application for a wife. The three-page document was surprisingly thorough. There was a medical history, a place to explain about previous relationships, along with a few lines about future goals.

“Intelligence passes through the mother,” Felicia murmured. “You might want to confirm their educational history.”

“Thanks. I will.” Denise looked at her. “So, can I have a booth?”

“Sure.”

Felicia stood and collected the papers necessary for the permit. “There’s still time for you to have space in the Fourth of July festival,” she said.

“Good. I want to be in a heavy traffic area. I know the right girl is out there for each of my boys, and I’m going to find her.”

Felicia couldn’t decide if she wanted to be around when Ford found out what his mother was doing, or somewhere far away. She knew Consuelo would laugh herself sick when she learned what was happening.

Denise took the sheets of paper. “Thank you for all your help.”

“You’re welcome.”

The other woman left.

Felicia turned back to her computer only to realize that Denise had never once considered her for either of her “boys.” She was single, intelligent and reasonably attractive. Yet Denise hadn’t said a word or even hinted she would be welcome into the Hendrix family.

Why was that? Could the other woman tell by looking at Felicia that she didn’t fit in? Was it a Mom thing? It wasn’t that she wanted to date Ford and she’d never met Kent, but still. Shouldn’t she be able to make the short list?

Apparently not, she thought sadly. Which meant if she wanted to fall in love and have a family, she was going to have to figure out how to be more normal. She was going to have to fit in better. And she only knew one way to make that happen.

* * *

“BE FAITHFUL, GENTLEMEN,” Gideon said into the microphone. “Or you know what will happen.” He pushed a button and Elvis’s “Suspicious Minds” began to play. He chuckled to himself as he stretched in his chair.

The world righted itself when he was here. It was just him and the night and the music. He’d been around people too much lately, and that always wore him down. He needed his solitude, his routine.

When he’d first found his way to Fool’s Gold, he hadn’t known what to expect beyond what Ford had told him. That the town was small but lively and that he might be able to settle here. Gideon had wanted to disappear and had assumed a big city was the best place to do that. Still, he’d visited and had been unexpectedly taken in by the pretty streets and friendly locals.

The first person he’d met had been Mayor Marsha. She’d stopped him outside the Fox and Hound, stared at him for several seconds and asked, “Gideon or Gabriel?” He’d been so rattled that she’d not only known his name but the name of his twin, that he’d taken off without saying a word.

He’d gotten in his car and driven mindlessly, wondering who she was and how she’d guessed his identity. Twenty minutes later he’d found himself outside the radio station. The big For Sale sign had made him laugh. It was a radio station, for God’s sake. Not a garage sale. But he’d walked inside and asked for a tour.

Less than a month later, he owned both the AM and FM stations.

The purchase had about cleaned out his savings. He’d had enough left to finish the house he’d bought and little else, but he was fine with that. The stations did well, and he was able to put most of his salary away. He didn’t need a whole lot. While he would never be anyone’s idea of a business mogul, he was unexpectedly successful, and when the nights got bad, he remembered that.

Mayor Marsha had visited him on his first shift. She’d apologized for telling people he was Gabriel rather than Gideon and had explained she was so sure his brother would be the one coming to town. A statement that hadn’t made sense. His brother was a doctor working with the most gravely wounded soldiers. Saint Gabriel, Gideon thought grimly. Or was it Angel Gabriel? He hadn’t spoken to his brother in years. Not because of any particular disagreement but because there wasn’t much to say.

The song ended. Gideon moved on to the next one on his playlist, but thoughts of his brother led to thoughts of his family. He should probably call his mother in the next week or so. She worried if she didn’t hear from him every now and then. But first he needed to spend some time alone. He would go running in the morning. Let the miles work their magic and heal him.

The light on the wall flashed, indicating someone was at the door. He glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight—late for visitors. He stood and walked down the hall.

While he knew he would most likely find Ford or maybe Angel waiting, his gut tightened slightly at the thought of other possibilities. Or just one. And if his need to see a leggy redhead who spoke her mind and looked at him as if she wanted him tied up and naked was dangerous, it was a flaw he was willing to live with.