Ms. Demeanor Page 2

  She slipped Rainier a smile, trying to hide her thoughts before he could read them upon her face. Maybe she had it all wrong, or at least backward—her life had been destroyed in just a matter of minutes, as well.

  Maybe the song was really just about her.

  The country singer’s twang grated on her nerves and she flicked off the radio.

  “Do I need to go back over the rules and conditions of your parole, or do you think you understand them?” Laura asked, pushing a wayward strand of hair back into the tight bun on her head.

  Rainier answered with a chuckle and lifted the manila envelope for her to see. “Between this ream of paper, and instructions you’ve been going over for the last hour, I think I’ve got it.”

  “I just want to make sure you fully understand that at any point we can revoke your parole, and you can be sent back to prison. Under no circumstances are you to violate any of the conditions I’ve given you.”

  “All right, there will be no drinking in excess, no hanging out where drugs are distributed or taken. I shall not leave my geographic limits without written permission. I shall see you between the first and third of each month...” He looked over at her and gave her a sexy half smile, and she tried to diffuse her nervousness by shifting in her seat. “I will not violate any law,” he continued. “I won’t associate with people who have criminal records, will not possess firearms or any dangerous weapons, and...well, we know the rest.”

  “Just so long as you do.” She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel.

  It was going to be a long year, seeing him every month, if this was the way he made her feel simply by sitting next to her and smiling.

  Long ago, she had sworn off relationships, as the only thing they had ever brought her was heartache, thirty pounds that had now collected solidly around her thighs and ass, and what she’d learned later was a raging case of crabs. Not that she ever told anyone she’d had crabs, but she could think of no better reason to call an unwavering hiatus on all things men than a hundred little bugs making her itch like a madwoman. Looking back, she realized they weren’t half as annoying as the man who’d given them to her.

  “Laura—”

  “Call me Ms. Blade,” she said, interrupting.

  “Sorry. Ms. Blade.” He said her name as if it were as sharp as the object it implied. “I was just gonna ask how you got into the parole officer game.”

  The last thing she needed was to exchange pleasantries with her assigned parolee. It would send the wrong message if Rainier thought for one minute they were anything that resembled friends. He had been assigned to her by the state, and her one job was to make sure he didn’t find himself back in trouble. It was her job to save him from himself, even if that meant drawing a hard line.

  “Being a parole officer isn’t a game, Mr. Fitzgerald.” She could feel her butt clench. “I take my job very, very seriously.”

  “Very very,” he teased. “I guess you do. I haven’t heard anybody say that since high school.”

  Just like in high school, she wanted to reach over and punch him in his arm for his cheeky manner. Under a different set of circumstances, she could’ve lightened up and they could’ve been friends. But he was the one who had chosen to nearly kill a man. Now he would have to deal with the consequences—not that missing out on her friendship was really a consequence that he needed to worry about.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t get into more trouble in prison, with a mouth like that.”

  He laughed, tilting his head back with mirth. “If you think I have a mouth, you clearly haven’t been a parole officer very long. What are you—like, thirty-two?”

  Oh, they were so off on the wrong foot.

  It was never okay for a man to guess a woman’s age, especially if he was guessing too high. If he had said twenty-four, things may have gone more in his favor, but it was too late. He had fallen from her grace.

  Thankfully, they ascended the hill that led to the ranch, and the tin roof of the Dunrovin barn came into view, letting him off the hook about erroring at her age.

  It had been only about a week since she’d come to the ranch for their annual holiday party, the Yule Night festival, and it felt strange coming back again so soon. Yet even with all the drama that surrounded the place, a sense of calm came over her. She could almost imagine what it would be like to live there, walking through the spring pastures with her feet splashing in the mud, or her fingers touching the heads of the summer grasses that they would cut and bale for hay, or feeling the nibble of the crisp fall air while they moved the animals from their summer pastures.

  She sucked in a long, deep breath, hoping that some of the ranch’s clean air had somehow slipped into the car. She could smell the faint aroma of horses, hay and diesel from the tractors. It was a heady mix, beckoning memories of her childhood spent daydreaming about horses and ranch life while her father whiled away the hours at his law office.

  “I bet you’re glad to be home,” she said.

  He glanced out the window, and she could swear that his green eyes turned a shade darker as he looked at the ranch. It didn’t make sense how she could love this place so much and he could seem so disconnected.

  “I’m glad to be out of prison,” he grumbled.

  “That doesn’t mean that you’re glad to be here.”

  “Oh, I’m glad to be home, but you gotta understand that I ain’t gonna be welcomed with open arms. I screwed everything up. My brothers were so pissed, by now they have to have convinced everyone that it would be best if I just hit the road and never came back.”

  “I doubt your parents feel like that.”

  “They didn’t come visit me. Not once when I was behind bars. They made it real clear they think I’m nothing but trouble.”

  “If you feel like your return to the family is going to inhibit your success in staying out of trouble, perhaps I can help you get settled elsewhere.”

  He grimaced as though she had just sentenced him to solitary confinement. “Nah, I ain’t gonna run away. I’m just going to have to face whatever is coming my way.”

  She wanted to reach over and grip his fingers and give them a reassuring squeeze, but instead she gripped the steering wheel harder. “No matter what, I’ve got your back. I’m your ally.”

  “Well, at least I got one,” he said, the sexy smile returning.

  She pulled to a stop, parking the car in the gravel lot, which was covered in patchy snow. The ranch carried the warmth and feeling of Christmas, with its strings of lights, poinsettias and an abundance of wreathes that hung from every post. It looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting, including the older woman who was standing on the porch of the main office looking out at them.

  She recognized Ms. Eloise Fitzgerald from passing and the occasional hello, and as they unbuckled, Eloise smiled and waved. Yet it was the congenial, halfhearted wave of a near stranger and a far cry from what Laura would have expected a mother to give her son.

  Rainier’s features darkened as he looked at his mother, having noticed her chilly reception himself.

  “Don’t worry, she probably just doesn’t see you or something,” Laura said, trying to soften the blow for him.

  She stepped out of the car, Rainier following suit. Eloise shaded her eyes, casting shadows over her face as she looked toward them. Her mouth opened as she must have finally recognized Rainier when he stepped around the front of the car and made his way toward the office.

  She smiled and her curved back straightened as she stood a bit taller. “Rainier, sunshine, is that really you?” Eloise asked, excitement fluttering through her words. “I can’t believe it!” She rushed forward and threw her arms around her son’s neck. “Your father and I didn’t think you’d be here until tomorrow. Wyatt said...” Her words where muffled against Rainier’s chest as she tighte
ned her arms around him.

  The reunion made a lump form in Laura’s throat. Thank goodness it wasn’t the chilly reception that he had expected and she thought had come to fruition.

  In the history of hugs, this one may have been the longest, as tears collected in the corners of Eloise’s eyes and slipped down her cheeks. “I’m so glad you’re home,” she repeated over and over.

  Rainier gave his mother a kiss on the top of her head and finally she stepped back, releasing him from her grateful hold. For the first time since seeing her son, she seemed to notice Laura.

  “Laura, I can’t tell you how thankful I am in having you bring my boy back to us.” She reached over and gave her hand a warm squeeze. “You have to come in. The girls and I just made a batch of cookies and there’s fudge cooling on the counter.”

  Fudge and cookies. Laura pulled at the waistband of her skirt. This time of year, the pounds always seemed to jump onto her thighs at the mere nearness of fudge and cookies. In fact, if she closed her eyes and thought about it, she could almost feel herself expanding.

  “I’d love to, but first I need to make sure that all will be well with you and your family regarding your son’s parole.” She tugged on the hem of her skirt, lowering it. “Is Rainier going to be staying with you and working here on the ranch? Is he welcome?”

  Eloise gave her a disbelieving look. “Are you kidding, dear? Everyone is welcome at the ranch. My son made mistakes, and he’s paid for them. I don’t want things for him to be any harder than they already are. I would do anything for him.”

  Her admiration for Eloise grew. It wasn’t every day that a convicted felon was treated with such kindness, even by family members or loved ones.

  Laura looked over at Rainier as Eloise took them both by the hand and led them toward the main house and the waiting smorgasbord of sweets. He sent her a brilliant smile, his white teeth sparkling in the winter sun. He was so handsome; it was easy to see how someone could forgive him for his mistakes and trust him with their heart.

  Chapter Three

  The house was a flurry of motion. Gwen and Eloise were rushing around the kitchen, pulling together a meal reminiscent of the epicurean lifestyle of ancient Greece. Every countertop was filled to the edge with food. There was everything from cold cuts and cheese to spritz cookies and rosettes. His mouth watered. The food was a far cry from what had been ladled onto his tray in prison and the little packs of chips he bought at the commissary. Dang, it was good to be home.

  His mother handed him a plate full of food, and another to Laura, as though she was just one of the gang and not someone with the ability to put him back in prison. He couldn’t decide whether it was a part of his mother’s plan that she overwhelm Laura with kindness in hopes it would keep him out of trouble, or if it was just his mother’s way. Regardless, he loved her for it.

  His adoptive father, Merle, walked into the kitchen while thumbing through a stack of mail. In all the excitement his mother must have forgotten to tell him that Rainier was home. When he finally looked up from the letters in his hands, a wave of recognition and pure joy overtook his face.

  “Son, what are you doing here? I thought you didn’t get out for another couple of days?” His father gave a questioning glance to his mother.

  “Oh, dear, I’m sorry. I meant to come get you. I just wanted to make sure that Rainier and Laura were taken care of. I’m so sorry,” she said, throwing her hands over her mouth. “I can’t believe...”

  “It’s okay, Mother,” Merle said, giving her a quick peck on the forehead before turning to Rainier. “How long have you been home?”

  He shrugged. With all the activity and questions his mother had been throwing his way, he wasn’t sure if he’d been home five minutes or five hours. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention, as if the world revolved around him. He both despised and loved it, but it was almost too much.

  Even though he’d said nothing, his father seemed to understand and gave an acknowledging tip of his head.

  “We haven’t touched your room, Rainier. It’s waiting for you if you’re tired. This week we can go get you some new clothes,” his mother said, coming over and pinching the pink Hawaiian shirt between her fingers and pulling it as if she wished she could throw it away then and there. “And we can get you anything else you need to get on your feet, as well. Waylon, Christina and Winnie will be coming home later this week.” She grinned with excitement. “It’s just going to be so wonderful to have the entire family here to spend Christmas. And Laura, you’ll have to come, too.”

  Laura gaped as she glanced from his mother to him, almost as though she was checking him to see what exactly her reaction should be to that unusual invitation. “I...er...”

  “You are more than welcome, Laura,” his father said, jumping in. “You don’t have to answer us right away. I’m sure you’ve got your own family plans.”

  She looked a bit relieved, and it made Rainier’s chest tighten as some part of him wished she had agreed to spend more time with him and his family. He took a deep breath as he tried to make sense of his body’s reaction. He barely knew this woman, and their conversation had been limited mostly to business. Yet he couldn’t deny there was something, a spark, between them. It was so strong he could have sworn he felt it in his fingertips.

  Maybe it was just that she was the only person who had any real understanding of what his life had been like behind bars. She was his ally, and seemed to be the only one who could understand why he had changed.

  “I... Y-you...” he stammered, trying to say something that would be as effectual as his father, but no words came.

  Merle smiled. “Rainier and I are gonna head outside. I need to get to work on that broken spigot before the pump burns out.” His father handed him a coat, and he shrugged it on.

  He couldn’t have been more relieved and thankful for his father’s interference not just with the jacket, but with helping him to get out of the swirl of activity that made him feel so out of place.

  Laura’s face relaxed as she glanced over to him and gave an approving nod.

  “If he’s going to be home, you know we’re gonna be putting him to work,” the older man continued.

  She gave a light laugh. “That’s exactly what I was hoping for, Mr. Fitzgerald. If you don’t mind, while you all are working, I’ll take a quick look around, a brief home check.”

  “That’s fine, but please call me Merle.” His father frowned at the formal moniker.

  “Thank you, Merle,” Laura said.

  “That’s better,” his father said. “Only Mother calls me Mr. Fitzgerald, and she only does that when I’m in deep trouble.” He turned to Rainier. “Let’s get going. We’re burning daylight.”

  He followed his dad outside, and the moment the door opened and he breathed in the cold winter air, Rainier was thankful to be out of the kitchen. He loved his mother and the rest of his extended family, but he needed a minute just to be with himself in the quiet of life—an existence that wasn’t framed by steel bars.

  His father led him out to the tractor and, handing him the keys, motioned for him to take a seat. “Sometimes the best thing we can do when our world is a mess is bury ourselves in work in order to clear our minds. There are no prisons worse than the ones we impose upon ourselves.”

  The man was right. No matter how bad the nights had been when he’d been inside, the worst of them all had come when Rainier had thought about what he’d cost his family. There were so many things he wanted to say, but one in particular came to the front of his mind. “Thanks for everything, Dad.”

  It didn’t seem like nearly enough, but emotions and expressing them had never been his strong suit. It was just so much easier to bottle everything up—although that was exactly the kind of attitude that had gotten him into trouble in the first place.

  “Whic
h spigot needs tending?” he asked, afraid of things taking another emotional turn. He’d had more than he could handle for one day.

  His father’s stoicism thankfully returned, his face taking on the smooth and patient coolness that Rainier had always loved about the man. Since he’d left, however, his father’s face had seemed to age. In fact, he noticed a new darkness in his eyes and it made a deep sadness move through him. Undoubtedly, he had played a role in those changes, and there was no going back or making things right. There was only moving forward.

  “It’s the one in the pasture. If you want to start digging, I’ll grab the piping,” Merle father said.

  His father tracked through the snow toward the back of the house. Climbing up onto the tractor, Rainier could see a dark patch of grass and soot where the toolshed had once stood.

  The tractor chugged to life and he moved the old beast toward the well as he thought about all the things his family had gone through when he’d been away, and what all else could have happened that his mother hadn’t told him.

  The earth was hard with the freeze as he set to digging up the piping around the frost-free spigot his family used for watering the animals throughout the year. The tractor’s bucket broke through the top of the dirt, and as he dug deeper, the frozen soil turned into a muddy mess of gravel and clay as the water from the well spilled from the leaking pipes and saturated the ground. Water poured from the sides of the bucket as he moved the earth, piling it to one side.

  It felt good to be working again, to be contributing to his family and the ranch. If he could work here for the rest of his life, he would die a happy man—he didn’t want a job like Laura’s, some nine to five.

  He scraped out another bucketful of dirt from the hole. As he emptied it onto the pile, something white protruded from the sticky, brown earth. The object looked like a long stick, but its end was round and knobby.