LITMIR.BIZ

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Beau might dangle that possibility as an enticement, he wasn’t a sweetheart like his late brother. Once he got his way, she had no doubt his attitude would deteriorate into the usual insults and bad temper.

      “I don’t trust him. The answer is no.”

      “He broke both wrists!”

      “If he breaks both ankles, as well, maybe I’ll reconsider.” Realizing how callous that sounded, she added, “I’m sorry, Dad. If it were you or Mom, of course I’d pitch in. Your uncle’s a different story.”

      “Tell him yourself. I’ve got my hands full.” After a clipped goodbye, her dad hung up.

      Fine. She’d do it, but not right now. Better to wait until she was in a less contentious mood.

      She swung by her cousin’s house in a tree-shaded residential area. Lindsay, whose husband was away serving in the marines, had to hurry to deliver three-year-old Christine to a birthday party, so they didn’t get a chance to chat. Instead, they arranged to meet for pizza on Sunday evening.

      On the drive home, Bethany babbled nonstop. She was picking up new words and combining them into short sentences, Yvonne noted with pleasure. Lindsay did a good job of teaching, and being around Christine proved stimulating.

      They passed a man walking a terrier in Jackson Park. “Go wee-wee,” the little girl piped up.

      “We’ll be home in a minute.” Although still diapered, Bethany had begun to show an interest in potty training.

      “No, dog!”

      Seeing the terrier doing his business against a tree, Yvonne laughed at the mistake. The toddler’s company always restored her good humor.

      It lasted until they arrived home.

      Two fire trucks and a police car lined Garden Street. As Yvonne approached, uniformed men hauled a table and chairs from the building where she lived.

      Anxiously, she parked a few doors down. What was going on here?

      Among the furniture strewn across the lawn she spotted her couch and bureau, both dripping wet. Were all her possessions ruined? Even though most came from thrift stores, she couldn’t afford replacements.

      Her mood didn’t improve when she recognized her landlady, chamber of commerce director Hedy Greenwald, talking with a fire captain. The woman never missed a chance to treat Yvonne rudely, citing a reverence for high morals. Too bad her view of morality didn’t include living by the Golden Rule.

      Hedy had only agreed to rent a unit to her after the town’s minister had intervened on Yvonne’s behalf. Also because it offered opportunities for prying, including unscheduled visits on weak excuses.

      “Well, I hope you’re satisfied!” were the first words out of Hedy’s mouth.

      Yvonne paused with Bethany on her hip. “Care to clue me in?”

      “You had to keep complaining about Leon!” the woman exclaimed, referring to the obnoxious upstairs neighbor.

      “Everyone complains about him. What has he done?” Angrily, Hedy related that she’d posted an eviction notice. For the fire captain’s benefit, she implied she had done it at Yvonne’s insistence, but the entire building knew Leon was two months late with his rent.

      Furious, the tenant had trashed his unit and left the water running in the bathroom when he’d departed. Intentionally or not, he’d wrecked Yvonne’s unit as well as his own.

      Repairs would take several weeks. “I suppose I’m obligated to hold the place for you. Considering the new carpeting and fixtures, the rent will increase, of course,” the landlady concluded with a note of triumph.

      “I can’t afford that!” Licensed practical nurses didn’t earn large incomes.

      “That’s your problem.” Hedy smirked.

      “You own the building. Don’t you have some obligations?” Even as she spoke, Yvonne recognized the futility. “Most of my stuff is ruined.”

      “I’m not responsible for the damage to your possessions. If you carry renter’s insurance, I suggest you put in a claim.” Hedy undoubtedly suspected the truth—that Yvonne couldn’t afford a policy.

      Wiggling, Bethany pointed toward the crib two firefighters were toting out of the building. A favorite teddy bear peered through the bars. “Me want Fuzzy!”

      The declaration roused Yvonne from her worries. “You put three words together! Good for you, sweetie.”

      Hedy made a hmphing noise. “It’s gibberish.”

      Anger flared inside Yvonne. Still, if she ever unloaded, she might say things she’d regret. Ignoring the landlady, she went on addressing her daughter. “Your crib stayed nice and dry, Bethany. Aren’t we lucky?”

      “Motels are expensive.” Hedy didn’t shrink from sticking in the needle. “Maybe you can rent one of those run-down trailers on the outskirts of town. I’m sure you’ll feel right at home.”

      Her spite broke through Yvonne’s self-control. Without making a conscious decision, she blurted, “Beau invited us to stay with him. I’m sure Bethany will love that great big house.”

      “He did not! You’re making it up!” As president of the local historical society, Hedy regarded the Johnson home as an icon.

      “Call him,” Yvonne retorted. “Anyway, I’m sure half the town will see us moving in.” She gave the landlady a bland smile. “Maybe we’ll invite you to tea one of these years.”

      That ought to hurt. Hedy had been angling to visit the house for ages.

      Turning away, Yvonne caught sight of the other woman’s lemon-sucking expression. It almost made the whole experience worthwhile.

      STANDING IN THE LIVING ROOM where Grandma had once served tea and sugar cookies, Yvonne ticked off points on her fingers.

      “Number one, I am not your personal maid. I will only do things that are absolutely necessary and that you can’t do unaided,” she informed Beau.

      Sitting on the couch, he widened his eyes in mock innocence and made no comment.

      “Number two, my other obligations take priority except in case of emergency. That includes my job and my daughter. Also, my social life, if I choose.

      “Number three, you will eat whatever I cook, without complaining.

      “Number four, you will address Bethany and me with respect. You will make no snide references to my past or my morals, and if you breathe one negative word to my daughter about her origins, we’re leaving. If we end up sleeping in my car, that’s okay with me.”

      Well, not entirely okay. After the showdown with Hedy, Yvonne had suffered a few pangs of anxiety that her great-uncle had changed his mind. When she’d called, however, he’d accepted the news of their impending arrival with aplomb.

      “What’s orjinns?” queried Bethany from the Regency-style chair where Yvonne had deposited her.

      Beau’s craggy face softened. “It’s fruit I sell at the store. Orjinns and applins. If you like ’em, I got some.”

      He had a sense of humor? This was news to Yvonne.

      “Okay!” Bethany cried.

      “She’ll need someone to cut up the fruit.” Yvonne hesitated. A carload of salvaged possessions waited to be hauled upstairs, but her great-uncle couldn’t prepare food with his damaged wrists. “You don’t happen to have a banana, do you? She could eat that on her own.”

      “Sure do,” Beau replied. “Then this li’l darlin’ can help me pull the plastic off the playroom toys.”

      Li’l darlin’? The evidence of goodwill toward the child he’d publicly rejected amazed Yvonne. Perhaps his fall really had shaken

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