A Mother's Heart (Sweet Hearts of Sweet Creek Book 6) Page 4

  But now it looked like the dream she had worked so hard and made so many sacrifices for was slipping from her hands.

  Panic gripped her heart with an icy fist. She couldn’t spend another winter in that drafty apartment. Shivering each morning as she prepared her daughter’s lunch. Struggling with drains that would plug, pipes that would leak and that smell her daughter hated so much slowly getting worse. Spending another Thanksgiving and another Christmas in that apartment was too depressing to contemplate.

  All summer she’d imagined Christmas in the house. A large spruce tree with twinkling lights in the living room, a fire snapping in the hearth, music on the stereo and garlands of greenery snaking up the wooden bannister to the upstairs bedrooms.

  And the smell of gingerbread cookies baking in an oven that worked. To think of that all being taken away was heart-rending.

  It doesn’t have to happen.

  A thought snaked around the edges of her mind.

  It’s eight-thousand dollars. Surely, by now, your parents could help you?

  But she had never asked for their help and it had been a point of pride. Ever since she had given them the news that she was pregnant — that she and Andy decided to get married to give their child a home — she had keenly felt their disappointment.

  She had always been the good girl. The one who did everything right. Not like her sister, Tess, who had tossed aside a great career opportunity, broke up with her fiancé and taken off to Europe.

  Claire was the hope of the Kruger family. She was a scholar headed for a law degree and a bright future.

  Then she got pregnant.

  And after Emma was born, Andy left her. While her mother hadn’t said anything at the time, Claire keenly felt her mother’s disappointed shame. As well, her relief was that none of this happened in Sweet Creek.

  As a result, when Claire moved back here, she was determined to show her parents and the rest of Sweet Creek that she could give Emma a good life.

  And that she could give her a decent home.

  Claire shook off the negative thoughts, stepping inside the house to the sound of her daughter’s laughter and the scent of baking. Making cookies again, Claire thought, knowing her mother would send half of the batch home with her and Emma.

  She toed her shoes off and set them on the rack inside the foyer of the house. Following the spicy scent of cookies, she walked through the large high-ceilinged living room with its metallic gas fireplace and white furniture. She stepped up the two stairs into the kitchen. Emma sat on the granite island, frowning, her tongue clamped between her lips as she concentrated on piping some icing onto a cookie. Her hair was neatly braided, and she wore an oversized apron covered with smears of flour. Claire’s mother looked up as Claire came into the kitchen, flashing her a smile.

  “Can you wait a moment? We just have to finish up,” she said.

  Claire tossed her purse on a chair and then came to join them. “Gingerbread men. Already?”

  “We’re practicing for Christmas,” Emma said.

  “That’s three months away.”

  “Emma wanted to make gingerbread men,” her mother said.

  “Well, those look amazing,” she said. “Can I have one?”

  Emma didn’t even look at her, still focused on what she was doing. “Don’t take too many,” she said. “Grandpa asked us to save some for him.”

  Claire looked at the dozens of gingerbread men spread out over the counter and guessed there would be lots for her father to eat. She took one that looked like a practice cookie and bit off one lopsided leg. It was still warm, and it made her realize how hungry she was. In spite of the down-time when Nik had come to the coffee shop, the rest of Claire’s day had been too busy to even grab lunch. And no chance to talk to Cory about her reaction to having her brother around.

  “Are you almost done?” Claire asked, glancing at her watch. “We need to get home on time so I can make supper.”

  “I don’t want to go back to the apartment,” Emma grumped, as she finished up her cookie. “It smells bad and it’s dark.”

  Claire ignored her mother’s concerned look. She wasn’t sure what had caused the smell Emma was referring to. The landlord knew of the stink; she had told him enough times. But it had only gotten worse. Nor could she do anything about the small windows that let in precious little light.

  Her thoughts shifted to her old house with its large south-facing windows. She remembered playing in the sunbeams, warming herself in the sun. Again, she stifled a flash of fear at the thought that Emma might not have the chance to make the same memories. She had a righteous claim to that house, and she had to make sure it happened.

  Emma turned to her grandmother. “Can we stay here tonight?”

  Deborah gave Emma an apologetic look. “I’d love that, but I have company coming tonight so there won’t be any room. Your great uncle Steven and his whole family will be staying here.”

  Her mother sighed as she glanced at Claire. “It’s not really a good time, but they are between moves and they asked and what could I say? He’s my brother.”

  “You don’t need to apologize to me about that,” Claire said. “I certainly didn’t figure on staying here.”

  “But I did. I just don’t like that smell,” Emma grumbled.

  “Sorry honey,” Claire said, gently smoothing a wisp of hair back from her daughter’s forehead. “I will talk to Mr. Landlord about the smell again. I’m sure it’s just something in one of the other apartments.”

  “It’s really yucky,” Emma said, looking at her grandmother as if she had a solution to the problem.

  “Mr. Landlord hasn’t been very cooperative,” her mother said with a sniffy tone. “I sure wish you could just move out of there now.”

  “Working on that.” Claire fought down a shiver of panic.

  “When will you know if the house is yours?”

  As if it were a foregone conclusion.

  “I have until Monday to meet the conditions. And I can’t until cousin Tom pays me for the car.”

  “You sold that car to him weeks ago.”

  “Five to be precise.” Claire took another bite of her cookie, for a moment wishing it was Tom's arm she was taking off. Such viciousness!

  “You should take it back and sell it again.”

  “I should.” Claire inspected the cookie, trying to figure out what part to eat next. “But I signed it over to him. He’s the legal owner of the car.”

  She tried to ignore her mother’s eye roll. She knew she had been negligent, but she had trusted Tom. If you couldn’t trust family, who could you?

  “Have you spoken to Mrs. Blatchford about extending the agreement?”

  “I can’t. She had a stroke, remember? Her son has Power of Attorney over her estate and he’s the one I dealt with.”

  “You should never have sold that car to Tom. I know his father often despairs of that boy ever turning his life around. I thought things were going well, but they’re not. I can’t believe you assumed he was dependable enough to purchase your car. As for Devon, I think he should give you some more time. After all, it’s not your fault Tom is so untrustworthy. Besides, you have wanted that house for so long.”

  And here we go, Claire thought fighting her annoyance as her mother kept talking. If she didn’t distract her mother, she would keep going and eventually return to Claire’s lack of judgement. And with that, the unspoken negatives on Claire’s current situation.

  “Apparently there’s another buyer,” she said, the comment bursting out of her. “And he offered more than I did.”

  “Who?”

  Claire looked over at Emma, her lips pursed in concentration as she iced the next cookie.

  Claire lowered her voice. “Nik Austin. He’s Cory’s long-lost brother and Joyce’s long-lost son.”

  Her mother’s wide eyes told Claire she had shifted her mother’s focus.

  “The one she gave up for adoption?” Deborah asked.

  Clai
re patted the air between them, signing to her mother to lower her voice.

  “Yes. That one. The only one. And he’s back in town to connect with them.”

  “And he’s buying that house out from under you?”

  Claire made another shushing motion, glancing at Emma, but her daughter’s tongue was out, and she was frowning. A sure sign she wasn’t listening.

  “It’s not a done deal,” Claire said, easing out a sigh. “Not until Monday.”

  “Do you have any other options?” her mother asked.

  Claire looked around her parent’s house, a thought teasing her. Did she dare ask? Was it worth putting up with a few more eye rolls and some condescension to give her daughter the home she always wanted to?

  Please, Lord, she prayed, show me what to do? I’m scared.

  As she prayed she wished the panic that was circling would ease off.

  Ask your mother. Just ask.

  She took another deep breath, sent up another prayer and was about to speak when the shrill ring of the phone cut her off.

  Her mother glanced at call display while the phone sent out its insistent demands and let it ring.

  “You’re not answering it?” Claire asked, puzzled at her mother’s actions. As long as she could remember, her mother never, ever let the phone ring. Wasn’t polite, she told them. Besides, her mother’s innate curiosity needed to be satiated. She always answered.

  “It’s the bank. Your father can deal with them.” Her mother flapped her hand in a dismissive gesture.

  “What does the bank want?”

  Her mother heavily sighed. “It’s fine. Just some… well… bookkeeping things we need to take care of.”

  “Is everything okay with the store?”

  “The store is doing well.”

  “And you guys?”

  Her mother’s mouth became a prim line as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ll be fine. We just need to get through this… this thing.”

  Claire felt a niggling dread, guessing “this thing” had everything to do with her parents’ finances and how they had overextended themselves building their house.

  While she felt bad for her parents, she also realized there was no way she could approach them about a temporary loan to buy the house.

  Don’t panic. Relax. Tom said he was getting the money together.

  She had to believe that.

  Emma finished the cookie she had been decorating, but she took her sweet time taking her apron off and washing her hands. Claire tried not to fuss or hurry her along, because she knew that would only make her daughter move slower.

  “Is Mooch in the backyard?” Claire asked, walking to the French doors.

  “He had a lot of fun playing there,” Emma said drying her hands on the towel her grandmother gave her. “I don’t think he likes it in the apartment, either.”

  Claire fully agreed with Emma. When her parents had given Emma a dog for her birthday that spring, Claire tried to explain this to them. She was working, she didn’t have time to take care of a dog, nor did they have a suitable place for him. But her mother had reiterated the fact that come fall Claire would live in the house next door. With a great big yard. Mooch would have lots of room to play then and she agreed to watch Mooch at their place until then.

  “I’ll get Mooch if you can get Emma ready to go,” Claire said to her mother, opening the door and calling for the dog. He was stretched out on the lawn beside the swing set, snoozing in the warm sun. He lifted his head then lowered it again, as if hoping Claire would forget about him. He was as unwilling to leave as Emma was.

  Ten minutes later Claire had her reluctant passengers in the car and with a final farewell to her mother, she drove away.

  “Can we get pizza for supper?” Emma asked as they drove back through town to get home.

  “No. I have chicken out and I thought we could have potatoes and beans with it.”

  “I hate ‘tatos,” Emma grumbled.

  “Please don’t say that,” Claire said, reprimanding her daughter. “You’re lucky to have such good food to eat.” And she got the potatoes from Tess, who got them at the Farmer’s Market she worked at from time to time.

  “Gramma said we could have supper with her,” Emma said. “That would be good food too and her house smells nice. And Mooch would have room to play.”

  “Maybe Mooch should stay at Gramma’s all the time,” Claire muttered.

  “No, he’s my dog,” Emma said, hugging him tight, as if Claire would take him away any minute.

  “I know he is, honey. And he’s a good dog. He just needs more room than we have.” Claire suppressed yet another sigh as they pulled into the parking spot behind the apartment. Claire compared the dingy building with its broken and taped-up windows, its missing siding, to her parent’s immaculate home.

  As she always did when she parked by the apartment she glanced at the house beside it, counting down the time.

  Once again, she pushed down the flutter of panic that her dream was dying and, grabbing Mooch’s leash, stepped out of the car. But Emma was already unbuckled and opening the door on her side.

  “Honey, wait until I can get Mooch,” Claire warned.

  But it was too late. The door was open and Mooch saw his opportunity. He scrambled past Emma and shot out of the open door.

  “Mooch. Get back here,” Claire yelled, hurrying around the front of the car to catch him.

  He didn’t listen and instead scooted through the opening in the fence before Claire could stop him.

  “Mommy, you have to get Mooch before that man gets him,” Emma called out.

  “I know. I know.” Claire knelt at the opening of the fence looking through. Of course, Mooch headed right for the flower beds he had dug in before. Claire suspected he had buried a bone there some time over the summer and was determined to get it now.

  “Mooch. Come here,” she called, unwilling to go through the fence in case Nik was home. But the dog wouldn’t come. Pushing down a beat of frustration she squeezed herself through the hole and ran over to Mooch, who was now spraying dirt behind him, his paws a blur.

  She grabbed him by his collar, pulling back on him. “Mooch, stop,” she grunted as the dog lunged toward the flower bed again.

  “Is he okay, Mommy?” Emma called out from the fence.

  “He’s fine,” Claire said looking with dismay at the hole he had made and the white lily bulbs he had dug up. “I wish I could say the same about this flower bed.”

  Emma slipped into the yard and ran over to Mooch’s side, hugging him again.

  “Honey, don’t do that, please,” Claire said, pulling Mooch away from her daughter. “He’ll think you’re rewarding his bad behavior.”

  “But I think he feels bad,” Emma said, pouting her displeasure at her mother’s reprimand.

  Claire doubted that. Mooch was lunging at the flower bed again, ignoring her.

  “Really? Again?”

  The frustrated voice behind her made Claire’s heart plunge. Nik was home after all.

  She turned to apologize and felt even worse when she saw his angry expression. Which made her wonder how he felt about his visit with Cory this afternoon.

  “I’m sorry. He got out of the car before I could stop him,” she said, trying not to sound too apologetic. After all, when she took ownership of the house, the flower garden would be her problem.

  Nik glanced from Mooch to Emma, a fleeting glimpse of distress crossing his face. Then, as quickly as it came, it was replaced by a stern frown as he caught sight of the bulbs and dirt scattered on the lawn.

  “Again, I apologize. I’ll come after supper and clean it up,” Claire said, feeling she should make restitution. After all, he was living there at the moment, no matter what her deal with Mrs. Blatchford was.

  “That’s okay.” He waved off her offer. “I’m getting great at this.”

  “Why don’t you like my dog?” Emma asked.

  This seemed to take Nik by surpr
ise.

  “Well, it’s not that I don’t like your dog,” Nik replied, looking rather disconcerted. “It’s just I don’t like him digging in the flower beds.”

  Emma seemed to consider this then waggled her head. “Okay. I understand. I will be more careful with him. So he doesn’t do it again.” She shook her head as she patted Mooch on the head. “You silly dog. You shouldn’t make a mess of Mr., um…” She looked at Nik, frowning. “What’s your name again?”

  “Nik Austin.”

  “Okay. Mr. Nik Austin’s flower beds,” Emma said. She tilted her head to one side, as if studying him. “How long will you live here?” she asked.

  “Why?”

  “Because my mom and I will be moving in. When Mrs. Blatchford sells us the house.”

  Now it was Nik’s turn to frown. “What?” His gaze flicked to Claire. “What is she talking about?”

  “Mrs. Blatchford and my mom,” Emma put in before Claire could find the right words to explain what Emma was talking about. “I’m going to sleep in that room, there.” Emma pointed to one of the gabled windows. “I will paint it pink, like my Aunty Tess painted her room when she lived there. It had princesses in it. Gramma said I can have the bed when I move into the house. My mommy used to live in this house and she love, love, loves it. So do I. It’s a happy house.”

  Nik turned to Claire. “Are you the one who has the Offer to Purchase in place right now?”

  “Yes. I am.”

  Nik’s expression shifted, and he took a step back.

  “I have a week to finalize the deal,” Claire said, a defensive tone creeping into her voice.

  “Five days, actually,” Nik corrected.

  His comment annoyed her. “Whatever. I’m sorry to say I’ll get the money together one way or the other.”

  He angled her a skeptical frown. "You look like you don't believe me."

  "It's not me. It's Devon who doesn't think you'll manage it."

  And now she was really annoyed. Why was Devon talking about her to Nik? He had no right.

  But instead of saying more she turned to Emma. “We have to go and have supper,” she said. “I’m sure Mr. Nik doesn’t want Mooch hanging around causing any more problems.”

  Emma grimaced, showing Claire what she thought of Claire’s command.