woman snagged his arm—with a far stronger grip than he’d expected—and tugged him out into the parking lot, where she crossed her arms over her bony chest and somehow managed to back him against his own car.
“Mr. Fortune, not that I’m not appreciative of everything you’ve done for Chrissie, but you need to know…that gal’s been through the mill. Been screwed over too many times by too many people. That she’s as sweet as she is, is nothing short of a damn miracle. So you feel sorry for her, or what?”
“As in, pity her? No. Do I think she deserves better than life’s given her so far? Absolutely.” He palmed the car’s fender. “I take it you don’t have a problem with that?”
“Depends.”
Scott suppressed a grin. Barely. A lesser man—or a smarter one, perhaps—would be halfway to the hills by now. “Mrs. Jackson
—I promise you I only want to help. And I can give her whatever she needs—”
“Oh, I imagine you can buy her plenty. But before you go bandying around the word give, you might want to think about what that really means.”
Okay, that gave him pause. Because…did he? Know how to give in the way she meant it?
“Are you saying she’s fragile?”
“Oh, hell, no. Gal’s as tough as they come. She’s had to be, you know? That don’t mean she might not mistake your…kindness for something more. That she can’t still be hurt. That she’s not still hurting. And I’m not talking about her foot.”
“I didn’t think you were—”
“I love that little gal like she’s my own, and that’s the Lord’s truth. More’n her own mama ever has, from everything I can tell. So the last thing I want is for some fancy man to come along and break her heart all over again. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly. Are we done here?”
“No.” Enid backed up, barely, her eyes pinched nearly closed. “I ain’t never been rich, Mr. Fortune. But I cleaned houses for enough wealthy families over the years to come to a conclusion or two about ’em. Either they pretend the poor don’t exist, or they’re curious about us, like we’re a different species. Christina don’t need you being fascinated with her, that’s all I’m saying.”
Scott pulled in a deep, steadying breath through his nose. Even though her sentiments weren’t far off from the very thoughts he’d been wrestling with, they still rankled. “Mrs. Jackson,” he said quietly, “my mother drilled it into all our heads from the time we were babies that people are people, that who they are isn’t defined by what they have. Or don’t have. I’ll admit, I am fascinated, because I’ve never known anyone like her. But when I say that, I’m talking about her character. Who she is. Not what she is. Do I make my point clear?”
Several seconds passed before a soft cackle fell from Enid’s shapeless, wrinkled mouth. “I guess you do at that. Don’t mean I’m still not keeping my eye on you.”
And he thought the dog was bad. “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said with a little salute, then walked back to Christina’s door, realizing he’d been gripping the flowers hard enough to practically bend the stems.
Over Gumbo’s excited barking, Christina yelled, “Door’s open, come on in! Dog! For crying out loud, hush!”
Scott’s entrance sent Gumbo into his happy-happy-joy-joy dance, his long tail wagging so hard it was a wonder it stayed on.
“Sit,” Scott commanded, and after some effort the poor animal managed to lower his wriggling butt so it hovered right above the carpet, eyes glued to Scott in rapturous adoration. To complete the look, one ear, then the other, slowly flopped out.
“That’s as close as it gets,” Christina said fondly. “Something about the way he’s put together, he can’t get his backside all the way to the ground.”
Then she noticed Scott had turned his frown on her and a chill snaked through her whole body, and that was the sorry truth. Good Lord, he was
“Mr. Fortune, not that I’m not appreciative of everything you’ve done for Chrissie, but you need to know…that gal’s been through the mill. Been screwed over too many times by too many people. That she’s as sweet as she is, is nothing short of a damn miracle. So you feel sorry for her, or what?”
“As in, pity her? No. Do I think she deserves better than life’s given her so far? Absolutely.” He palmed the car’s fender. “I take it you don’t have a problem with that?”
“Depends.”
Scott suppressed a grin. Barely. A lesser man—or a smarter one, perhaps—would be halfway to the hills by now. “Mrs. Jackson
—I promise you I only want to help. And I can give her whatever she needs—”
“Oh, I imagine you can buy her plenty. But before you go bandying around the word give, you might want to think about what that really means.”
Okay, that gave him pause. Because…did he? Know how to give in the way she meant it?
“Are you saying she’s fragile?”
“Oh, hell, no. Gal’s as tough as they come. She’s had to be, you know? That don’t mean she might not mistake your…kindness for something more. That she can’t still be hurt. That she’s not still hurting. And I’m not talking about her foot.”
“I didn’t think you were—”
“I love that little gal like she’s my own, and that’s the Lord’s truth. More’n her own mama ever has, from everything I can tell. So the last thing I want is for some fancy man to come along and break her heart all over again. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly. Are we done here?”
“No.” Enid backed up, barely, her eyes pinched nearly closed. “I ain’t never been rich, Mr. Fortune. But I cleaned houses for enough wealthy families over the years to come to a conclusion or two about ’em. Either they pretend the poor don’t exist, or they’re curious about us, like we’re a different species. Christina don’t need you being fascinated with her, that’s all I’m saying.”
Scott pulled in a deep, steadying breath through his nose. Even though her sentiments weren’t far off from the very thoughts he’d been wrestling with, they still rankled. “Mrs. Jackson,” he said quietly, “my mother drilled it into all our heads from the time we were babies that people are people, that who they are isn’t defined by what they have. Or don’t have. I’ll admit, I am fascinated, because I’ve never known anyone like her. But when I say that, I’m talking about her character. Who she is. Not what she is. Do I make my point clear?”
Several seconds passed before a soft cackle fell from Enid’s shapeless, wrinkled mouth. “I guess you do at that. Don’t mean I’m still not keeping my eye on you.”
And he thought the dog was bad. “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said with a little salute, then walked back to Christina’s door, realizing he’d been gripping the flowers hard enough to practically bend the stems.
Over Gumbo’s excited barking, Christina yelled, “Door’s open, come on in! Dog! For crying out loud, hush!”
Scott’s entrance sent Gumbo into his happy-happy-joy-joy dance, his long tail wagging so hard it was a wonder it stayed on.
“Sit,” Scott commanded, and after some effort the poor animal managed to lower his wriggling butt so it hovered right above the carpet, eyes glued to Scott in rapturous adoration. To complete the look, one ear, then the other, slowly flopped out.
“That’s as close as it gets,” Christina said fondly. “Something about the way he’s put together, he can’t get his backside all the way to the ground.”
Then she noticed Scott had turned his frown on her and a chill snaked through her whole body, and that was the sorry truth. Good Lord, he was
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