It was late afternoon before Cynthia looked up from her work the next day. She craned her neck and glanced out the window of her office into the ranch yard. She had spent the day doing preliminary planning for the Fixer-Upper fundraiser and hadn’t gone outside for more than a few minutes. Had barely gotten up, she realized. Or eaten, for that matter.
She had finished that Not-A-Kiss sandwich last night though. Ploughed through it one bite after the next, like a hog at a trough, until the plate was empty and her stomach hurt. Chad, ignorant rat that he was, danced his little heart out as if he’d forgotten her very existence. He didn’t want dessert, he didn’t get dessert.
She slammed her laptop closed and stood up. She’d had a momentary lapse, now she was back to business. She’d completed her planning documents. Her timelines were drawn up, her spreadsheets prepared. She liked to have her ducks in a row, before distributing tasks to Maddie and DeeDee, but she was ready now. Someone had to be in charge.
Not that it had been a hardship researching the Anders brothers.
Eric’s rodeo career ended years ago due to an injury that occurred shortly after the weekend debacle she referred to in her mind as ‘the incident.’ The same weekend her crush on him had been annihilated. Listening to the guy of her dreams tonsil-check another girl, while she hid, naked, behind a vending machine, had taken care of that. The word slurpy came to mind.
She shuddered. That was it for crushes and dreams of perfection. Heroes were ordinary people, with feet of clay. No point romanticizing them. Back to reality. Back to herself.
Where she belonged.
She stretched her arms up, hearing the tiny pops and cricks in her back.
Eric was still dreamy. He just wasn’t the guy of her dreams, anymore. Not that it mattered. He had Leda, and Leda’s little girl Hera. Eric was a family man, now. A business man, a rancher, a consultant. Co-manager with his brother, Chad, of a charitable foundation called Building Tomorrow.
Chad.
Cynthia couldn’t help but feel the little thrill that ran through her at the thought of how he’d looked at her across the table at Grey’s. How he’d touched her chin in the truck.
How he’d said I want you, the day before, his eyes like smoke against a clear summer sky...
Then, the image of the Chad-sandwich intruded and fantasy disappeared in a slick of melted ice cream and cookie crumbs. What was it with her and crushes on the Anders brothers?
At least she could blame her thing for Eric on youthful stupidity. She had no excuse for letting Chad’s polished moves and rehearsed lines get to her. She knew who he was.
And anyway, hadn’t she expected from the beginning that he was after her stepsisters? Work or play, he probably didn’t care how he got to them.
But still, disappointment wriggled deep down inside her. It was hard not to like being the center focus of a gorgeous guy, even fleetingly. And it had seemed so real, that was the confusing part. He wasn’t faking his passion about this fundraiser. He’d made that clear. And he understood that Cynthia was the power behind DMC, not MadDog and DeepDip.
Grow up, Cynthia!
Her sisters weren’t malicious, any more than Chad had set out to make her feel like a spinster-wallflower.
She straightened her shoulders and gave her head a shake. Keep it professional. Do your job.
Help Building Tomorrow make the splash it deserves, so that people opened their wallets at the Fixer-Upper Dance. Save needy kids, save old houses, strengthen the community.
No wonder Chad was so passionate about this project.
Well. No need to get emotionally invested.
Her stomach growled and she glanced at her watch. Joanie would have supper on the table soon. Another perk of working on the home spread: home cooking.
Cynthia went to her little fridge in the corner and got out a small tin can of cat food. She might suck the big lugie when it came to seducing men, but here in the barn, she actually had a chance of success.
She tip-toed out of her office and into the dark, musty stalls beyond.
“Hey little buddy,” she called, wandering amongst the bales. “Where are you?”
She listened, but there was nothing but the sound of swallows in the rafters.
“Tuna surprise for supper, sweetie.” She tapped a fork against the plate.
“Mrrt.”
A skinny, crooked tail peeked out from the edge of the board fence. He rubbed his cheek against the rough wood, reaching up on his tippy-toes.
“There you are!”
She took a step closer. He ducked back immediately, but didn’t disappear. He wasn’t as young as she’d thought initially. Maybe four or five months old. He needed feeding though.
“Fine. Be that way.” She put the plate down and nudged it in his direction with her foot. “I’d love to stay, thanks, but I’ve already got a date. My social calendar is crazy.”
He hunkered down at the plate and began eating, keeping one eye on her. She could hear his rusty purr, over the chomp-chomp of his jaws.
“Actually, it’s just dinner with the family,” she confessed. “I’m pretty conservative. You should know up front, I don’t sleep with guys I’ve just met, but for the price of a flea treatment, I’d reconsider. For you.”
He sat back and began to clean his face.
“Sure. Play hard to get. See if I care.”
She blew him a kiss and went up to the house, carrying the file folders for her sisters.
Yup. This was her social life. Family dinners. Business lunches when she couldn’t avoid them. Breakfast alone at her desk. When you’re an ordinary hen, tired of competing with peacocks, that’s the way the bran muffin bounces.
She wasn’t complaining. If she were meant to be with someone, someone would appear. She was patient. She could wait. Until then, she had her work, her family and her cat. More or less.
The deck on the west side of the big house she’d grown up in overlooked the valley, letting the late afternoon sun cast its deep orange glow over the table. Every now and then, a brief, visceral memory of her mother hit her, making her breath catch in her throat. No wonder Dad hadn’t been able to sell the place.
She stepped through the doorway into her mom’s kitchen and braced herself.
“Wash up, everyone,” called Joanie. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
Joanie Henley, formerly Joanie Cash, was the kind of woman who was meant to be married. Instead, she’d been widowed young, left with a large insurance payout and two baby girls, whom she’d provided with everything their little hearts desired, to compensate for the loss of their father. She had ten recipes for roast chicken, alone.
Cynthia walked over to where her father sat at the head of the table, his nose buried in the newspaper.
“Hey, Dad,” she said, planting a kiss on his bald head.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Her father patted her hand. “You haven’t gotten married and had five children when I wasn’t looking, have you?”
It was an old joke. Norm Henley had his finger on the pulse of world events, but his parenting style had leaned more to benign neglect, loving but bewildered. He wouldn’t notice if her hair were on fire, literally. When she was twelve, she’d nearly burned off both her eyebrows in an ambitious attempt at cooking Cherries Jubilee for his birthday. It was three days later when he looked at her, frowned, and asked if she’d gotten her hair cut.
As a result, Cynthia had long ago learned to run both their lives, while the Cash sisters could still barely run a bath.
“Still single,” she said, looking for the other girls. “Although I think I have a cat, now.”
She heard voices upstairs.
“A cat,” said her father. “When will you know for sure?”
“When he lets me catch him, I guess.”
Cynthia began filling glasses with water. Her stepsisters were nowhere to be seen.
“Norman, put the paper away.” Joanie gestured to the stove. “Could you fill the gravy boat? Thanks, honey.”
Pot roast, mashed potatoes, gravy, salad and vegetables from the farmers’ market were on today’s menu and Cynthia’s stomach growled.
“Cindy! How come you didn’t dance with us last night? We had so much fun!” Maddie came bouncing down the stairs, her beautiful mane of hair trailing behind her like a train. She threw her arms around Cynthia and hugged her tightly.
Her stepsisters’ adoration had been instant and irresistible. They’d always wanted a little sister, apparently, and her shyness only endeared her to them, making them determined to ‘fix’ her.
The only problem was, growing up fabulous and fatherless was very different from growing up mediocre and motherless.
“Henley?” Maddie had asked about her last name, that long ago day. “Like the t-shirt?”
“No, dummy.” DeeDee, the fashion plate, had been quick to correct her. “Tees have short sleeves and crew necks. Henleys have a four-inch button placket below the collar. You know, how blue-collar guys dress up.”
And even after a decade together, no matter how they’d tried to polish her up, that was them in a nutshell. Henley vs. Cash. Working girl vs. trust fund girls.
But they weren’t mean-spirited. They just didn’t seem to know that not everyone had the same choices they did. Ie: to work or not to work.
“It was a business meeting,” said Cynthia.
“If it was business, shouldn’t you all have been there from the beginning?” Joanie inquired, her delicately arched eyebrows raised gently in Cynthia’s direction.
“I like to get the boring grunt work out of the way first,” said Cynthia.
“Oh, of course,” said Joanie, giving her an indulgent smile. “Everyone should play to their skills. You’re such a hard worker, Cindy.”
When Cynthia had expressed her desire to start up her own graphic design business, Joanie had immediately and generously offered to loan her the necessary funds.
It wasn’t until later that Joanie suggested this might be a wonderful opportunity for the three girls to work together.
What she really wanted was an opportunity for her daughters to work, period. No one would hire them, and why would they? They had no skills.
But they were perfectly suited for party planning.
So CH Solutions graphic design and promotion became DMC Solutions, event planning, graphic design, promotion and whatever Cynthia could think to offer (aside from business climaxes) that would allow the company to earn enough so that she could pay off the loan and start over.
“Where’s DeeDee?” asked Joanie.
“On her cell, talking to her agent,” said Maddie, putting air-quotes around the word agent. “We should start eating without her.”
Joanie put a hand to her chin. “I’ll take her a tray if she’s not down soon.”
“Everything looks wonderful, dear,” said Norm. “Tell us about the job, Cynthia.”
If he understood her plight, Cynthia knew he’d pay Joanie back in a heartbeat. But it was important to him that they were one big happy family, and it was important to her to let him believe it.
It mostly was, anyway.
Cynthia took her seat and began passing around the food. “Chad and Eric Anders are launching their charitable foundation, Building Tomorrow, with a fundraiser for Logan Stafford’s heritage house restoration project.”
“The one that ‘employs’ those kids no one knows what to do with?” Joanie rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t take one of those houses if you paid me. Broken down to begin with, then fixed up by delinquents with no business using electrical tools.”
She shook her head.
“Mom,” said Maddie, giving the word three syllables. “The boys are disabled, not delinquent. I think it’s a wonderful program. And that Logan Stafford is so yummy.”
“And so taken,” said Cynthia. “Actually, the boys and girls in his program are at-risk for not graduating from high school for various reasons. The program provides alternative school credits while giving them a chance to explore the construction trade.”
“Whatever,” said Joanie. “Someone needs to look after them, that’s all I know. I’ll never understand why some people have children at all, when they’re only going to neglect them. Where is DeeDee?”
Cynthia held her tongue, with difficulty.
“This job will be great for our portfolio,” said Maddie, winking at Cynthia. “Not to mention that Chad Anders is single, super-hot and very, very available.”
Go for it, she thought. She’d bet money that Maddie had no idea what was in their portfolio.
“It’s the best advertising we could do for DMC Solutions,” she said, instead. “A lot of important people from town will be at this event. When they see that we’re behind it all, it’ll definitely raise our profile in the business community.”
Maddie popped a green bean into her mouth. “Important people, like who?”
Cynthia looked up. “The mayor, the school board, the heritage society... Maddie, didn’t you read the emails I sent you?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
Like her mother, she accompanied the words with an eye-roll.
“What about DeeDee?” Cynthia had a timeline on the whiteboard in her office, with color-coded tasks listed on each day between now and the event. Invitations were highlighted in red, and were to be delivered by now. People needed time to make plans.
“I wouldn’t know. But don’t bet on it.”
“DeeDee!” yelled Joanie.
“Joanie, dear,” murmured Cynthia’s father with a pained expression.
“Maddie.” Cynthia set down her fork. “We don’t have time to screw around.”
In any sense of the word.
“I know, don’t tell me. I’m here, ready to work.” Maddie held up her hands. “DeeDee’s agent has her believing in this modelling thing. It doesn’t matter what the rest of us say.”
Being an inch shorter than her sister, and slightly more curvaceous, Maddie was sensitive to the fact that DeeDee was modelling material, while she herself was merely beautiful. The sisters presented a more-or-less unified front to the world, but at home, they were as catty as any other sisters.
“But let her go to New York. We don’t need her,” concluded Maddie with airy certainty.
“We do.” Cynthia felt the beginnings of panic. “If she cuh-cuh-can’t handle her share of the work, it falls to you and me. And I’m already up to my nuh-neck with the graphic design stuff.”
“Relax, Cindy. Stress makes your stutter worse.” Joanie passed her the salad. “DeeDee isn’t going anywhere.”
Cynthia’s stepmom had a gift for thinking that if she believed something to be true, then it would be true. And that unpleasant things need not be thought of, at all.
“Yeah, Cinderella,” said Maddie. “We’ve got lots of time.”
Cynthia put a hand to her forehead, feeling her blood pressure go up. Across the table, her father gave her a sympathetic and slightly worried smile.
“One muh-month,” she said, keeping her voice level, “is not lots of tuh-time.”
“A month.” Maddie’s eyes widened. “I thought we had five weeks.”
“We did. Last week.”
“More potatoes?” Joanie pushed food at her, a flush of color dotting her cheeks. Cynthia’s stepmom wanted life experience for her daughters, but only if it didn’t involve conflict. Or perspiration.
Which left Cynthia doing all the heavy lifting. As usual.