Am I’m paranoid, or is Hunter following me?
We’ve bumped into each other five times in the hall. When Trini and I were rolling meatballs, he offered to help. And in the middle of my mid-day stroll by the lake, Hunter Walsh just happened to be jogging by. Shirtless. Smiling. Sheening.
Is sheening even a word? Well, it should be. His ripped chest and glorious six-pack are borderline ridiculous, glistening like a homing beacon for panties everywhere. Grade A, southern girl crack.
I knew the signs. A sin-laced smile. Dimples. A hand through his sweat-drenched hair to show off his pecs…
Red flags up. The man wants something.
“Hey.” Hunter slowed to a stop, his muscles on full display at military parade rest.
I shook my head, smiling back. “What do you want?”
His smile widened. “How about dinner?”
“Dinner?”
He picked a small, yellow wildflower from among the reeds, handing it to me. I take a sniff of its light perfume and wave it at his face. “Leo lets you have dinner? How unlike him.”
“Don't let him fool you—” Hunter says, matching my casual pace. Leo is hard on the outside. Soft in the middle. Like a dark Lindt truffle.”
Now, I’ve heard it all. “Did you just compare a lethal enforcer to a delectable chocolate?”
He thinks on his feet. “Maybe. He was sweet enough to assign me to you.” I fling the little flower in his face. “What?”
“I’m sorry, I just swallowed a little vomit in my mouth at you calling your boss, ‘sweet.’”
“We both know if Leo were here, I’d be hard at work.”
I call him on his bald-face lies. “First of all, like Leo and the rest of you ex-military macho machines, you’re a workaholic. And second, the only reason you're cuddling up to me like a Maine Coon is because you've been told to do so. By your boss. And I get it. I'm an outsider creeping in, and no one has a reason to trust me. You don't have to pretend to be my friend. It's cool.”
“Maybe I want to be more than your friend.”
I take in all six-foot-four inches of him. Wavy hair. Boyish grin. A killer bod desperate to be ridden until the wee crack of dawn.
The problem is he’s not Leo.
“You’re a perfect specimen.” I say, suddenly in the market for a perfect specimen.
His Elvis impersonation is spot on. “Thank you, thank you very much.”
“How do you feel about redheads? Strawberry-blonde to be more precise.”
Skeptical, he glances at my hair. “I can't quite picture it on you.”
“That makes two of us.”
I pull out my cell and select an image of Brooke in all her shot glass toasting glory and show it to Hunter. His long whistle is all the validation I need. Nailed it.
“Wow,” is all he can seem to say.
“This is Brooke. She can wield a shotgun and a shot glass with the best of them, and her hobbies include horseback riding and raising hell. She wants Christmas with the family, a houseful of kids, and a man who spanks her at poker but doesn’t play games.”
He expands the image and zooms in on her face. Breathless, he stares, seduced and smitten. “Is she dancing on the table?”
“Yes, but not professionally.”
He lets out a small, aww. “Look at those freckles.”
I roll my eyes and snag back my phone. “This is it, Hunter. You are the bachelor. You only have one rose.” I hold Brooke’s sassy image against my cheek. “Will it be the girl you’re fake asking out because your boss told you to or the girl with all those adorable freckles?” I wiggle the phone suggestively.
His brow furrows, heavy with indecision.
“We can still have dinner. I can tell you more about Brooke.”
He still doesn’t budge.
My hands fly up in defeat. “You can still stalk me.”
His hand locks with mine. “Deal.”
My cell chimes with the familiar ringtone of “Mamma Mia” by Abba. It never gets old. “Hi, Aunt Grace.”
“Hi, Ivy. I wanted to let you know I got a visit from a hot guy with some security firm. Asking about you in your new job. Said it was for a background check.”
I cut my hand over the receiver and ask Hunter, “Is someone on the team asking around about me? In person?”
He shrugs. By the boyish innocence of his non-answer, he knows, but he won’t say.
“Did they leave a name?”
“Let me get his card.” She takes a moment, and I hear her mumbling in the background. “Where did I put that card?” Relieved, she shouts, “Found it! Okay. It’s a little unusual because there's no last name. Just an initial. Z.”
“Leo,” I say, perturbed, as I give Hunter the stink eye. He raises his hands in surrender. “Sit tight. I'm coming over.”
“But he already left.”
“That’s all right. I wanted to see you anyway, and this gives me the perfect opportunity. Then you can fill me on absolutely everything that was asked.”
“Oh, if you're going to be dropping by, do you mind picking up my prescription? I’ll call and pay for it so all you have to do is pick it up.”
“Sure. I’ll head over there now.”
“You know,” she says, mischief in her tone, “that Leo sure is a good-looking man. Do you work with him?”
“We'll talk when I get there,” I say, turning sharply away from Hunter. From the smirk on his face, he heard.
Giggling, Aunt Grace agrees. “Great. See you soon! I'll get working on the second pie.”
“The two of you ate an entire pie?”
“Do not give me that tone. He gobbled it up like it was his last supper. Besides, at the very most, I ate a quarter.”
I smile widely and look straight at Hunter when I ask, “Leo ate three-quarters of an apple pie? By himself?”
“Apparently, nobody's been taking care of that boy.”
“Apparently.” I shake my head because it's not like I didn't try. “See you soon.” I hang up and pin the six-foot-four Hunter with my glare. “Do you plan on following me?”
He rubs his chin. “It’s for your protection.”
“Could you protect me closer?” He stares back, confused. “I need a ride.”
“Done.”
A small bell chimes as I push open the door to the pharmacy. Hunter makes his way to the magazines, giving me privacy with the pharmacist.
The elderly man looks down at me with a smile as I request the prescription for Grace Everly. “You must be Ivy. Grace called ahead to let us know you’d be heading over. One minute.”
He flips through several containers of pre-bagged medications until he finds the right one.
The pharmacist frowns. “She was very specific to only request half of the pills.”
“Half?” I unwrap the small paper bag and pull out the bottle. The name of the medication is a hundred letters long and impossible to pronounce. “What’s it for?”
“High blood pressure. And the prescription is written for a full dose each time.”
“Then, aren't you required to fill it?”
He shakes his head, matter-of-factly. “For most medications, I can adjust the quantity based on the leeway with the insurance provider and the request of the customer. Especially if they're trying to cut back on costs.” His grave eyes meet mine. “Please make sure she's taking at least one pill a day.”
Worry pricks through me. “What happens if she takes less?”
“With this medication…” He shrugs. “It’s dangerous. Her blood pressure may creep up unexpectedly. A heart attack or a stroke isn’t out of the question. She should really speak with her doctor. It’s risky.”
“Isn’t there a cheaper generic?”
He checks his computer. Within a few keystrokes, he shakes his head. “There are plenty of generics. But with all her allergies, this is the only one she can take.”
“How much is this medication?”
“She paid ahead,” he answers flatly.
“But filling the full amount. How much would it be?”
The pharmacist does the math in his head. “If she purchased the entire amount now? It comes to fifty-five.”
Fifty-five dollars? She probably spent more than that in the fixings to make her homemade pastries and blue-ribbon apple pie for Leo. I fish three twenty-dollar bills from my wallet and lay it on the counter.
He pats my hand. “I should have said it clearer. Five thousand, five hundred dollars.”
Stunned, I repeat the price loud enough for everyone to hear. “Fifty-five hundred dollars? That’s…preposterous. Her insurance—”
His voice lowers. “Her insurance is a widow’s insurance. For some medications, it’ll cover nearly all of it. For this one, it covers none of it.”
I proceed to lose my shit. “There's no way she can afford that. It's probably twice her mortgage. There has to be another medication available. A cheaper one.”
Hunter sidles up to me. “Is everything okay?”
I nod, despondent. Nothing is okay, but the last thing I need is Hunter running this information to Leo. Because if Leo’s involved, the D’Angelos aren’t far behind. I can’t exactly build their trust with a hand out, begging for cash.
This isn’t their problem. It’s mine.
I open my purse and come face to face with my saving grace. The check. It's for nearly three thousand dollars and signed by Mason D’Angelo. “Smoke,” I say sentimentally under my breath. I hadn't yet set up a local bank account. For once, procrastination pays off. I give the pharmacist a hopeful grin. “Can I sign over a check to you? And pick up what I pay for?”
“Sure.”
If I’m living at the mansion, my expenses are nil. The five hundred dollars I came here with hasn’t been touched. And I'm not exactly a shopaholic. Books are my retail therapy, and the estate has more books than Barnes & Noble.
Without another thought, I hand over the entire check. That way, Aunt Grace has a cushion. The pharmacist gets working on the remainder of her prescription. If I'm frugal and stick with a budget, I can cover Aunt Grace’s prescription and take care of her the way she’s always taken care of me. Showing me how to cook. How to read. How to love. Effortlessly. Naturally.
By the time everything is sorted at the pharmacy, I make my way to Aunt Grace’s on foot. It isn’t far, and I don’t want her getting all starry-eyed and grilling me about Hunter. Never mind that he’s trailing behind me like a shadow. At least I’m not stepping out of his car.
The house is quiet when I walk in. I find her napping soundly on the sofa. Considering her nickname as the Energizer Bunny, her deep, slumbering breaths worry me.
I tiptoe beside her, unnerved. What if she isn’t sleeping? What if she’s passed out and needs medical attention? I lower my face until it's practically touching hers. Her eyes fly open, and her scream pierces the air. I fall back, my ass landing on the table. Hand over her heart, she pants heavily. “Child, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Ditto.” I shake the bag of medication at her. “Maybe you shouldn’t be skimping on your pills.”
She waves away my concern. “I'm fine.”
I open the bag and shake the little, orange bottle full of pills. I let one slide into my hand and hold it up to her. “If you haven’t taken one today, you'll take one now.” Her brow lifts warily. “There’s a…new program at the pharmacy. You’re actually eligible for free medication.”
That has her sitting up. “I am?”
“Yes, it's all taken care of.”
She snatches the pill from my open hand. “Gerald never told me about free meds.”
“It’s a new program. New to the pharmacy, too.” I look around, handing her a half-finished cup of tea as she pops the pill. “Why don't you let me fix you a fresh cup of tea and some lunch.”
“I should be fixing you lunch. You're the one who picked up the meds and made some miracle happen with the insurance.” Skepticism stretches across her face as she studies me.
Rather than cross the threshold with a bald-faced lie, I about-face straight out of the room. Normally, Aunt Grace would be hot on my heels, going a hundred miles a minute with taking charge of her kitchen and spearing me with question after question about everything going on in my life. But today is different. I'm left alone to prepare her meal in peace. The quiet feels strange and unsettling.
I whip together a sandwich and grab some chips from the pantry. By the time I've returned, her head is resting back on the sofa pillow with her hand over her eyes. “Are you all right?” I sit beside her and check her pulse, a habit I’d fallen into while working at Sparrow Assisted Living. Her pulse is weak. Weak enough to make me want to throw her in Hunter’s car and cart her off to the nearest urgent care.
Her hand slips from mine to cradle my cheek. “It’s nothing. Just a little dizzy spell. They come and go. It’s no big deal.”
It's true. She has had dizzy spells for years. Had she had problems with her blood pressure all this time? Was that why they moved to Chicago? Uncle Jerry said he found a job with good pay and benefits. “Can you sit up?”
With a little assistance, she does.
“Moment of truth.” My eyes lock with hers. “When's the last time you took your medicine?” I ask.
Her nose wrinkles as she blows out a thoughtful breath. “I don’t know. Yesterday, maybe…” Childlike, she hangs her head. “There were only a few pills left, and I wasn't sure when I could make it to the pharmacy. They last a lot longer if I don't exert myself, but when that hot chief of security came by—”
I stop her, practically shoving the sandwich down her throat. She takes a welcome bite. “Why didn't you call me? I can be here in forty-five minutes.”
She swallows. “Because I don't want you to worry. And I can’t drag you away from your important new job.” She sips her tea, her eyes full of wonder. “Any news on your father?” Opening the chips, I slide several to the plate before grabbing a handful for myself. “Nothing to report.” I can’t tell her everything I’ve discovered. Not yet. Not until I know without a doubt that I am a D’Angelo.
Her finger taps my knee. “And what about this security guy?” Her voice is full of excitement and romance.
My eyes roll in avoidance. “Leo is all business. Someone I work for.”
“Ohhh.” She elongates the word suggestively. I don’t dignify her whimsy with a response. It’s too hard to explain how my one-night stand became my boss.
Instead, I turn the interrogation spotlight back onto her. “What did you two talk about?”
Her shoulders raise and lower. “A little bit of everything.”
“How long was he here?”
She chews as she thinks. “After all was said and done, almost two hours.”
“Two. Hours?” What kind of background check was this? I calm down, mindful of her blood pressure. “I’m sorry he was here so long.”
“Oh, I insisted.”
“What do you mean you insisted?”
“Ivy, it’s the southern way to be hospitable.”
“He’s the chief of security for a billion-dollar corporation, not a houseguest.”
“In this case, he was both. And you know it takes at least a good, solid forty-five minutes to bake a pie.”
My face falls into my hand. “I still can’t believe you baked him a pie.”
“And read his palm, too,” she says with way too much enthusiasm.
I cringe at the thought of Leo—former Navy SEAL and no-nonsense mob enforcer—sitting idly by while Aunt Grace reads his palm. “Please tell me you didn’t wear the headdress.”
“He was in a hurry.”
Mortified, I shake my head. “Did you find anything noteworthy?”
“Oh, Ivy,” she scolds. “You know as well as I do that all palm readings are strictly confidential.”
“Are they? Wasn’t it you that stood up in the middle of Brooke’s birthday party and told half the freshman class that I was destined to become royalty?”
She munches another chip. “I might’ve been bragging just a little.”
“Which, by the way, happened to be totally untrue.”
She yanks my hand, rereading my fortune. Her finger points hard to my palm. “I still see it. Clear as day. It’s in your past and in your future.”
“What is?”
“A throne.”
A throne. Erede al Trono. Can she see that? I squint, studying each line of my hand as if a holographic crown will magically rise from my palm.
Her finger traces one line in particular.
“Tell me more about Z.”
“Leo? What about him?”
“What kind of relationship did you say the two of you had?”
Two words come to mind. “Platonic. Professional.”
Aunt Grace releases my hand and bites into her sandwich, chewing around a big, cheesy grin. “Mmm-hmm.”
Hiding anything from Aunt Grace is like hiding an iceberg from the Titanic. She’ll find out sooner or later. Might as well brace her for the impact. “Don't get your hopes up. I might be into him, but he's definitely not into me. He's made that extremely clear.”
“Oh.” She reads my cues, swallows her mouthful, and switches gears like a NASCAR driver. “How’s your new job?”
A wide smile overshadows my heartache. “I love it. I care for Trinity. She’s been through a lot. Leo said she’s really taken to me. That I'm the first person to break through to her in four years. Being able to help makes me feel good. Like this is what I’m meant to do.”
“It’s just like I told Leo. People can’t help but love you.”
Her hand pats mine. My heart clenches at the thought of her saying that to him. If only she knew how wrong she was.