The Moment of Truth. Tara Quinn Taylor
pisser needed a home.
Sam and Cassie Montford didn’t need him.
Leaning forward, he put his arms on the table. “I applied for...was offered...and accepted a job in the Montford University Business Affairs department.” He told her what he needed her to know. “Acquired only on the basis of my business degree from Harvard, not because of any other connection. Being out on my own...living without the benefit of name or fortune...is something I have to do for myself. To keep my mother off my back, I would like to do it here, in Shelter Valley. But I can’t do that without your cooperation. If anyone here finds out who I am, I won’t be able to become simply a citizen. From what I’ve gathered in the short time I’ve been in town, the name Montford carries weight around here. If I’m going to find some self-respect, I have to live off my own efforts, not the benefits that come with my background.”
“Sounds like you have something to prove.”
“I need anonymity,” he said. “If I can’t find that here, I’ll move on.”
Lips pursed, Cassie studied him for a long moment and then took a deep breath. “I have to tell Sam....”
“Understood.”
“And get his cooperation.”
Josh nodded.
“As long as my husband doesn’t foresee any trouble, I have no problem granting your request.”
“Thank you.” Josh stood, relieved. “For the time being, I’m renting a vacant house on the west side of town,” he told her. “I plan to buy something as soon as I get an idea of where I’d like to settle.”
Cassie mentioned some acreage with mountain views and Josh shook his head. “I meant it when I said I’m on my own,” he told her. “Any Montford monies I had, or will have in the future, are going in a trust designated for another use.”
He didn’t elaborate.
“The only house I can buy has to fall within mortgage qualification requirements commensurate with my new salary.”
Cassie Montford gathered up the remnants from her lunch and walked with him toward the back door of the clinic. “You’re really serious about this.”
“Completely.”
She reached for the door and stopped with her hand on the knob. “Can I ask why?”
He’d been prepared for the question. Not for the empathy he read in her eyes.
“I was born into a life of privilege, which, as it turns out, I didn’t deserve. And I’m terrified of dying with nothing but a wasted life to show for having been here.”
She wanted to ask more. He could see the questions in her eyes.
“I think my husband’s going to want to meet you.”
Not if Josh could avoid it. He couldn’t afford to let himself get that close to the life he was leaving behind. Not if he was going to make this work.
Because, like an alcoholic tempting himself with a drink, Josh was scared of what the smell and feel and taste of privilege would do to him after a week or two without it.
His resolve was firm. He just wasn’t sure he could trust himself to live up to it. Which was another major reason he’d left Boston, and everything and everyone familiar to him, behind.
“Maybe, at some point,” he said. “But not here in town. Not where anyone might see us together.”
“I’m sure that could be arranged,” Cassie said, grinning over her shoulder at him as they stepped back into the clinic. “My husband could probably fool God if he tried hard enough.”
Leaving Cassie his cell phone number, with the understanding that she’d let him know what Sam said regarding the favor he’d asked, Josh let her turn him over to Hope, who gave him a starter pack of something called puppy pads, a plastic container of vitamins and a small bag of dog food—all of which he carried out to the back of the SUV.
When he returned, she handed him a leash attached to the ten-pound mass of jumping and peeing fur he’d just agreed to take home with him.
If only his mother could see him now.
CHAPTER FIVE
“DANA, WHERE SHOULD I put this towel?” At the sound of Lori’s voice on Saturday morning, Dana turned from the desk in her little living room where she was typing on her laptop. The girl had called sometime after ten the night before and told her Marissa’s boyfriend was spending part of the night at the dorm.
“Just hang the towels on the hook on the back of the door,” she told the younger woman. “In case you need them again. I’ll wash them the next time I do laundry.”
Kitty Kari, who’d been curled up on the corner of the desk, woke, stretched and, when her paw knocked against the edge of the laptop, started patting at the screen.
Lori grabbed her purse, keys and the backpack she’d brought her overnight paraphernalia in.
“You going home for Thanksgiving?” Dana asked.
“I’m not sure. If my dad’s going to be there, yes. I’m not leaving him there alone.”
“If?”
“A couple of his mining buddies have been talking about taking a hunting trip over the holidays. If they go, he will, too.”
“Has he done that before?”
“No, but I think he’d have liked to. He wouldn’t have left me home alone, though.”
Daniel wouldn’t have left Dana home alone, either. He just wouldn’t have played video games with her like he had with his two biological daughters. And he wouldn’t have asked the other two to help with the cooking or the dishes.
They’d done that on their own. Her half sisters, Rebecca and Lindsey—twenty and twenty-two, respectively—were good girls. Good sisters. To a point.
They just didn’t go to bat for her. Not that she blamed them. Her mother hadn’t, either.
And Dana didn’t blame Susan Harris for that choice. For an earlier one, yes, but not that one.
“Well, if you’re in town, you’re welcome to come over here. I’m getting a big turkey and making dinner for anyone at school who can’t make it home for the holiday.” She loved cooking Thanksgiving dinner. And even though the holiday was still three weeks away, she’d already started buying groceries as they went on sale.
“If I’m in town, I’ll help you cook,” Lori said and, thanking Dana for letting her crash at her place, let herself out.
Eight o’clock in the morning and she had her whole day ahead of her. As soon as she got her English paper done, that was. The five-hundred-word essay was due on Monday. And while Dana had an A in the class—straight As in all of her classes, actually—she wouldn’t be able to maintain her grades if she didn’t turn her work in on time.
She was two sentences farther along when her phone rang.
It was Jerome, from her English class. He’d lost part of his grant and was low on cash. He’d shown up for class one day in jeans that were wrinkled and had a stain at the knee and she’d made a joke about a rough night. He’d replied that he didn’t have enough money for laundry and was wearing things until they stank—at which time she’d offered him the use of her washer and dryer.
He’d been over every Saturday for the past three weeks. And was calling to ask if he could use her facilities again.
She told him that he was welcome, took a break from her laptop to clear her as yet unwashed clothes out of the washing machine and went back to work. Another paragraph, rewritten four times, and Jerome was at the door. She let him in and returned to her desk.
She