Man With A Miracle. Muriel Jensen
shook his head. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Why?”
“Never mind. Thanks. And thanks for the mocha.”
“Sure. See you Sunday. Bring the woman.”
Evan accepted that his friends were intent on providing backup, whether he needed it or not. He glanced at his watch. Almost five. He’d better get moving if he was going to stop for groceries on the way home. It was a little unsettling to think that someone was there waiting for him.
BEAZIE SLEPT until midafternoon and awoke feeling a little like she was in a sauna. The house had warmed up considerably, and she was still wearing the coat and hat Evan had lent her. She was also wearing Lucinda.
The cat opened big yellow eyes as Beazie stirred, then meowed a protest and dug into the front of the jacket when Beazie tried to sit up.
Beazie laughed and stroked the cat, then tried to lift her off. Lucinda meowed peevishly and leaped down, clearly affronted at being disturbed.
Sitting up in the middle of the bed, Beazie peeled off the coat and hat, then looked around her, captivated anew by the coziness of the simple room. The furniture was trendily mismatched—an oak highboy, a white wardrobe in the distressed cottage style, a small, square shelf that served as a bedside table, and a cut-shade lamp. The bed itself was brass and quite ornate.
And the pieces had the feel of things handed down, kept because they were loved or had precious memories attached.
As a child she’d had a room something like this. She’d felt loved and…attached. Then her father, a commercial airline’s pilot, had died in a crash, and her mother had remarried three times in quick succession, trying to recapture the love she’d lost. She had divorced as quickly, and died six years ago of complications from surgery. Beazie personally thought she’d simply given up on love and life.
Determined that wasn’t going to happen to her, Beazie pushed herself out of bed. She was going to find this Evans person, turn over the tape, then take off for parts unknown and start all over. It wasn’t as though she had loved ones in Boston. Well, there was Horie, but she could keep in touch with her no matter where she was.
She went to the window and looked out. All she could see were the tops of trees, the sawtoothlike arrangement of evergreens, and the lacy bareness of oak, maple and sycamore. She spotted the top of a church spire and the wrought-iron widow’s walk of what must be an old colonial home.
Or maybe, she thought with a wistful sigh, I’ll just stay here. She felt a little as though she were safely tucked in a tree house in the woods, as far removed from the threats that had plagued her last night as it was possible to be.
Then she came to her senses and realized that was a foolish thought. She wanted the life in that fifties commercial, and it didn’t exist. She wanted someone to give her back her childhood, and that wasn’t going to happen. The men in the red SUV had lost her trail but were certainly still chasing her. She had to focus on finding Evans and getting rid of the tape.
Her eyes lingered on the view and she expelled a little sigh of longing. Maybe she could just hold on to that dream and tuck it away. It would never come true, but she could still draw comfort from it in a small way.
She found the bathroom across the hall and a stack of dark blue towels on a wicker stand. Lucinda followed her in and curled up on the dark blue carpet.
Remembering that she’d need clothes or something to wear when she stepped out of the shower, Beazie stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, then, suddenly inspired, looked on the back of the bathroom door. A brown velour robe hung on the hook there.
Buoyed by that piece of good fortune, she peeled off her clothes and stepped into the shower.
Fifteen minutes later she was belting the robe, a towel wrapped around her hair, when she heard the faint sound of activity downstairs. She stood still, her heart lurching with fear that the red SUV had found her, after all.
That was ridiculous, she told herself briskly, quietly opening the door. It was probably just Evan returning home. That possibility was still a little scary, but not in the same way.
He didn’t like her, didn’t trust her, and had invited her to stay with him out of Christian charity. That should be good enough for her, but somehow it wasn’t.
Lucinda raced out the door past her, meowing.
Beazie tossed the towel aside, combed her fingers through her hair, then stepped quietly into the hall. Pausing at the top of the stairs, she heard the sound of female laughter from the direction of the kitchen.
A surprising thought hit her. Evan was married! And maybe had a daughter. She could hear two voices.
That possibility both relieved and distressed her, but she was too curious to analyze why. Then she heard a baby cry, and ran lightly down the stairs.
She arrived at the kitchen doorway and saw a baby carrier on the table and two women unloading what appeared to be casserole dishes and…clothing.
A small, dark-haired woman went to lift the crying baby out of the carrier and spotted Beazie. She smiled apologetically.
“I’m sorry we woke you!” she said, holding the baby to her with one hand and coming toward Beazie with the other outstretched. “I’m Haley Megrath.” She indicated the squalling baby. “This is Henrietta—Henri for short.”
Beazie shook her hand and duly admired the baby, then the woman indicated her friend, another dark-haired woman with a friendly smile. “And this is Mariah Trent. We’re friends of Evan’s. Mariah’s husband is his partner, Cam Trent, and my husband, Bart, is their lawyer.”
“Hi, I’m Beazie Deadham. I was already up and in the shower. What…?” She pointed to the clothing draped over chairs.
“Oh, right.” Haley took a bottle out of her purse on the table and put the nipple in the baby’s mouth. Henrietta stopped crying instantly and made urgent, sucking sounds. “Mariah and I are heading up a committee to supply the food and clothing bank for a new homeless shelter.”
Beazie nodded, remembering that Evan had mentioned the shelter.
“So, we’ve been gathering clothes. I’ve personally contributed a lot because I needed some new things after the baby came.” She rolled her eyes. “Thickening waist, bigger hips. You know.”
Beazie didn’t, but she couldn’t imagine what this woman had looked like before, if the figure she sported now in jeans and a simple sweater was thicker than it had been.
“Anyway, he told Mariah about your arrival here with no change of clothes and wondered if we had anything you could use, since you and she are about the same size.”
Beazie picked up a rich-blue sweatsuit draped over the back of a chair. Then a softer-blue turtleneck sweater. She uttered a grateful gasp, feeling as though she’d just been given carte blanche at Filene’s.
Mariah held up a pair of blue jeans. “Think these will fit? They’re Haley’s. Sometimes men are wrong about sizes.”
Beazie shook her head regretfully. “I’m flattered to be thought the same size as Haley—” she smiled apologetically “—but I’m solid peasant stock. I’m a ten.”
Mariah folded up the jeans and dug into another bag. “Good. You are my size.” She smiled conspiratorially. “It’s the chocolate. And Haley’s always running around chasing news stories, so she gets more exercise. She’s publisher of the Maple Hill Mirror. I just drive children around and wait for them to finish ballet lessons, tai chi lessons, swimming lessons, soccer games, baseball games, basketball—”
“She gets the point,” Haley interrupted, then said to Beazie, “Why don’t you just look through what we’ve brought and take what you want. My sweaters would fit you.”
Beazie clutched the sweats and sweater to her and took the jeans Mariah held out. “Two