Whiskey Creek: Take Me Home For Christmas Part 21

She grasped the door handle to pull herself up. "You don't have to worry about it. We're not your problem. Go home and be grateful you didn't wind up with me. Eve's a great catch. Definitely one of the nicest people in town."

What Sophia said was absolutely true. So why did something rebel in him when she told him he should be happy with Eve? "Eve is nice," he said to conceal the fact that he wasn't more excited about being with her.

She gave him a tired smile as she turned toward the stairs.

"Wait. You said whoever was here left you a note. You were going to show it to me."

"Was I?" She shrugged. "I don't know why. Doesn't matter what it says."

"Maybe I can tell who wrote it."

"You can't. It was written with crayon in capital letters. Give me the gun in case I need it. The door will lock automatically when you let yourself out."

She reclaimed the gun and dragged the blanket behind her as she climbed the elegant, winding staircase. She seemed too weary to move. He felt so bad about what she was going through that he almost offered to help her up to bed, but after the jolt he'd felt when he touched her, he knew he had to keep his distance.

Eventually, she reached the top and disappeared from view.

"d.a.m.n you, Skip," he grumbled. "I wish you were alive so I could break your freakin' jaw." He'd never been in a fight, but for Skip he would've made an exception. No one deserved a leveling blow more than he did.

Cold air streamed in through the broken window. Ted rummaged around in the kitchen and garage until he found some tape and a piece of cardboard to cover the hole. Fixing it made him feel somewhat better. He told himself he should go home and climb into bed-his deadline was looming closer with each pa.s.sing day. But then he realized that a rock the size of a baseball was sitting on the fireplace mantel. That had to be the one that was thrown through the window. It sat on a crumpled piece of typing paper that had obviously been wrapped around it.

With a final glance up the stairs to make sure Sophia wasn't coming back down, he crossed the living room and smoothed out the paper so he could read it.

Look at the beautiful Sophia DeBussi. Broke. Alone. Despised. I'm laughing. What does it feel like to fall so far? It couldn't have happened to a nicer person. But let me be the first to warn you. If you have our money hidden away somewhere, and you think you can lie low until the FBI quits paying attention, you'd better think again. Because if I ever find out you've been lying, I'll see that you live to regret it.

Ted's heart pounded as he reread those words. Was this an idle threat? Someone in town with a loud bark but no real bite? Or was it the opposite-someone who'd let his anger grow until he acted on it?

No wonder she'd been standing guard over her daughter and what was left of her house. She had to protect what she could. But a paintball gun wouldn't stop anyone with real intent.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he hurried to the second floor. He'd never been inside Sophia's home, but it wasn't difficult to find the master bedroom. A set of elaborate double doors at one end of the hall gave it away.

He knocked, just in case she wasn't dressed.

"Come in," she said.

He found her lying on the carpet, curled up on one side with a blanket and a pillow. The furniture had been removed from this room, too.

"Who the h.e.l.l would write this?" he demanded, showing her the note he held in his hand.

She didn't bother to lift her head. "I have so many enemies these days you could take your pick. Maybe it was Chief Stacy."

"I doubt he'd be stupid enough to threaten you."

"I wouldn't bet on that. He feels he can get away with anything." She punched up her pillow. "Maybe he can."

"You can't stay here anymore. You realize that." She didn't even have a bed. Or heat. And it was only going to get colder....

She chuckled. "Oh, yeah? Where am I supposed to go?"

He thought of his guesthouse. No one was there at the moment. It was furnished. It had heat. She could easily get to work. And he could keep a protective eye on both her and Lex.

But then she'd essentially be living with him!

No, not living with him. It would be like having her as a...a neighbor. He could handle that, couldn't he?

"How long until the bank takes your car?" he asked.

"You think we should move into my car?"

"No. I want to know what we're dealing with."

"We aren't dealing with anything other than work-related matters."

"Answer the question."

She leaned on her elbow. "Why? There's nothing you can do."

"Just give me an idea."

"Not very long," she admitted. "A week?"

"You should have more time than that," he said. "They don't repossess until you've missed a few payments."

"Skip wasn't paying the bills before he jumped off the yacht."

Ted felt even more disheartened. "Why am I surprised?" he grumbled. "So...how far behind are you?"

"According to the bill collector who keeps calling me, it's been four months."

Had he ever known anyone in a worse situation?

No. Never.

"Is that true for the house, too?"

"I'm afraid so."

"How come you didn't get the notices?" She'd told him before that she hadn't known they were in financial trouble, so this must've been as unexpected as Skip's initial disappearance.

"Until he died, everything went to Skip's office."

Ted couldn't get over what Skip had done to his own wife and child. He shook his head. "Okay, back to your car. What will you do without transportation? Because the Mercedes will go first and, if you're four months behind, it'll be very soon."

"I'll walk."

"To my house? That's ten miles round trip. What about Alexa?"

"She'll have to ride her bike to school. And we'll have to ask Sharon to drive her out to your place every afternoon-at least until they move. After that? I can't plan so far into the future."

"You can't leave her vulnerable to the little monster who's been tormenting her at school."

Sophia pushed herself into a sitting position. "I don't know what you want me to say! That I'll buy another car with the piles of money I have sitting around? There is no money, Ted! I'm doing all I can to get through this, but I don't have a lot of options and no resources."

"You could've told me you don't even have heat!" he said.

"We have heat. We just can't pay for it. I'm trying to keep the bill down, so they won't turn it off before we get kicked out. Anyway, why would I complain to you? You're my employer. I don't want you to regret hiring me. My job's the one thing that might save me."

"I wouldn't fire you just because you need help."

"The problem isn't that I need help-it's that I need more help than anyone in their right mind would want to give me. I've crashed and burned in a very ugly and humiliating way. I don't blame everyone for wanting to get as far from me as possible. You should do the same thing."

"I don't mind giving you a hand. That's not the problem."

"Then what is?"

The fact that he still cared about her. That was what made this situation so impossible.

"We'll talk about it in the morning," he said and walked out. But just as he was opening the front door to leave, he noticed a pair of headlights coming toward him. The glare was so bright, he couldn't see who it was, couldn't tell the make and model of the vehicle. He ran out, but the driver spotted him immediately, threw the transmission into Reverse and burned rubber as he accelerated backward.

Ted jumped in his Lexus and tried to follow. Only one road led to and from the DeBussi mansion. He thought he could catch whoever it was, or at least get close enough to see if he recognized the car. But the vehicle seemed to disappear into thin air.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h." Smacking the steering wheel, he headed back to Sophia's. It didn't matter that she was his ex-girlfriend. He couldn't leave her and her daughter alone, not under these circ.u.mstances.

19.

"Mr. Dixon?" A hand jiggled his shoulder. "Mr. Dixon? Are you okay?"

Okay was a relative term. Ted had a crick in his neck. He knew that much.

Lifting his head, he squinted to bring Sophia's daughter into focus. The bruise on her face looked worse than yesterday. But the cut looked better. She was ready for school, all scrubbed and polished. With her hair pulled back, she was the spitting image of her mother-fortunate for her considering the wide disparity in Skip and Sophia's physical traits.

"I wanted to try sleeping at your kitchen table." He yawned as he stretched.

"That couldn't be comfortable." She frowned, obviously perplexed. "Why would anyone want to try it?"

He hadn't had many options. There were probably thirty rooms in the house, but thanks to Skip's investors trying to recoup whatever they could, there wasn't a mattress or an extra blanket in sight.

"I should've brought a sleeping bag," he muttered.

She started to say something else, but Sophia's voice came down to them from upstairs, interrupting. "Lex, hurry up and grab some cereal. We have to go. I can't be late."

He made a face. "Or what? Sounds like she has a really mean boss."

That got a smile out of her. "I don't think she knows you're here."

"Neither do I, but she'll find out soon enough." He stood to ease the pain in his back and neck. "Can I scramble you some eggs for breakfast?"

"You could if we had a frying pan," she said. "We had a good one, but someone took it that night they came for the furniture."

"I see. So...what's for breakfast?"

She pulled a couple of cheap plastic bowls out of the cupboard. "We got these at the grocery store. They're not as pretty as what we had before, but they were only a dollar." Setting one in front of him, she took two plastic spoons and went to the pantry. "What's your favorite cereal?" she asked from inside.

"Wheaties, the breakfast of champions. I hope, if you had some to begin with, your father's investors didn't take it."

She laughed. "They took some of the meat out of the freezer, but they left the cold cereal. Thank goodness," she added, "because I was tired of eating soup.

"Sorry, no Wheaties," she said a moment later, holding out a box of Cap'n Crunch. "This is as close as I can get."

"Shouldn't we set a bowl for your mother?"

"No, she won't eat." She was carrying the milk to the table, but hesitated for a second. "I think she's trying to save most of the food for me."

"She really loves you."

"Believe me, now that I know what it's like to have a parent who doesn't, I'm a lot more grateful."

What she'd said was both sweet and sad. "Did you get your homework done last night?"

"Yeah."

"What topic did you choose for your English essay?"

"Bullying."

"Great choice. That's something you should feel pa.s.sionate about, which always makes for an easier argument."

"I like the way it turned out. But-" she slumped into a chair and poured her cereal "-I still don't want to go to school."

He leaned down to catch her eye. "Good thing you're brave enough to do it anyway."

"Nice try, but that doesn't make me feel any better."

"Come on, a smart girl like you?" he said with a grin. "Nothing can keep you down for long."

She allowed him to pour the milk. "My mom said you're Eve's boyfriend."

He wondered what had brought that up. "We're...seeing each other."

"I like her." She scooped up her cereal. "She's nice, like you. And beautiful."

"Eve's special," he agreed.