leave, she wanted to stay, but on her own terms, on her own two feet.
Briskly she knocked at the door, but alas, Brooke’s future was not answering.
In case Mr. Hadley had returned and was hard of hearing, Brooke knocked harder. “Hello! Is anyone in there?”
“Good golly, missy. Can you stop the hammering? Even my cat is getting anxious.”
Slowly she lowered her arm and turned, finding the dry cleaner, a pudgy man with a balding, bullet-shaped head, scowling at her. However, contrary to his statement, his cat was definitely not anxious. The round animal was winding his way through Brooke’s ankles, rolling on the cement steps, belly-flopping one way then the other. Brooke reached down and petted the more forgiving feline. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Hadley.”
“He’s in North Dakota.”
“Well, yes, I know that.”
“Then why are you knocking on his door?”
Brooke rose and held out her hand. “I’m Brooke Hart. You’re the dry cleaner? I’ve heard you do very good work.”
Grudgingly he shook her hand, kerosene-like fumes drifting to Brooke’s nose. “Arnold Cervantes. If you need something cleaned, I’m your man. But I still don’t get it. If you know Hiram’s gone, then why are you here?”
His tone wasn’t very nice, but Brooke reminded herself to remain friendly. If she worked with those chemicals all day, she wouldn’t be a happy person, either. “Doesn’t anyone else work in the office?”
“Lizzie’s his secretary.”
“Why isn’t she answering the door?” Brooke asked, which she thought was a very logical question.
“She’s in Dallas while Hiram’s taking care of his dad. He gave her the time off. Seemed silly for her to sit in the office and twiddle her thumbs while he’s gone. Why’re you so all-fired to talk to Hiram?”
“I have some legal matters with my brother that need to be arranged. It’s regarding the Hart property. Mr. Hadley called me.”
“Why didn’t you call him back?”
“He doesn’t have an answering machine.”
The man began to laugh.
“This isn’t funny,” Brooke told him, deciding that pretend-friendly had gone on long enough. “I drove a long way to talk to Mr. Hadley and everybody here thinks it’s normal that his office is shut down.”
Looking somewhat ashamed, the dry cleaner blew out a breath. “Sorry, missy. Give me your name and a phone number and I’ll call his father’s place.”
“You could just give me the number and I’ll save you the trouble,” Brooke suggested, not wanting to admit that she didn’t have a phone and not exactly sure that Mr. Cervantes would do it anyway.
The man picked up his unhappily mewing cat. “You know those trusting folks who believe everybody is who they say they are and want to chat all day on the phone?”
“Yes.”
“Hiram’s not one of them. Got to check everybody out. Probably why he went into law. Give me your name and number and I’ll call him tonight. If it’s an emergency, I’m sure he’d fly back and take care of matters, seeing as he’s left you in a lurch and all.”
An emergency? Was this an emergency? It wasn’t like Brooke didn’t have a roof over her head now. The Captain’s roof, and yes, there were a lot of issues to be worked out between them, but Brooke fully intended to work them out, because no matter how mad he made her, he also made her feel safe and relaxed and desired. Most important of all, there had been times when she saw respect in his eyes. She’d had moments in her life when she was safe or relaxed or desired, but never respected—unless she was pretending to be someone who she wasn’t, but with the Captain she didn’t have to pretend.
No, this was no emergency. “I can wait until he gets back. I don’t have a phone.”
“I think what we have ourselves is a failure to communicate, missy,” the man said, laughing again. She didn’t think he was laughing at her, and she decided the Mr. Cervantes wasn’t as bad as she had
Briskly she knocked at the door, but alas, Brooke’s future was not answering.
In case Mr. Hadley had returned and was hard of hearing, Brooke knocked harder. “Hello! Is anyone in there?”
“Good golly, missy. Can you stop the hammering? Even my cat is getting anxious.”
Slowly she lowered her arm and turned, finding the dry cleaner, a pudgy man with a balding, bullet-shaped head, scowling at her. However, contrary to his statement, his cat was definitely not anxious. The round animal was winding his way through Brooke’s ankles, rolling on the cement steps, belly-flopping one way then the other. Brooke reached down and petted the more forgiving feline. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Hadley.”
“He’s in North Dakota.”
“Well, yes, I know that.”
“Then why are you knocking on his door?”
Brooke rose and held out her hand. “I’m Brooke Hart. You’re the dry cleaner? I’ve heard you do very good work.”
Grudgingly he shook her hand, kerosene-like fumes drifting to Brooke’s nose. “Arnold Cervantes. If you need something cleaned, I’m your man. But I still don’t get it. If you know Hiram’s gone, then why are you here?”
His tone wasn’t very nice, but Brooke reminded herself to remain friendly. If she worked with those chemicals all day, she wouldn’t be a happy person, either. “Doesn’t anyone else work in the office?”
“Lizzie’s his secretary.”
“Why isn’t she answering the door?” Brooke asked, which she thought was a very logical question.
“She’s in Dallas while Hiram’s taking care of his dad. He gave her the time off. Seemed silly for her to sit in the office and twiddle her thumbs while he’s gone. Why’re you so all-fired to talk to Hiram?”
“I have some legal matters with my brother that need to be arranged. It’s regarding the Hart property. Mr. Hadley called me.”
“Why didn’t you call him back?”
“He doesn’t have an answering machine.”
The man began to laugh.
“This isn’t funny,” Brooke told him, deciding that pretend-friendly had gone on long enough. “I drove a long way to talk to Mr. Hadley and everybody here thinks it’s normal that his office is shut down.”
Looking somewhat ashamed, the dry cleaner blew out a breath. “Sorry, missy. Give me your name and a phone number and I’ll call his father’s place.”
“You could just give me the number and I’ll save you the trouble,” Brooke suggested, not wanting to admit that she didn’t have a phone and not exactly sure that Mr. Cervantes would do it anyway.
The man picked up his unhappily mewing cat. “You know those trusting folks who believe everybody is who they say they are and want to chat all day on the phone?”
“Yes.”
“Hiram’s not one of them. Got to check everybody out. Probably why he went into law. Give me your name and number and I’ll call him tonight. If it’s an emergency, I’m sure he’d fly back and take care of matters, seeing as he’s left you in a lurch and all.”
An emergency? Was this an emergency? It wasn’t like Brooke didn’t have a roof over her head now. The Captain’s roof, and yes, there were a lot of issues to be worked out between them, but Brooke fully intended to work them out, because no matter how mad he made her, he also made her feel safe and relaxed and desired. Most important of all, there had been times when she saw respect in his eyes. She’d had moments in her life when she was safe or relaxed or desired, but never respected—unless she was pretending to be someone who she wasn’t, but with the Captain she didn’t have to pretend.
No, this was no emergency. “I can wait until he gets back. I don’t have a phone.”
“I think what we have ourselves is a failure to communicate, missy,” the man said, laughing again. She didn’t think he was laughing at her, and she decided the Mr. Cervantes wasn’t as bad as she had
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