Testing His Patience Page 7

Patience held the receiver to her ear and listened as it rang. The day after Thanksgiving and several days after Gil had stopped by to lecture Patience in her room at school, fluffy featherlike snow floated outside her bedroom window. His visit lingered in her mind—how handsome he’d looked and how irritating his voice had been. An unpleasant mix. Then why don’t you just put him out of your mind?

  The line picked up and she pushed Gil out of her thoughts. “Hello, is this Mr. Pulaski?” Patience fiddled with the telephone cord as she sat on her faded blue quilt-covered bed. Would this phone call get her the help she needed? Would a retired Chicago cop still have an “in” with his department?

  “Yes?” the gruff voice answered her. “I already have a long-distance company and I don’t want to buy anything—”

  “This is Patience Andrews, Gracie’s cousin,” she cut in. “Do you remember me?”

  “Let me see.” Silence. “Oh, I know. You’re that pretty blonde who worked for Jack this summer at his office. What can I do for you?”

  She grinned at his lightly sexist compliment. “Well, it’s a little hard to explain. I hope you don’t think I’m being presumptuous, but I was talking to Gracie and she said you were the person to call.”

  “I love that Gracie.” Mr. Pulaski’s voice warmed.

  Patience smiled, thinking of her petite and dynamic cousin. “We all do.”

  “Now what can I do for you, miss?”

  “I’m down here in Rushton.” Her mind went over what she’d prepared to say to him. Will he think I’m paranoid or just plain nuts? “I’m just starting my first year as a teacher.”

  “Yes.”

  “And I was chosen for jury duty in October.”

  “What kind of case?” Curiosity sparked in the man’s voice.

  “An assault and robbery. Anyway, I didn’t think the local D.A. presented a very solid case. Primarily, it was just circumstantial evidence propped up by the fact that the suspect had a history of mental illness.”

  “Ah.” He sounded interested.

  “I was wondering if you could advise me.” Patience took the plunge. “You see, I was the one responsible for the hung jury and it’s a small town. Everyone is down on me—”

  “That information should have been kept confidential,” Mr. Pulaski growled.

  “It should have been, but some other jurors let it be known that my vote was the only not guilty. And my reputation has taken a beating. And this being my first year teaching here, I want to do something to clear myself of being a know-it-all crackpot.”

  He chuckled. “How can I help you, little lady?”

  “The items stolen were antiques, family heirlooms. Some were quite valuable. I was thinking that some might make their way to Chicago, maybe to antique dealers there.”

  “Ah. I see.” He paused. “Yes, you’re probably right. Some might have headed south to Nashville, too. That’s a popular antiques town.”

  Great. He’s taking me seriously. “You sound like you know what you’re talking about, Mr. Pulaski.”

  “Antiques aren’t a popular theft item, but it does happen. Let me guess. You’d like me to ask some of my friends on the force to keep an eye out for some of the items?”

  “Yes, that’s it.” Cool relief whistled through her. “I thought if they turn up for sale in Chicago, it would mean that the local man couldn’t have done it. He was arrested almost immediately after the attack.”

  “That might be right. Unless he had already hooked up with someone in his area that had connections. Are there any antique stores in the area?”

  “A few.” She pictured the town square and its few quaint shops.

  “You should check them out. See if any of them have a criminal record.”

  “How would I do that?” she asked.

  “The easiest way is to use small-town gossip to your advantage. Ask around. If a dealer has been around for several years, people usually can tell you if he’s on the up-and-up or not.”

  “I see. I’ll do that.” The afternoon gossip group that had moved into Bunny’s living room because of the chillier temperatures would be meeting soon and she’d be there with a few prepared questions. “Also, could you look up three names? I know one of them has a criminal record but the others might have something in their past also.”

  “What are the names?” Mr. Pulaski asked.

  “Wade Bevin, Cal Fiskus and Hank Drulow.” She spelled each name for him.

  “Okay, got ’em. Now—” Mr. Pulaski’s voice became businesslike “—if you get me descriptions of the stuff, I’ll hand it off to friends of mine who are still on the force and maybe they will even contact Nashville and a few other hot antiques towns.”

  “Oh, Mr. Pulaski, that would be wonderful. Thank you.”

  “The people down there giving you a lot of grief about this, huh?” he said as though trying to find a way to offer her sympathy.

  “It’s been tense.” Patience shuddered, remembering the cold looks she still got when walking around the town square.

  “You’re too pretty a girl and too nice for that kind of stuff.” The man’s voice became bluff and reassuring. “Leave it to me. I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thank you so much. I really appreciate this. You just don’t know how much.” She took a breath. “I’ll e-mail the information to Gracie and Jack and they’ll bring it over to you.”

  “That’ll work. Now don’t you worry. You’re not in this alone.”

  Feeling weak with sudden relief, Patience hung up the phone and then flopped back on her soft quilt with a sigh.

  The phone rang. She glanced at it and ignored it, letting the message go to the machine.

  “Hello, Miss Andrews, this is Gil. I would like to set up a meeting with you about my son. Please call me at my office so we can set up a time. Thank you.”

  Waves of sensation and confused emotions lapping inside, Patience stared at the phone. Gil’s deep voice had held a quality so different, so much different from the tone she’d heard from him when he’d come to school. This time, the man had sounded sincere and…meek…almost. Could that be possible?

  On Saturday morning after Thanksgiving, Patience nudged the cart down the aisle of the local grocery store. Inside her, a battle waged. Trying to concentrate on the grocery list was not keeping her mind in order. Willfully, Gil Montgomery’s deep voice and dark chocolate-brown hair kept intruding.

  Her mother trailed beside her. “If we buy the large size of vegetable oil, it will cost less.”

  “Yes, but we have to carry the groceries home ourselves,” Patience reminded her. “And how long would it take us to use up the economy size?”

  “You’re right,” her mother agreed in a flat voice.

  Gil’s phone call played in her mind again. Patience pushed the call out of her mind and tried instead, to think kind thoughts about this thin, pale woman beside her.

  But it’s so hard, Lord. I feel such resentment toward my mother. I don’t want to feel it. I know it’s against your will, but I’m struggling. And it doesn’t help when I expect her to slide back to her old self at any moment. She’s tried to dry out before….

  “Hello.”

  Gil’s voice from just behind made her stop her cart and look up. Warmth she had no control over rushed through her whole body. Was it attraction or embarrassment?

  “I wonder if you got my call the other night,” he asked.

  “Yes, I’ve…I’ve been very busy.” Patience voiced a convenient alibi. She cleared her throat.

  Irritated with her pat excuse, Gil nodded and tried to make his voice more engaging. He hated having to make this effort, but it had to be done. What was good for his son was more important than how much this schoolteacher annoyed him. He eyed the silent woman beside Patience “Hello, Mrs. Scudder.”

  Patience’s mother nodded and stared at the linoleum.

  Well, he obvious didn’t impress her much. He turned to Patience, fortifying himself against her inexplicable appeal. So what
do you want me to say, Patience? In light of our conflict over the case, what do I have to do to get your cooperation and input on helping Darby?

  “You wanted to get together and discuss your son,” Patience prompted him in that low voice of hers that made his nerves hum.

  “Yes, when would it be convenient?”

  She glanced away from him, not meeting his gaze. “How about after school on Monday?”

  He rested his hand next to hers on the shopping-cart handle. “Monday might work out, but I was wondering if you’d meet me in the evening?”

  “Evening?” She gave him a startled look as if he’d proposed something improper. “Why?”

  “Because I often can’t get to school while you are still there.” He moved his hand nearer to hers as if closing in on her. Because I’m hoping if I am seen with you in public, it will show that I’ve overlooked your role in the Putnam mistrial. Then I hope the controversy will die down and you won’t have to meddle in my affairs any further. And then we can concentrate on Darby.

  Waiting for her reply, he paused to let his gaze soak in her elegant figure and to note her complete lack of flirtation. Patience always filled him with conflicting emotions and he seemed to affect her the same way. It was hard not to like this honest woman. And I’d like to see you away from school in the evening because for once, I’d like you not to be irritated with me when we talk.

  “Where would we meet?” she asked, making direct eye contact. “Your office?”

  “No, how about the café on the square?” I want as many people as possible to see us together.

  “When?”

  He decided suddenly to push harder. Why did she push back? Why did she always fence with him? “How about I pick you up at seven tonight?”

  “Tonight? You suggested Monday.” She stared at him with her large fawn-brown eyes.

  “Why put it off?” His own unexpected switch in tactics made his blood pump. Time to shake this woman up, stop her from meddling and get her back on Darby, her real job. “Why not tonight? Why don’t I take you to supper?”

  Chapter Six

  At the rear of the Corner Café, Patience stared across the booth at Gil. In contrast to the dark November night, the café sparkled so clean and bright. Too bright. When they had walked in together, the bustling Saturday-night café had fallen silent.

  Patience’s face still flamed with embarrassment. Hot currents of frustration and outrage roiled inside her. “I told you this was a mistake.” Why did I let you persuade me to come here? With you of all people?

  From behind the vinyl-covered menu, Gil muttered, “And I said, for once, have some faith in my judgment. If we’re seen together, not arguing, the gossip about our feud will start dropping off the chart. I’m trying to help you.”

  She lifted her menu, but the printed list of entrées squiggled in front of her eyes. “I don’t think this is going to help,” she muttered back at him.

  “So much for ‘trust me.”’ Gil sounded grim.

  Patience was struck by his tone. She looked at him and found herself fascinated by the cleft in his square chin. Did it point to a gentleness that belied the hard jawline?

  Patience had dressed in casual slacks and her favorite royal-blue sweater for a café supper. Somehow she’d expected Gil to wear a suit as usual. She’d never seen him dressed in jeans and a casual plaid shirt, open at the throat. Her gaze lingered on his neck. A small brown mole there captured her notice.

  The young waitress in jeans and a white T-shirt approached them warily. “The special tonight is Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes and gravy. Salad and dessert included.”

  “I’ll have that.” Patience closed the menu. Too much was going on for her to be bothered being fussy about what she ordered.

  “Me, too,” Gil agreed, handing his menu to the waitress. He smiled at her and then pointedly at Patience.

  Patience took the hint and forced herself to smile at Gil.

  The waitress’s gaze darted back and forth between them as if one of them concealed a live grenade. She poured two cups of decaf coffee and escaped them.

  As they still stared at each other.

  “So, Gil?” Patience prompted him, her voice low in her throat. His face looked smooth, without a hint of five o’clock shadow. Had he shaved again just for her? Did that mean something? “What can I do for you?”

  “When did your mother arrive in town?” he asked, glancing around at the other tables and booths.

  What? What’s your game, Gil? She followed his sweeping attention over the small café, also glancing at the other patrons.

  Caught staring at them, people looked away.

  “You should know when my mother arrived.” Patience couldn’t conceal the umbrage that vibrated in her throat. “Haven’t you been keeping tabs on me?”

  “As a matter of fact, I haven’t.” Gil lifted his coffee cup. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to approach a new trial.”

  Patience bit her tongue, holding back her opinion of trying an innocent man twice. She traced her cup’s smooth handle with her forefinger. “Have you tried to find out if any of the stolen items have appeared for sale?”

  She glanced over at him. A lock of his bitter chocolate-colored hair had escaped and fallen onto his forehead. It beckoned her to push it back into place.

  Gil returned her attention, his blue eyes narrowed. “I already told you I had sent out descriptions of the stolen items to state and national theft databases. It wasn’t easy because Mrs. Perkins couldn’t help at all. I had to depend on Vincent Caruthers for information.”

  “Vincent Caruthers?” In the act of lifting her cup, Patience paused. “The antique dealer that testified?”

  “Yes.” Gil nodded to an older woman walking past them toward the rear exit. “Only a month before the robbery, he had been asked to appraise Mrs. Perkins’s antiques for market and insurance value.”

  “He’s local, right?” Patience drew in her first hot sip of coffee, feeling Gil’s intense concentration on her.

  “Yes, his shop is only a few doors down from here.”

  Great. Patience rolled the rich brew over her tongue and grinned to herself.

  The waitress delivered their salads and bread basket, still behaving as if she were serving an alleged spy team.

  Does this woman expect me to bite? Patience mentally shook her head.

  Vincent Caruthers, she’d visit him soon. She wondered if she should try to talk to the neighbor who’d wanted to buy some pieces from Mrs. Perkins. That would be more difficult. He didn’t have a shop. She gave Gil an assessing look and then discarded the idea of telling him about Mr. Pulaski’s involvement and suggestion about looking into local dealers. Something tells me this man wouldn’t appreciate it.

  “What did you want to ask me about your son?” Patience glanced once more into Gil’s eyes, entrapped by his thick dark lashes that contrasted so with his blue irises.

  Gil took a deep breath and put down his fork. “Darby’s mother and I married young, too young.” His words rushed together as if he wanted to get them out and get this over with. “We were total opposites…”

  This bit of revelation confused Patience. Where is this going?

  He pursed his lips. “Anyway, we divorced when Darby was only two. You were right,” he admitted in a grudging tone. “Darby has been the unwilling witness and sometimes participant in angry emotional scenes. His mother, my ex, knows just what buttons to push.”

  Patience let his words settle deep in her mind and heart. What an admission for this unbending man to make. She almost said something to this effect, but stopped herself. “I’m afraid,” she temporized, “your situation isn’t unique.”

  “That doesn’t make it any easier on my son,” Gil started again. “After the brief conversation you and I had about Darby at school…” He paused as though sorting out his thoughts. “Later that evening, I had to confront his mother about a safety issue. I was glad I had talked to you first. Your input
helped me keep my son’s well-being the focus, not my anger at my ex’s carelessness.”

  Impressed by his apparent honesty, Patience listened as he told her the story of the motorcycle ride and the helmet. As he spoke, a foolish desire to touch his fingers, so near to hers on the table, blossomed. She refused to let her hand reach for his.

  Instead, she focused on his intent. Can I trust this man? Is he really just concerned about his son? Or does he have a hidden agenda of his own?

  “I’m grateful for your standing up to me and getting my attention.” Gil didn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t want the divorce to affect Darby negatively. Or at least, more than it already has.”

  Patience had stopped eating. This is the man who helped put me into the sticky situation I’m in. And this man had done the impossible—he’d stirred her sympathy in spite of everything that had come between them.

  “It’s hard…” Gil’s voice broke. “Seeing Darby want his mother and yet still to see the harm she does him when he is with her.”

  “Why did you get custody?” Patience propped her chin on her hand. She gazed at him, taking in all the subtleties—his neat haircut trying to tame natural waves, his straight nose and inviting mouth. Jerking her mind back to the conversation, she asked, “Was Darby’s mother unfit?”

  “Not in the legal definition.” Gil pushed his back against the booth and rested his forearms on the edge of the table. “She didn’t want custody of Darby—”

  “She didn’t?” Patience’s eyes widened as she met his gaze.

  “No, she said I better keep him. I could do more for him.” He stared down at the tabletop.

  Patience considered this as she looked at his bowed head. She’d known what it felt like to be rejected by both her mother and the man who’d fathered her. Did Darby sense that his mother had relinquished him without a fight? Or was it hurtful only because his mother lived apart from him? “That explains a lot about your son.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “His love cup is nearly empty. He longs for love and especially to be noticed. That’s why he is acting out. He feels a compulsion, a craving for special attention to make up for the emptiness. And, unfortunately, this usually comes out as misbehavior.” Patience lifted her fork.