Hey, how ’bout climbin’ into the backseat of my car and giving me somethin’ to celebrate our win, huh, Lucky? Mitch Hudson had called out. Physically more mature than the other boys his age, Mitch had whiskers—and his words were slurred enough to tell her he was more than a little drunk.
Hell, don’t touch her, Mitch. You’re likely to get a disease, someone else had said and the pretty little cheerleaders in the group, who’d almost certainly had a lot more sexual experience than Lucky did at the time, laughed as uproariously as everyone else.
She considered Booker’s question: How does it feel to be back? Not as good as it was going to feel to leave again. But she liked Booker too much to say so. “Fine, I guess. At any rate, I won’t be staying long.”
CHAPTER NINE
WHEN HE DROVE past the Victorian after breakfast at the diner, Mike couldn’t tell whether or not Lucky had returned. Neither could he tell whether she’d had her utilities restored. He doubted it; the place was still dark.
It’ll happen soon, he decided and spent the afternoon in his office, mostly making calls for Gabe’s father’s campaign and trying to convince himself that she could take care of herself even without immediate heat and air.
But she hadn’t done a very good job of taking care of herself so far and, as darkness fell, he started imagining the worst. She’d hitched a ride with the wrong kind of guy. She hadn’t thought to buy food. She needed something and didn’t have telephone service so she could call for help.
Finally, he gave up on the offer he was trying to draft for the purchase of another mare and picked up the phone. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t have anything more to do with Lucky, but he didn’t need to contact her to put his mind at rest. There were other ways to find out what was going on next door.
Rob Strickland answered his call to the phone company. Mike had grown up with Rob and recognized his voice instantly. They chatted about Rob’s wife and four kids, then Mike swung the conversation to the purpose of his call. “Could you tell me if 215 White Rock Road has any telephone service yet?” he asked.
“Isn’t that your grandpa’s old place?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll check.” Rob put him on hold for several minutes. “Not yet,” he said when he finally came back on the line. “And it doesn’t look like it’s going to be any time soon. I found the work order, but Eloise Greenwalt just told me that once she realized who’d requested service, she stuck it at the very bottom of the stack, after all the trouble calls and everything.”
Mike pictured Lucky sitting in that old Victorian, its broken windows welcoming the biting wind. “Eloise Greenwalt did what?”
“She stuck it in the bottom of the stack,” Rob told him, chuckling. “Lucky Caldwell might have walked away with your grandpa’s house and a chunk of his money to boot, but no one who cares about you or your family is going to make things easy on her now. I bet she won’t stay the month.”
Mike’s grip tightened on the handset. “She’s living in that house alone.”
“So?”
“It’s cold outside. She needs service.”
Mike could sense Rob’s surprise that he wasn’t happier with Eloise’s spiteful game. “You want us to hook her up?”
“Hell, yes, I want you to hook her up!”
“Jeez, Mike. What’s gotten into you? It’s getting pretty late in the day and—”
“I don’t give a damn how late it is,” Mike said. “Do it now.”
“We can’t do it now,” Rob responded, his tone injured. “Most of the crews have gone home for the night.”
“Shit.” Mike scrubbed a hand over his face.
“What’s wrong? It’s not as if she’s going to die without phone service.”
“Just get her a working line as soon as possible, okay?” he said. “And tell Eloise…” Tell her what? That she had no right to make such a decision? He was willing to bet she didn’t even know Lucky. But if he stepped in and tried to shield his new neighbor, it’d only evoke more resentment—like it had with his mother earlier today—and his relatives and their friends would treat her that much worse.
Gritting his teeth, he did his best to reel in his temper. “Tell Eloise she doesn’t have to get even with Lucky for us. We’ve got that handled already.”
Mike hung up, thinking about all the people he knew at the power company and the water company. Then he got back on the phone, going from one person to the next until he managed to wrangle promises that Lucky would have both water and power. Tonight.
LUCKY COULDN’T BELIEVE IT when her lights came on. At six o’clock she’d decided that the power wouldn’t be restored today and resigned herself to spending another cold night. Thanks to Booker, who’d insisted on staying long enough to cover the broken windows with plastic, the house wasn’t quite as drafty as before. She wasn’t exactly comfortable, but she wasn’t panicked either. She had food, water, new candles, a fire she’d built with the wood she’d purchased at Finley’s and her sleeping bag.
She’d just made her bed on the floor of the living room and situated a mug in the embers of the fire so she could heat water for cocoa when the lights flickered on.
“Hallelujah!” she cried and ran upstairs to turn on the central heat.
A clang echoed through the house the moment Lucky threw the switch. She held her breath, waiting to see if the HVAC system had weathered the past six years as poorly as some other parts of the house—and breathed a sigh of relief when, after another chung, air began pouring through the vents. It took a few more minutes for that air to get warm, and would take even longer to raise the temperature of the whole house, but at least some of her utilities had been restored.
She picked up the phone to see if she might have a nice surprise waiting for her there, too, but there was no dial tone. Evidently telephone service would have to wait a while longer.
Heading back to her makeshift bed, she decided to go to sleep. It was still early but too cold to do anything else, and she was exhausted because she’d barely closed her eyes last night. After she and Mike had made love until they were both spent, he’d dropped off almost immediately. But she hadn’t wanted to miss one moment of lying next to him. Maybe their lovemaking had meant nothing to him, but she’d given him everything she had, everything she was. When she was with him, sleeping seemed a terrible waste of time, so she’d stayed awake to study his profile, feel the warmth of his big body, listen to the gentle rasp of his breathing.