Out of the Ashes Read online

  "So, you could handle some accounting tasks as well?" Forsythe nodded, jotting something on his legal pad. "I have an accountant who handles my books. He's here once a month, but he's been suggesting for over a year that I automate my accounting system so it doesn't take him so long each month."

  Her pulse jumped. "I'm familiar with several of the small business software packages." She rattled off a few. Perhaps her painful Brad lesson would be to Four Seasons' gain. She answered several more questions, surprised by Forsythe's thoroughness. Despite clearly being in over his head with the volume of their workload, he seemed determined to choose someone who would offer a good fit for the long run.

  "Why this job, Shannon?" He leaned back in his chair, indicating either a comfort level with her or a sign that he was wrapping up the interview. "Why aren't you looking for nursing positions?"

  "I'm open to both," she admitted. Hesitating, she debated which answer he wished to hear, but decided to be honest instead. "I've also applied for several nursing positions. I have the most experience in orthopedics, but I also did a stint in the ER and a few years in pediatrics." Lifting her gaze, she found him observing her intently. Listening intently. As though his whole being was on alert. The scrutiny was unnerving. Shannon almost sensed a change in the atmosphere in the room. A current of awareness that hadn't been there moments earlier.

  "I like nursing. I—love nursing," she corrected. "But, I'm open to a change. I'm not sure if it's because I just moved back, or if it's a more permanent career shift."

  "You're originally from here?"

  She glanced to his work-toughened hands, relieved when he broke eye contact to scribble a note. "I grew up in Belmont," she answered. Not a lie. "I went to Tufts for my nursing degree." Another not-lie. "My sister lives in Brookline. I'm staying with her until I get settled somewhere." Bingo. Three truths in a row.

  "So, you still might go with nursing?"

  "I like working with patients, but I loved working with customers," she admitted. She may have started working with Brad because she'd believed herself in love, but she'd stayed to clean up the mess—for her. For the challenge. "I like the business aspect of the work I was doing before I left Denver."

  Curtis nodded, seeming to accept her answer at face value. "I've got a few more candidates to interview, but I'm hoping to make my decision by Friday. If I hired you, when would you be able to start?"

  Hope fluttered in her chest. "Since I've just moved back to town, I don't have to give notice to anyone. I could start Monday—if that worked for you." A job offer would mean she could move out of her sister's 'den' AKA closet. She could stop wearing earplugs because Kerry's boyfriend was staying over. Stop being jealous of her sister having a boyfriend who stayed over. Maybe—she'd eventually take a chance on a new guy. One who wasn't a soul-sucking, deadbeat bast-

  "Can't get much better than that." Forsythe rose from the squeaking chair, signaling the end to their interview. "Why don't I get back to you in a few days with my decision?"

  "Thank you for your time." She remembered to smile, hoping he couldn't smell her desperation. A job would mean her own space. Where she could regroup. Take stock on the rest of her life. It would mean privacy—to lick the wounds Brad had inflicted. A job meant replenishing her bank account. It meant finally not hearing her younger sister having wild sex in the next room. "I think I could make an impact here. Maybe help take some of the paperwork off your hands so you could focus on the business."

  He nodded. "That's music to my ears."

  This time, she just had to remember to keep the relationship all business. Not that there was a chance in hell she'd fall for the guy she'd decided years ago to hate. Her nemesis—who'd become a potential means to an end. If she could manage to hurt him along the way, even better. For now, she had more immediate issues. She was dead broke. Her grandmother's money had been poured into Brad's business. Her legacy . . . gone. With nothing to show for it. Love—and idiocy had blinded her to the possibility she was being used. Pride had made her foolish enough to stick it out until the end. And to keep the abysmal failure from her family. Each day, it grew more difficult to maintain a façade of everything's great. To hide her empty bank account from her busybody mother. To make excuses to her sister why she could never go out for drinks. Why she couldn't buy groceries to help out. She needed an income. Soon.

  "I'll look forward to hearing from you, Mr. Forsythe."

  He walked her to the door. "Call me Curt," he suggested. "I'll be in touch."

  CURT WATCHED HER LEAVE, fully aware he was breaking the rules. He was observing a job candidate leave his parking lot—a qualified candidate, he prefaced. Sort of. He was not admiring a beautiful woman. It shouldn't matter that Shannon was stunning. Wide, brown eyes that reminded him of cinnamon sticks. A smile that caused his heartbeat to accelerate. Luckily, she hadn't done much smiling. Seriously long, sun-streaked brown hair, he categorized. Freckles that seemed to dance when she smiled. She was tall. Lean—but not too thin. And legs . . . that were damn near perfect. Not supermodel, stick legs. He watched them transport her to her car. Hell—just nice. The word 'outdoorsy' came to mind. Easily, he imagined her embracing the Colorado lifestyle. Hiking. Biking. Camping. Activities he used to love. Before the accident.

  A whistle sliced through his distracted thoughts. "Hoo, doggie. Who's the girl?" Billy, the new guy crossed to the window, his coffee refill forgotten. "Is that the new rep for the plan shop? What's she like? What's her name?"

  "One of the candidates for the office position." Curt didn't relinquish his spot by the window.

  "Damn, she's something," he muttered. "I saw her from the backroom. Mike and me were tryin' to think up excuses to come up here."

  Curt frowned. "No matter who I hire, you're not allowed to hit on her. And Mike's married." Shannon had a face that appealed to every guy—natural. Healthy. Maybe, she gave off that glow because she was a nurse. Lecturing people all the time on their diet, she probably followed the rules herself—no fat. No fun. One of those tofu and sprout eaters. "Besides, I thought your girlfriend practically had you roped?"

  "Roped, but the noose hasn't tightened yet." Billy nodded to Shannon's car. "Well, she sure gets my vote."

  "Duly noted." Curt stared at him for several seconds. "Don't you have something to do?"

  A dimple winked in the apprentice's cheek. "Jus' needed a refill."

  Hell—if he hired Shannon, he'd have to invest in another coffee pot for the shop. Otherwise, the guys would be up here all the time. Despite her being light on office management experience compared to a few of the other candidates, she'd left him with the impression of a woman who could just as easily wrangle order out of his office as he could picture her commandeering her patients. She was friendly. Warm. Matter-of-fact. His clients would like dealing with her. She had experience with suppliers. His guys would enjoy shooting the shit with her-

  Curt frowned. He was no better than his guys. Was Shannon better suited to the job than the other candidates he'd seen? Or was she merely better looking? Was he trying to justify a fit when he should be searching for a better one? Someone with more experience—more of a sure thing? Or should he go with his gut and hire her?

  As she backed out of the parking space, Curt hung back from the window, remembering her answers. There had been a hesitancy to her speech, as though she'd been holding back. A secret she was keeping. If anyone knew about keeping secrets, it was him. There was a story there, he decided, for the reasons she'd returned from Colorado. There'd been a shimmer of pain in her pretty eyes when she'd explained her last job. Yet, there was honesty there, too. He believed her answers—or at least trusted that she believed them.

  Reluctantly, he left the window, aware that Shannon McCarty was different on some elemental level. And it wasn't just her attractiveness. There was something about her . . . that seemed familiar. Yet, he was certain they'd never met. As the minutes passed, Curt sensed he'd reached a decision, but still wasn't sure why. A h
unch? The acknowledgment left him unsettled. Relieved when his cell began vibrating on his desk, he hobbled back to his office to answer it.

  STRIPPED OF HER JACKET and skirt, Shannon took stock of her surroundings as she peeled off her tights. With barely any room to turn in the tiny den, she didn't have the luxury of leaving her boots in the middle of the floor. With no closet, she had to stand them in the corner, squeezed in next to the stacked storage containers holding the rest of her clothes. Most of her worldly possessions—her couch, the tables, her grandmother's rocking chair . . . the queen bed she'd caught Brad screwing Lindsay in—had been sold for practically nothing before she left Denver. Forced into parting with her treasures just to afford the fare back home. "Not that I wanted that bed back," she muttered as she tugged on leggings and the sweatshirt she'd worn earlier in the day.

  She tried not to think about all the furniture she'd left behind. Beautiful pieces she'd found in thrift stores. A few antiques thrown in the mix. The fabrics she'd taken hours to select . . . waiting for each of her finds to speak to her. How best to refinish the broken Windsor chairs? Sanding, painting, restoring. When she hadn't been working at Brad's restaurant, she'd spent time rehabbing her treasures.

  The heartbreak had been her grandmother's rocker. Adding insult to the injury of losing the inheritance Jane Marshall had left her seventeen-year-old granddaughter, Shannon had been forced to hock Gran's rocking chair to secure the final eighty bucks she needed for the mind-numbing bus ride home. Not that she would've been able to carry the rocker home anyway.

  "You're such a loser, Shan." Tired of crying over it, she blinked back the aggravating tears trying to force their way out. She'd spent months beating herself up over her stupid mistakes. Punishing herself hadn't helped change her situation, only battered her self-esteem even further.

  Glancing at the clock on the table wedged next to the futon, she calculated the rest of her day. One hour 'til Kerry got home, assuming she wasn't working late. Shortly after, Theo would arrive. Their dinner would commence at seven-thirty. Sex would commence at nine-ish . . . if it didn't start up at seven fifteen. Theo was a guy who wanted what he wanted—when he wanted it. Her presence didn't seem to matter.

  "I could go to Mom's for dinner." Hell—was a free meal worth the trade-off of an intense, hour-long interrogation? She could stay at her sister's, of course. Kerry always made her feel welcome. But, Theo's expression was increasingly one of annoyance. Shan couldn't really blame the guy—who seemed to truly care for her sister. "You're the interloper." In her sister's life, in her home and increasingly, even her meals. It wasn't fair to crowd their space when Kerry had already given her so much.

  Two weeks earlier, she'd finally managed to pick up a part-time, home health aide job. Though it was only temporary, it kept her out of the apartment a few days a week. Her first paycheck would arrive Friday. Small as it would be, she could finally offer Kerry some money for rent and food. The rest she would save for a security deposit on a place of her own. If she could land the job with Four Seasons, she'd start earning a real paycheck as early as the following week. Even if one of the hospitals called in the next few days for an interview, she'd easily lose another month. Between the interview process, the background check and the orientation . . . she'd be lucky to start before mid-September.

  Her growling stomach reminded her she'd skipped lunch. "Traitor," she mumbled. Okay, she could suck it up for an hour. The visit she always managed to postpone with her hard-to-please mother would serve to kill two birds. Marilyn's four year litany of criticism had been stockpiled for her eldest daughter's return. In trade for the you'll-never-amount-to-anything lecture, Shannon would cop a free dinner. "Kerry deserves a break."

  "An hour—tops," she promised herself forty minutes later on the drive out to her mother's place. After dinner, she could park herself at the community college library. Since moving in with Kerry, she'd grown adept at discovering free places that stayed open late. With the days still long at the tail end of summer, she sometimes spent her evenings at public parks. Since it didn't grow dark until seven, she could read on a park bench or get her run in on the trails. Occasionally, she watched little league soccer games from the bleachers, pretending she was there watching kids she knew. Concession stand burgers were cheaper than fast food. Pride had her keeping track of each night her sister wasn't obligated to feed her. One less night she felt like a freeloader.

  But, today was Tuesday. On Tuesdays, the college library was open until ten pm. With the fall semester starting, kids had been trickling back to campus. If she stayed until closing, she'd be home around ten-thirty. Kerry and Theo could have the place to themselves. Hopefully, by the time she arrived home, she could slip into the apartment and fall into bed. With earplugs.

  "SO, WHERE HAVE YOU applied so far?"

  Making sure her mother's back was turned, Shannon glanced at her watch. Only thirty minutes? How was that possible? Hell, it felt as though she'd been under an interrogation strobe light at the old house for hours. "I told you, Mom," she reminded. "Two of the hospitals had ads this week. Several private practices and a few other jobs that sounded interesting."

  "You had a perfectly good job at Mass General before you got it in your head to run off to Denver."

  One of Marilyn's numerous talents was her ability to prepare a feast and deliver a scathing lecture at the same time. Despite the third degree from her mother, it felt good to be sitting at the dining table in her old home. Four years since her last visit, it was almost comforting to see how little things had changed. The same shabby couch stood in the living room. The same red throw she'd used to keep warm on chilly days, still neatly folded over the arm of the chair. The scent of garlic and basil enveloped the kitchen in a heady, delicious cloud. Though her mother's judgy tone hadn't changed, at least Marilyn's kitchen still smelled welcoming.

  "Interesting how? You should be sticking with medical jobs instead of wasting your time." Marilyn drained the pasta water into the sink. "You still have student loans on the nursing degree, don't you?"

  Releasing a sigh, she rounded the island to help her mother with the heavy pot. Why she still insisted on cooking as though there would be ten for dinner always surprised her. Her father had left them years earlier. After that, each of the three kids had trickled away. First to college, and then to lives that took them far from Marilyn's clutches. "Yes, Mom, I still have loans."

  That were currently in default by a month. Suddenly anxious, she chewed her lower lip. Damn, she'd have to earmark the few remaining dollars from her paycheck and send in a payment. Otherwise, they might end up contacting Marilyn, who'd reluctantly co-signed the loans all those years ago. A shudder of apprehension whispered across her neck. She'd better call tomorrow . . . tell them she'd moved and that a payment would be coming shortly.

  "Shouldn't you be working in your field?" Her mother grated fresh mozzarella over the steaming pasta. No bags of shredded for Marilyn. Shortcuts were never allowed. 'If something is worth doing, it's worth doing right'. She cringed as though her mother had actually spoken the words.

  "Are you working in your field, Ma?" Though she knew she'd pay for it, Shannon couldn't resist the impulse to poke the beast. Her mother had trained as an architect long ago. Before a kick-ass divorce settlement and a seething bitterness had overtaken her work ethic.

  On the plus side, she'd likely be the recipient of Marilyn's excesses, as there would be a large quantity of leftovers her mother wouldn't tolerate wasting. "I have been working in my field," she reminded when her mother refused the bait. "In eight years, I've logged six as a nurse. It's not a crime to try something different for a change."

  "I believed I was paying for a nursing degree." Her mother's mouth puckered in that resentful way she had perfected in the decade after her father left. Shannon was again reminded how little she'd missed being away the past several years.

  "You didn't pay, Ma. I did," she pointed out the obvious. If Marilyn had paid for school as
promised, she wouldn't be sweating an overdue loan payment. "Remember? You kept the money for Randy, instead. Because—according to you, he was smarter."

  "Your father left me with nothing," she whined. "I did the best I could. Randall was going to be a lawyer. He needed it more than you."

  Her mother's definition of 'nothing' included the too large house she still lived in all alone and the monthly country club dues she claimed was her right—so she wouldn't have to 'adjust the lifestyle she'd become accustomed to'. Marilyn had embraced her lawyer's mantra. She'd also nailed her father for a monthly settlement that allowed her—fourteen years later—to not work for a living.

  Her tuition money had gone to her brother Randy, not for his first degree, because their father had paid for that one before moving out. Marilyn had forked over Shannon's tuition to Randall for his law degree. Now, Rand—he'd dropped the 'all' just as he'd dropped the McCartys the moment he'd finished law school—was an LA attorney to the stars, pulling down seven figures. Shannon hadn't blamed him for leaving town and putting as much distance as possible between himself and their mother. Harder to forgive was his abandoning her and Kerry. When they'd always been so close growing up. Protective of each other, first from the incessant, raging arguments between their parents . . . and then from Marilyn's harsh tirades after Bernie had finally taken enough abuse—and left.

  "Dinner looks great." She tried to muster some enthusiasm, in the vain hope she could steer Marilyn from her favorite topics—bashing Bernie and criticizing her lackluster offspring. "What's happening at the club? Any scandals brewing?"