Free Not This Time by Vicki Hinze Page A

your craziness. You like most women. Are you crazy about all of them?”
    “Of course not. I respect them all. Not that I don’t respect you too, I do. Very much.”
    “Because I’m a decent businesswoman?”
    “You’re an amazing businesswoman, but no, that’s not why.”
    “What is then?”
    “Do we have to talk about this?”
    “No.” She worried her lip. “But if you’re really crazy about me you will.”
    “I’m not liking this, sha.”
    Warm. Endearing. A hint of his Cajun accent. She loved that. “Me either.” Closing down was just stage setting. Max set those stages well. “Would you rather I ask Mark about you and your family? What it was like when you were a kid?”
    “Go ahead.”
    “He can’t tell me, can he?” A strange sadness swelled in her. “You haven’t told him?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Why not? You guys seem so close.”
    “We are close.”
    “Well?” She let silence fall. And stretch. And yawn.
    Finally, he sighed. “It’s not pretty, okay? I didn’t have your kind of childhood.”
    “Both of your parents drank. I understand that.” What had they done to him?
    “No, you don’t. They ran out of money before buying food, but there was always vodka in the house—when we had a house, or a barn, or a tent. Vodka was their poison of choice.”
    “You went hungry?” Her stomach knotted.
    “I really don’t want to talk about this, Beth.”
    “I know, Joe. But I think you need to.” Not idle chat, this. “Is that why you’re charming?”
    “You think I’m charming?”
    “I’m serious, Joseph.”
    “I can hear that you are. So am I.”
    “Are you going to talk straight?”
    “Trust me. You don’t want that.”
    “I do, Joe. I really do. I’ll even admit I need it.”
    Another sigh. Deeper. “Fine. I grew up on the wrong side of town. Two brothers, both younger. Parents who didn’t just drink but stayed drunk. Theydidn’t know what planet they were on much less which one we were on. It was a small town. I had to prove I wasn’t like them. So I worked at being a good listener, at picking up on other people’s moods. I learned to be what I needed to be to get by.”
    “What do you mean, to get by?”
    “Food comes to mind first. I’d target large families—they always had extra food because they didn’t know who’d be home or extra hungry at a given meal. I’d show up. I was polite, I was appreciative, and I’d get to eat.”
    “And you’d bring home food to your brothers?”
    No answer.
    “Did you, Joe?” He’d never let them go hungry, would he?
    “Always. My childhood prepared me well for my later work.”
    As a Shadow Watcher. Chameleon. Infiltrating hostiles. Doing what needed done. Thinking steel to get through hard times. “It did.”
    “God has a way of giving us what we need, even when we don’t want it at the time.”
    He was ashamed. That’s why he didn’t talk about his childhood in Louisiana. “Yes, He does.” Beth hugged the pillow tighter, her heart aching for the boy who’d had a man’s worries in feeding his brothers. “It probably saved your neck a time or two.”
    “It has.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve never told anyone about that. Not even Mark.”
    Yet he’d told her. “You trust me.”
    “So far.”
    “You won’t regret it. That’s a promise.”
    “You keep your promises?”
    “Absolutely. It’s my nature.”
    “Your nature is to nurture. You’d bite your tongue to spare feelings.”
    “True, but I won’t lie.”
    “I have a question.”
    “Okay?” She braced.
    “Why do you do that—nurture everyone?”
    “Boy, don’t I wish I knew. I worry about everybody.”
    “I noticed. Nora, Sara, Clyde—I’m really sorry about Clyde, Beth.”
    “Me too. He was a remarkable man.”
    “You loved him.”
    “I did.” Her eyes burned. “To him, I was special.” Not ordinary. Not average.
    “You are special.”
    “He thought I was.” And he’d thought so at the time she most