Misfortune: Christmas With Scrooge Page 6

  It was while he stared at the downpour on the opposite side of his window that it dawned on him they had not yet exited the township road and entering city elements. “Where are you going? Any one of these side roads will lead us into town.”

  “I know where there's a phone you can use.”

  “Laura.” The tone of his voice was every bit of a warning as it was a threat. “Where are you taking me?”

  She swallowed, not sure what possessed her to keep driving straight home. But the opportunity had presented itself, how could she turn a blind eye to it? He was basically her prisoner, even for a short period of time, and she would be a fool to miss the chance to try and prove to him her shelter was worth the investment. Her only excuse was she desperately needed the money. At this point, she was capable of doing anything.

  “My home's not far out of the way. We'll be there in no time.”

  He glared at her. “I have no intention of stepping foot into your house.”

  She shrugged nonchalantly. “Your phone call won't be made that way.”

  “I'll walk—”

  “To the nearest station? About 4 kilometers and it's still raining dreadfully hard out there.” And when he would have barked at her, she added, “You could use the opportunity to dry your clothing and warm up. We've a wonderfully huge fireplace—”

  A picture of himself down to his boxers with only a blanket to separate himself and Laura Witherow had him interrupting swiftly, “No thanks.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  As promised, she pulled into the driveway of her family home-turned-shelter only minutes later. He looked up at the building through the drizzly windshield and gave it more attention than his previous visit. The home was over-sized for its structure indicating it must have been built at the turn of the century along with the neighboring homes. Its red bricks and white eaves trough desperately needed restoring, in addition to the shutters that swung from loosened hinges, were also in urgent need of repair and repainting. The slopping peaks forming the roof indicated rotting shingles, which evidently were decaying faster with each passing rain day. More than likely, in its time, the home had been very beautiful. But time and neglect obviously took its toll.

  Laura noticed his disapproving frown and knew he judged her responsible for the deterioration. It hurt to watch her family home lose its once lustrous appearance, but time and cost Laura had little of both. Dexter's grimace only reinforced her guilt, yet at the same time her determination for financial backing. Whatever it took, she would have his investment before he left today.

  The rain was still coming down fast, so they darted quickly through deep puddles left along a jagged pathway cracked and broken from neglect, until they reached the top of the verandah and shelter.

  Inside, Laura stripped herself of a wet coat then turned to retrieve Dexter's. He shook his head and with a brusque voice demanded, “Where's the phone?”

  She sighed inwardly, but directed, “In the kitchen.” Then watched as he stomped sopping wet and leaving a trail of water down the hallway.

  Shaking her head, she removed her own wet shoes then followed him. At a small round table tucked into the corner of the room sat Ellie Green and Poppy Ullman helping themselves to supper.

  Laura smiled apologetically. “Sorry I'm late, my appointment ran later than I expected. Have the other's eaten?”

  The girls weren't looking at her but with inquisitive, admiring glances at her companion. He, on his part, ignored them as he searched out the phone.

  “Since when did your shelter include good looking forty-something men, Laura?”

  His back stiffened. Turning heavily on squelching shoes, he looked across at the young girls under thick burrowed brows. “Thirty-two. And I'm certainly not staying. If someone could kindly point out the phone I would be ever so grateful.” His voice grated on every note, laying on the sarcasm thick at this last comment.

  “Touchy!” Poppy scoffed with a cocky lift of her brow.

  “Don't mind him.” Laura reached for the phone perched on top of the refrigerator and pulled the extension cord toward him. “He's always like this.”

  Ellie's eyes were huge with interest. “You know him?”

  “Unfortunately.” Which received a ditto snort from the object of their discussion.

  “Who is he?” Ellie pushed for further information.

  Laura paused at this, she had never told anyone about the incident up in the Hungry Hollow gorge. “Just an old acquaintance.”

  Thankfully behind her, she heard him hang up and was able to turn away from the questioning stares of the teenage girls. Just as quickly, he picked up the receiver once more and began dialing.

  Laura frowned. “What did they say?”

  “Forty minutes.”

  “Who are you calling now?”

  “Taxi.”

  “I can take you back.”

  He ignored her, speaking into the receiver, “Could I have a taxi sent—”

  Without thinking, Laura reached over and hung up on him.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Laura frowned at his foul language in front of the teenage girls but decided to leave it alone. She had another fight on her hands. “Since you're here, it wouldn't hurt to have a look around. See for yourself—”

  “No way.”

  “Why not? You may just have a change of heart.” The look he shot her spoke volumes. “All right, wrong choice of words but maybe you'll see something worth saving.”

  He looked uneasy as his glance slid from the girls to Laura. Then his mouth shut in a harsh grimace as he muttered, “Make it fast.”

  She couldn't help but smile, thankful for the girl’s influence. Naturally he didn't smile back but simply followed her, brooding.

  Her quick tour included the original parlor presently used as the TV room and library where the sculptured built-in bookshelves were full of used books from the local book exchange. It also substituted as their nightly group meetings room. Across the hall was the large dining room that had no difficulty seating all nine occupants.

  Upstairs, she indicated the rooms where the girls slept without actually showing him, knowing full well teenager's desire for privacy. It was after she explained that one girl, Ingrid Mansfield, occupied the small cramped quarters of the attic that he finally asked his first question.

  “Where do you sleep?”

  She blushed even knowing his question was far from personal. “Downstairs, off the kitchen.”

  His brows drew together. “I thought it was a laundry room?”

  “It is.” She looked away, suddenly embarrassed to admit she slept in a laundry room.

  Dexter's brows drew together in obvious disapproval, before shaking his head and turning toward the staircase. “Is that all, then?”

  “No, not yet.” She went over and took his arm in her hand. “There's someone I want you to meet.”

  Not certain why he allowed her to draw him down the small corridor, but he found himself following. The feel of her soft touch on his arm left him with an uncomfortable yet fully aware sensation. One he would rather ignore. Knowing he appeared inane, but not caring, he shrugged her touch away. The action received a tilt of her beautiful profile, acknowledging the action before she turned and knocked on a door.

  Beautiful? Good Lord! Where did that word suddenly come from? He had better watch himself. Her bewitching ways were casting a spell on his unwarranted affections.

  Affections? Where the devil were flowery worlds like these coming from? Suddenly he had a great urge to get out of the house. A thickness in the air had him feeling tense.

  “Look, I better be going. I—” His words trailed off as they entered one of the bedrooms and a young girl around the age of fifteen greeted them with a smile from her position across the foot of a bed. Around her neck was a set of headphones she was in the process of removing.

  “Dexter, I want you to meet our youngest occupant.”

  He nodded politely
but indifferently at the girl.

  “No, not her.” Laura shook her head, then gestured toward a crib against the back wall. “Her.”

  Dexter frowned heavily at Laura, not very happy about the situation, but nevertheless went over and peered into the crib. Inside was the smallest baby he had ever seen. Granted, she was the only baby he had ever seen. She had the tiniest fingers, the tiniest legs, and the tiniest nose. Her big blue eyes looked up at him with untainted innocence. Her small unadulterated view of the world was marred by the ironic twist of reality surrounding her.

  When he turned back to Laura, his face was the usual grim mask he continually wore. “Yours?”

  She made a face but shook her head nevertheless. “Her name's Chantal. At four months, she's our youngest runaway.”

  He glanced at the girl on the bed. “Are you the mother?”

  The girl shook her head. “I'm Jenny Fallon, Darcy's roommate. I'm babysitting while she's out job hunting.”

  “No luck, eh?” Laura addressed the girl.

  She grimaced and shook her head.

  “And Darcy is—?”

  “The mother. Her parent's refuse to allow her to return home. They didn't accept their daughter's pregnancy.”

  Dexter frowned. “But she's only a baby. How could they allow their own grandchild to live like this?”

  Laura shook her head agreeing. “I don't know. But that isn't my job. I can't solve their home problems. What I deal with is the teens and their outlook on the situation. Hopefully, it all comes together and we have a successful reunion. If not, they will always have a home here with me.”

  “You're willing to take that much on? For people who are virtually strangers to you.”

  “They don't remain strangers for long.” She smiled at Jenny. “Besides, it's nice to know I'm doing something of worth. Even in a small way.”

  He stared at her for a long time. His features were intense, yet bland and unreadable. Laura had no idea what was going through that somber head of his.

  At last he turned away. “It was nice meeting you, Jenny. If you'll excuse us.”

  “Sure, no problem,” the girl chirped.

  Laura followed Dexter out of the room, down the flight of stairs and to the front corridor entrance. He stopped to turn and face her. “I can find my own way back to my car. Thank you for the use of your phone.”

  “Wait.” She reached out to stall him. “What do you think? I mean about the shelter and all?”

  He stared at the warm hand on his arm and frowned. “I've tried to explain. Britten Investments does not put their money into just any little organization that needs funding. We have to thoroughly research it and decide we are creating an asset not a debit. You need some kind of equity, Laura. By all accounts, you haven't shown me anything of substantial worth. In short, the market value of your home, the shelter, does not exceed its liable debts. You could be looking for a loan of some sort, but again, the principal and interest would be in excess to what you could actually repay. So we have no income.” He ticked off his finger. “No earnings, no capital gains, and no profit. It is the proceeds from all of these which Britten Investment makes it revenue. Without them, there most definitely could not be a business transaction between our company and yours.”

  Her expression turned melancholy as she stared down at the floor, arms crossed over her chest. “It's all dollars and cents to you, isn't it?”

  He sighed heavily. “I'm sorry, but I’m afraid so.”

  Dexter was glad she wasn't looking at him because for the first time in years, he had uncanny urge to reach out and comfort. It was an emotion that both startled and frightened him, because along with this territory came the caring. Turning swiftly from her despondent form he reached the front door and swung it open. Thankfully the rain outside had ceased.

  Behind him, Laura heard another mumble of thanks, then he was gone. She stared after his figure, allowing his words of finance and equity to sink in. Not a word of sympathy or compassion, he refused to see faces attached to business transactions.

  With a defeated sigh, she at last turned from the door and acknowledged that maybe he was right. After all, he wasn't the only company to turn her down flat. He made it all too simple to put the blame on him, but being honest she knew that wasn't fair. No matter how much it hurt to admit, his words rang true. She had more liabilities than she did assets. Her organization's only profit was in the heart of those young girls.

  Starting tomorrow she would change her course of action and search for a new method for receiving financial backing. Giving a smug snort, she allowed herself the satisfaction of knowing she would be doing it without Dexter O'Reilly's help.

  * * *

  A week later, she stood in front of his desk at Britten Investment and Financial Group, looking down at his unsmiling face. “I need your help.”

  “Now what?”

  “Well, I took your advice and decided I needed a new resource for raising money.”

  “What advice?” He stared at her frowning. “I didn't give you any advice. I merely explained why we weren't giving you any money.”

  “You also said you were sorry.”

  He began to look frustrated as well as impatient. “I'm not following, Laura, and quite frankly I don't have the time to sit here and go all over again why we are not loaning you any money. If you’ve got a point to make, get to it. I’ve got a full day ahead of me.”

  She handed him a pink sheet of paper from a bundle stacked in the envelope tucked under her arm. “I'm holding a fund-raising event.”

  He took the flyer she handed him and read out loud, “Charity Bingo Night?”

  She nodded proudly. “I hoped you would post it somewhere in the building.”

  Shaking his head, he tossed the paper back at her. “We don't make it a practice to advertise for other organizations.”

  “But it's for charity.”

  Again, he shook his head.

  “I thought you wanted to help.”

  “No,” he purposefully stated, “I never said that.”

  “But you said you were sorry.”

  “Yes, because we weren't able to engage in a business transaction.” He sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair before getting to his feet. “Listen, you're on the right track but simply not thinking big enough. The only thing you'll accomplish through this bingo night is perhaps raising enough money to pay your latest utility bill.”

  Laura felt despaired. What had she expected? That Dexter would smile and give his support and approval? With a dejected inward sigh, she foolishly faced up to the truth she had been looking for his admiration and perhaps his moral support.

  “It's a beginning, and it’s one night. More nights like this and I should be able to cover some of my debts.”

  “It's going to take a great number of nights, and you'll soon discover the dollar doesn't stretch as far as you expected. Those special events will eventually become never ending. They simply won't accomplish what you're searching for as an ongoing financial funding source.”

  Stubbornly, she balked, “Forgive me, I suppose I'm stupid where it comes to business. I'm no genius but I'm doing the only thing I know how.”

  Wearily, he closed his eyes. “You're not stupid. You simply don't understand the field of business.”

  “Then what do you suggest I do?”

  He lifted his head and pierced her with a penetrating gaze. “What I suggest is you close the shelter. I think it was foolish of you from the beginning to get involved in something way over your head. You're trying to take the world and all its problems into your own solitary hands. You've wasted your father's well intended inheritance, you've raised the hopes of these young girls, where in fact they'll more than likely be back out on the streets in less than a few months because you've finally had to declare bankruptcy. If you quit now you may actually be able to salvage some of your inheritance, make the repairs required on the home, and still be able to live comfortably.”

/>   Her beautiful amber-green eyes turned stony. Snatching up the flyer from his desk she turned hotly on her heel. “I should have known.”

  “Do you honestly believe you're making a difference in those girls’ lives?” It was snarly asked, causing Laura to come to an abrupt halt, the hair on the back of her neck becoming prickly as she felt her spine go stiff.

  “Yes, I do, but that's not the point. Even if I didn't have the slightest influence, I could never be accused for not giving all my heart. I try, Dexter O'Reilly, and you can never falt me for not trying.”

  She opened the door and sailed out of his office, unaware he had followed her. “Stop trying to save the world, Laura, and try saving yourself instead. Because, believe me, you're going under, and fast.”

  “I'm not trying to save the world! Just my shelter!”

  “Ah.” He became sarcastic as he raised his arms, saying, “The patron saint for runaway girls.”

  They had progressed into the outer office, facing each other with angry daggers flaring between them, oblivious to a silent Cara Henderson observing.

  “At least you can call me a saint, that's a word far from describing you!”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do amuse me, Miss Witherow, what word are you thinking?”

  Easily, she responded, “Serpent.” He most definitely was a coldblooded snake.

  Behind her, someone gasped, drawing Laura and Dexter's attention at last. Cara Henderson's eyes were huge and rounded in shock over a hand covering her mouth.

  For a second, Laura almost thought she appeared comical, which was until she followed the direction of the girl's gaze and realized the horrified gasp hadn't come from Cara, but from Adell Cameron standing in the entrance of the small office.