By then Scott hadn’t been listening anymore except to the key words that irritated him. Words like “daddy.” Southern girls sure did love their daddies. Scott would never get used to that term of endearment. Not from a grown woman. Daddy was what a five-year-old called his father.
Trish had pouted a little while he changed clothes but didn’t say much more before he left. His Midwest work ethic was one characteristic she found appealing after all the deadbeats she’d dated. Besides he promised he’d help her board up the patio doors at their new house in the morning as long as they were finished by noon. He had to move up a memorial service for a stiff in his fridge. The family had originally scheduled for Wednesday but now they were all freaked about the hurricane and wanted to bury Uncle Mel before the storm hit.
Promising to help board up had seemed to satisfy Trish. So maybe she wasn’t calling just to nag at him. He pulled out his cell phone as he sat down at the hotel’s deck bar. He was just about to listen to Trish’s voice message when the blond bartender appeared in front of him.
“Your friend’s already here,” she told him with a smile. “He said to tell you to meet him inside the restaurant. He’s buying you dinner.”
“Really?” But Scott was more impressed with the attention she was paying him than the dinner invitation.
“Why don’t you guys stop out here later for a drink,” she said, then hurried across the bar to wait on another customer.
Her smile made him forget why he had his cell phone out and he simply slipped it back into his shirt pocket. As he headed into the restaurant he vowed to assuage all the stress of the day. Assuage. Yes, that was a cool word, one that Joe Black would probably use. Scott decided he’d find a way to use it in their conversation.
CHAPTER 23
Scott Larsen ignored his ringing cell phone. It was either a grieving family calling to nag or it was Trish, and he didn’t want to talk to her, either. After a quick glance he continued through the hotel lobby. It was Trish. She didn’t appreciate him leaving again even if it was for business. She’d gotten herself worked up about this frickin’ hurricane. He was getting so tired of everybody worrying about this storm when there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
Trish had probably remembered one more thing to harangue him about. Something else her daddy had done for her.
“Daddy brought us some gasoline,” she had told him earlier.
“Wow. He spent his entire week’s hot-dog money.”
“That’s rude. He was being gracious.”
“Taking care of his little girl.”
“Maybe he thought he had to because her husband wasn’t doing a very good job.”
“I’m off making a living. Paying the bills.”
“If this hurricane hits, none of that will matter.”
And by this time she had worked herself into angry tears, which automatically clicked Scott into his professional comforter role. He’d put an arm around her shoulder, instigated the combination hand pat while whispering a series of soothing words and phrases.
By the time she spoke again the hitch in her voice was gone.
“I guess we just have to hope our insurance covers everything.”
That knocked Scott cold. No way he could tell her now that he hadn’t taken out insurance on their new place, the dream house that had already skyrocketed over their budget and would almost be finished if his wife would quit changing and adding.
“Daddy said we can stay with him during the hurricane. We can’t stay here on the bay. We’ll be safe at Daddy’s.”
By then Scott hadn’t been listening anymore except to the key words that irritated him. Words like “daddy.” Southern girls sure did love their daddies. Scott would never get used to that term of endearment. Not from a grown woman. Daddy was what a five-year-old called his father.
Trish had pouted a little while he changed clothes but didn’t say much more before he left. His Midwest work ethic was one characteristic she found appealing after all the deadbeats she’d dated. Besides he promised he’d help her board up the patio doors at their new house in the morning as long as they were finished by noon. He had to move up a memorial service for a stiff in his fridge. The family had originally scheduled for Wednesday but now they were all freaked about the hurricane and wanted to bury Uncle Mel before the storm hit.
Promising to help board up had seemed to satisfy Trish. So maybe she wasn’t calling just to nag at him. He pulled out his cell phone as he sat down at the hotel’s deck bar. He was just about to listen to Trish’s voice message when the blond bartender appeared in front of him.
“Your friend’s already here,” she told him with a smile. “He said to tell you to meet him inside the restaurant. He’s buying you dinner.”
“Really?” But Scott was more impressed with the attention she was paying him than the dinner invitation.