She paused, looked back at Evan, and shook her head. “Uh-uh, not me! I don’t want anything to do with a company that will undercut small businesses just to make a buck. You and Dad can have it, Evan. It’s all yours!”
Evan’s fa?ade slipped; he stared at her as if she finally had gone completely bonkers, right there in Houston-Hobby Airport. But Robin had never felt freer in her life. With a smile, she gave him a cheerful little wave, and began striding down the corridor, her mind suddenly full of Jake, only Jake, and the need to see him, touch him, tell him he was right. I wish you dreams that reach the stars and I wish you peace. . . .
And then she was running, pushing through, darting in and around the crowd, pausing only to take her shoes from her feet, then running again, bursting through the glass doors outside to the taxi stand.
At home, she quickly changed into Levi’s and a T-shirt, sat cross-legged in the middle of her bedroom floor and went through the acquisition file to assure herself she wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t. And now, looking at it with different eyes, it amazed her how clear it was—the time Evan had spent with her was really just about his pursuit of her. And it wasn’t because he adored her—she was sure what feelings he’d had for her ended the night she’d told him she’d slept with him by mistake. After that, he’d played the game, because she was the better deal. He stood to gain everything her father had worked for if he married her. This was all about LTI, not her.
Robin closed the file, bit her lip as she stared at the phone, finally picking it up to call Girt. It was the hardest thing she had ever done—telling Girt that she had no out for her and David, and in fact, apparently never did. Girt took it like a champ, though. Robin apologized profusely, told her she would help her in any way possible.
“I’ll figure it out,” Girt said, upbeat.
“I’ll help you.”
“You know what, you could help me figure out what I need to say to American Motorfreight. Think I can get them to come up on their offer?”
“We can try,” Robin said hopefully.
“Ain’t got nothing to lose, I suppose,” she said and paused to exhale smoke from her lungs. “You know, the truth is, I should have trusted my instincts. I never liked his skinny ass to begin with.”
“Me, either,” Robin said softly, knowing she should have trusted her instincts, too, way back when. She promised Girt to come first thing Monday to see if they could salvage anything with American Motorfreight, apologized again, and hung up. Then, wondering what in God’s name she would say, she dialed Jake.
No answer.
She tried his cell phone, too, but got nothing there, either.
Throughout the day she tried several times more, but to no avail. She reasoned he had gone to the coast with Cole without her, and even thought about driving down to look for him, but had no idea where they might be staying. By Friday evening, Robin was resigned to waiting until Sunday.
She spent a miserable evening in her empty, finished house. Everywhere she looked, she was reminded of Jake. She tried to read, but her thoughts were too full of Jake, of pink flamingos, motorcycles, and wildflowers . . .
When Mia called Saturday morning, Robin let the answering machine take it. Saturday afternoon, she was so stir-crazy that she drove across town to Grandma and Grandpa’s. Grandma almost fell over in a cold faint when she answered the door and saw Robin standing there. Little wonder—Robin never came to see them, content to let them come to her. “What a wonderful surprise!” Grandma exclaimed after her initial shock, opening her arms and smothering Robin in a tight embrace.
She finally let go, bustled on to find Grandpa, who, as it turned out, was in the backyard with his garden. He came shuffling inside in bright new, mighty-white Easy Spirits, holding a couple of tomatoes for her inspection. “Robbie-girl, what a surprise! Say, what do you think ol’ Jake will say to these?” he asked, obviously pleased with the size of his tomatoes. “He thinks an awful lot of Raymond’s tomatoes, you know. So does Raymond, for that matter.”
“Jake will be very impressed and Raymond will be jealous,” she proclaimed honestly.
“Oh, you think so? Then wait ‘til they see this squash I got out back,” he said, hurrying off to find one to show her.
Robin wandered into the kitchen where Grandma was already busily mixing flour and butter. “I’m making chocolate chip cookies,” she announced before Robin could ask. “Remember when you girls were little how I’d make these when you were sick? Then when you got older, I’d make ‘em when you were feeling down? You’re feeling a little down now, aren’t you, honey?”
Reluctantly, Robin nodded and glanced down so Grandma wouldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes.
But the old gal was far too perceptive for that ruse. “Hand me that bag of chocolate chips,” she instructed, and as she began to mix the cookie dough, she said, “Your grandpa, I’ll swear. He’s eat up with this tomato business, just has to grow one bigger than Raymond so Jake will be impressed. He’s really taken with that young man.”