Two of a Kind (Fool's Gold #11)

The question shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. When she’d been a little girl, her mother had always told her to take care of her younger brothers. That she was the oldest and it was up to her. She’d done her best. Had tried to keep them out of trouble, but the neighborhood was tough and the allure of the gangs was irresistible.

Her youngest brother had died before his fourteenth birthday, the victim of a drive-by shooting. The other spent his life in and out of jail. She’d wasted years trying to show him there was another path, but he didn’t listen. Now they barely spoke. The only time he called was to ask for money, and she refused to give him any. If her mother were still alive, she would be crushed to know her family had fallen apart.

“I always wanted children,” Consuelo admitted. A chance to start over. To live somewhere nice. To belong. Loving a man was a risk she wasn’t sure she could take, but a child seemed safer. With a child, she could offer all she had.

Denise reached for an application, then pulled it back. “Are you planning on staying in Fool’s Gold?”

Consuelo nodded.

Denise’s smile returned. “Excellent.” She handed over the application, then turned to Isabel. “Unfortunately, I’ve heard you’re leaving in a few months, so you’ll understand why I don’t want you to apply.”

Isabel took a step back. “Not a problem. Good luck.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Isabel grabbed Consuelo’s hand. “We should go.”

Denise moved toward them. “Don’t you want to fill out an application?” she asked Consuelo.

“Um, no, thanks. I already know Ford and he’s not my type.”

“What about Kent? He’s very smart. And a good father.”

Isabel tugged, and Consuelo followed her out of the booth, while calling out a quick “Sorry.”

Isabel kept walking. “If it wasn’t ten-thirty in the morning, I’d suggest we go to Jo’s and get drunk. Was that as scary as I think it was?”

“It was unusual. You have to give her credit for initiative.”

Isabel laughed. “Is that what we’re calling it? I swear, if I wasn’t avoiding Ford, I would hang around the booth just to watch the explosion when he finds out what his mother is doing.”

She kept talking, but Consuelo wasn’t listening. Instead she found herself glancing over her shoulder and looking at the picture of the other Hendrix brother. The one with kind eyes.

* * *

FELICIA UNDERSTOOD THE various causes of a headache. Ruling out a brain tumor and an aneurysm, she was left with a host of innocuous causes. Most likely the throbbing in her temples came from a lack of sleep and the steady stress of her new job. When she next saw Pia, she would apologize for ever thinking what the other woman did was easy. Because in truth, this was the most difficult challenge she’d ever faced.

It was nearly five on Friday afternoon, which meant they were in day two of the festival. They’d gotten through the fireworks the previous night, along with the first concert. Tonight was concert number two—the main draw being a bluegrass band with the unlikely name of A Blue Grass Band.

“We’re in the park,” the lead singer was saying for possibly the eighth time in as many minutes. He had moved from the street to the sidewalk, perhaps in an attempt to intimidate her by appearing taller.

“I know,” Felicia said, hoping she could maintain her air of patience and understanding. In truth she wanted to pick up the nearest large object and beat the man with it until he stopped complaining.

“Why are we in the park? We’re never in the park.”

Felicia drew in a breath. “You’ll have more seating there. We’ve set out chairs on both sides, with a large grassy area in the middle. The sound will travel better without the buildings so close. The food court leads directly to the park, increasing traffic flow. People who didn’t plan to come hear the music will be drawn in. Attendance was up last night by twenty percent, as were CD and T-shirt sales. You’re going to have to trust me on this.”

“I don’t think you have the right energy for this job. Where’s Pia?”

“Unavailable,” Felicia said, doing her best not to grit her teeth. “And if you want to complain, you’ll have to get in line. I believe someone is already putting a curse on me.”

“This sucks,” the twentysomething man told her. “And you bite.”

With that eloquent insult, he stalked away, leaving her clutching her tablet.

She had forty-eight more hours, she thought grimly. With luck, she would be in bed by midnight and able to sleep until six. The same on Saturday. Which meant twelve of the forty-eight hours would be spent pleasantly. She couldn’t say the same for the other thirty-six.

“There you are.”

She sucked in a breath and turned to see Ford striding toward her.

“You let my mother have a booth to find me a wife.”

She started walking. “Get in line.”

“What?”

“Everyone has something to complain about. I don’t want to hear it.”

Ford grabbed her arm. “Hey, my mother has a booth, and she says you gave her the permit.”