“Not enough.” Josh knocked back the last of his can and crumpled it in his hand before dropping it into the basket with the others.
Mitch wasn’t sure what was going on, but whatever Josh’s problem was, it wasn’t a busted-up leg. Every time Mitch came home—which, granted, wasn’t as often as he should—Josh’s attitude seemed to have climbed another rung on the shittiness ladder.
“Why don’t you get cleaned up in the morning and I’ll take you out for breakfast,” Mitch said. “We can sit and watch the new waitress work.”
“Paige? She’s the owner, not a waitress, and she’s not interested.”
“She was interested.”
“Every single guy in Whitford’s taken a shot with her and, I’m telling you, she ain’t interested. She’s lived here like two years and hasn’t gone on a single date that anybody knows about. And in this town, somebody would know.”
Mitch thought of the way her gaze kept skittering away from his and how she’d blushed, and decided she’d just been waiting for the right guy to come along. There was no lack of interest on his part and, as long as she understood he was only Mr. Right in the right now sense, he was more than willing to break her alleged two-year dry spell. They could have a little fun while he got the Northern Star in order and then he’d kiss her goodbye and go on to the next job with no regrets and no hard feelings. Just like always.
Chapter Two
At fifty-six, Rose Davis had better things to do than run herd on the Kowalski kids. Things like knitting a stockpile of blankets for the grandbaby her daughter Katie didn’t seem to be in a hurry to give her. Maybe take a nice, long trip down to that fancy casino in Connecticut with her friends.
But she’d been looking after the kids since they were twelve, eleven, nine, seven and five, and she couldn’t walk away from them yet. Probably never would, or at least not until they found special someones of their own willing to marry them and keep them from acting like idiots. After their mother died, and with their father trying to keep the lodge going well enough to feed his five kids, it had taken damn near everything Rosie had to keep those kids on the straight and narrow. She’d had her own Katie to raise, but with the help of the kids’ aunt Mary—who lived in New Hampshire and was raising four kids of her own—Rosie had managed to help them grow into reasonably well-adjusted adults.
Reasonably well-adjusted and lazy adults, considering it was eight in the morning and Mitch had yet to drag his butt out of bed and say hello to her. Since she’d given her friend Darla a ride to bingo the night before, where she heard Mitch was back, she hadn’t been able to leave until Darla had finally given up hope of winning, and the boys had already gone to bed by the time she got home. And, when she’d given in to the temptation of pressing her ear against Mitch’s door, she’d heard him snoring, probably tuckered out from the long ride to Maine. Despite wanting to, she hadn’t woken him.
But it had been three years since the boy had been home and she wanted to see him, so she broke out the vacuum. It was an ancient beast with a noisy motor and she didn’t take as much care as usual to avoid bumping the walls in the hall outside his room.
It wasn’t much more than ten minutes before Mitch emerged from his room with mussed hair and a scruffy jaw and a sleepy smile. “Hi, Rosie.”
She barely had time to hit the vacuum’s off switch before he enveloped her in a warm bear-hug. His chin rested on the top of her head and she knew if she allowed herself to remember when it was the other way around, she’d come undone.
“Three years is too long,” she told him as she gave him a good squeeze.
“I know. I keep meaning to get home for a holiday, but most of my top people have wives and kids and I got in the habit of picking up the slack so they could be with their families. Before I knew it, there’s three years gone by.”
She released him and stepped back so she could give him a stern look. “You have a family, too, even if you haven’t found a wife of your own. And don’t think I haven’t been praying you do.”
He grimaced, as always, and changed the subject. “Speaking of family, is Josh up yet?”
“I heard the tub running before I started vacuuming and he was swearing up a blue streak, so I’d say he’s in the bath right now.”
“What’s going on with him, Rosie? He’s so tired and angry. And this place is falling apart.”
“Things have been tight, Mitch. Very tight. With the economy the way it is and gas prices and all that, fewer people can drive all the way up here to spend a week, or even a weekend, snowmobiling. If the snow’s good enough, they’ll ride locally. If not, they don’t ride.”
“Why the hell hasn’t he said anything? He’s been making the deposits like usual. How were we supposed to know the lodge is in trouble?”
“You weren’t.”