Maid to Order (Man Maid Book 4) Page 3

  “I don’t want to stay here until Monday. I want to stay at your house this weekend. I want to go to the library and to the festival too. I don’t need a babysitter, Amy. Damn it, I’m a grown up. I’m ready to try an overnight stay at your house,” he insisted. “I can help you with Grudge. He always goes to the bathroom for me. I can walk him too. Please, Amy?”

  She could feel tears burning behind her eyes when she looked at him. He would never understand that it wasn’t personal. There were just so many things she was responsible for right now that each of those things had a time slot and unfortunately this weekend wasn’t his turn. The look of pleading on his face only made it that much harder to deny him. Unfortunately she wasn’t his mother so caving in wasn’t an option… she’d already signed up for this festival and couldn’t back out now.

  With as crazy as Saturday would be she couldn’t keep an eye on Danny along with baking, running the shop, which would likely be busier than normal thanks to the festival, and transport cupcakes up to the sales booth as well. She wasn’t Superwoman… even with her mom there to help for part of the morning. It just wasn’t do-able and he would just have to understand that.

  “I’m sorry, Danny. I can’t… not this weekend,” she said with finality.

  His pleading look changed to a brief shot of anger and hurt before he turned and walked away heading toward his bedroom. The visit was over apparently… his body language said as much. Martha, who was normally the day shift caregiver, but happened to be working overtime, approached her hesitantly .

  “He’s still reading the books he gets from the library. He continues to meet every challenge that we give him. Again, I urge you to consider an assisted living program for him. As the director mentioned he is very capable and could easily be taught to live independently. I’m confident in that. His abilities set him well above the other residents here. It’s important to continue to challenge him to learn new things and do for himself whenever possible and I’m afraid we just can’t do that for him here. I believe his behavior is a manifestation of the frustration he feels from that,” Martha said. “When his mother was alive, he had a purpose… to help take care of her. Now that’s gone and he needs a new challenge.”

  “I know… but both places I called don’t have any spots available for him,” she replied.

  “Have you considered trying to acclimate him into your own household?” Martha asked.

  “I’m hardly ever home or I would consider it. However, I shouldn’t even have my dog, Grudge, because I’m never there to care for him. Moving Danny in would be all wrong for him because I wouldn’t be around to teach him independence either. I’ll keep looking though, I promise,” she replied.

  Martha gave her a weak but understanding smile. As expected, Amy headed home feeling like the worst sister ever. Pulling up in front of her apartment which was only a couple of blocks away from the bakery, she grabbed her purse from the passenger seat and headed for her half of the duplex that the home had been divided into.

  Upon hauling her purse over to her she noticed the slip of paper with the man’s name and number on it that Ian had given her sticking out from the pile of stuff crammed within, and decided to try Rusty Hawkins one more time.

  Chapter Two

  His fourteenth try would have to be the winner. He didn’t have it in him to make a fifteenth attempt. The OCD he was often teased about forced Rusty to push the notebook away, get up from the little table, collect up the wads and wads of crumpled paper lying around and then take them to the kitchen to dispose of them. Perhaps his brothers would realize upon finding the multitude of crinkly pieces of paper in the trashcan that he had gone to great lengths to explain his choices to them… because he loved them that much.

  Then, heading back toward the dining room, he stopped off in the area that he used as an office and opened the filing cabinet near his small desk. He fished out his last will and testament, the deed to the house, and a list of his next of kin from among the files. The list basically consisted of his brothers in arms, Ronnie, Seth, and Ian… a friend of his from high school, Greg Sanders… and his blood sister, Lauren.

  Little Miss Can Do.

  Lauren was two years older than him and as different from him as night was from day. Where he was moody, she was friendly. He had nothing more than a high school diploma, even though the government was willing to reward his years of service in the military with an education. Lauren had a Master’s degree in Economics and a Doctorate in Sociology.

  Rusty worked out on a daily basis and often took the fact that he was in great physical shape for a man his age for granted. His sister was bound to a wheelchair and had been her whole life. He’d been blessed with the brawn and she’d been blessed with the brains of the family.

  When they were younger, he’d always thought he’d gotten the better end of the stick out of the two of them. Only time and experience had shown him differently. Lauren was comfortable in her own skin despite her condition and had never let it slow her down.

  He had always felt like the odd man out, like he didn’t fit in, so at some point in his life he had just stopped trying. People could take him as he was or kiss his ass and leave him alone. Lauren was a volunteer for various charities and could organize community events like a professional, even if she couldn’t physically help with them. A humanitarian Rusty would never be.

  His sister lived in California and taught economics classes at the University of California, Berkley and also worked part time at a women’s shelter in another town. Nothing was more inspiring to a woman down on her luck, trying to pull herself up by her bootstraps, than a professional woman who most would assume was developmentally impaired just based on her physical characteristics.

  For most people Lauren was inspiring… to him it was just one more reminder that he didn’t measure up. Hell, even she didn’t need him. Most of the time it was the other way around… or seemed to be. She would call to check on him as though he was her personal responsibility… or liability. No one needed that holding them back.

  Their grandfather had raised them after their dad split and their mom drown in a boating accident. Rusty had only been three when they’d come to live with him and Lauren only five. He’d not allowed either of them a minute of self-pity so maybe Rusty was just making up for it now by having a party with all of it.

  Not Lauren though. She’d taken the old man’s constant speeches about contributing to society in some meaningful way to heart and gone well above and beyond. He hadn’t had the grades for college so had joined the military after finishing the police academy with hopes of making his grandfather proud by serving his country.

  Wherever his grandfather was now, Rusty seriously doubted that allowing a man with less rank than him to take charge in a shit-storm would have filled the old man with pride. Not like say, having two impressive degrees, a crap load of people who looked up to you, a nice comfortable house you bought and paid for yourself and honorable mentions for several charity organizations throughout the country. All accomplished from the confines of a wheelchair.

  Brains or brawn? Lauren had definitely ended up with the better deal by being so damn smart.

  He would never get a chance to tell her that though. She wouldn’t accept his negativity anyway and would have just climbed his ass about it in much the same way their grandfather had always done. Someday she would also understand why he’d done this. Not having to keep track of her younger brother would allow her to do even more good works.

  He placed the documents on the table and headed back to the bathroom to get some blankets out of the closet to spread out on the floor and a pillowcase. No need to make this dramatic and messy. Why he even cared, he wasn’t sure, but it was just part of his makeup… not to stand out or draw attention to himself. Once he’d situated things adequately, he sat down at the table once again and pulled the notebook over to him.

  Brothers ,

  This letter finds you grieving and for that I am sorry. I ha
ve faith that on some distant day you will discover that my reasons were sound though the action taken may seem extreme right now. Not having a purpose in life is by far the worst affliction a man can live with and one that I am no longer willing to suffer. It is no different than enduring a physical pain, only this one causes the soul to bleed, which is excruciating and never eases or ends.

  Please know that I am truly sorry for the scars you are forced to live with due to my inaction in the face of danger and chaos. That one experience identified a flaw in me that I feel renders me unfit to lead any unit or even continue to serve this great country. Unfortunately, that leaves me in a quandary because I don’t know anything else. I’ve served since the day I graduated from the police academy and possess no other skillset. Twenty three years I’ve spent trying to stay alive and keep others safe, which I nearly failed to do in the end, only to figure out that I never really learned how to live.

  Never one that was able to get the hang of things easily, I find learning to live outside the constraints of the uniform is one skill I am unable to master. Remember me as I was before life became too much for me to abide rather than as the shell of a man I’ve become. Know that I couldn’t have asked for a better group of men with which to serve and befriend.

  Rusty

  Glancing at his cell phone he took a deep breath for courage to make the call that would ensure that the authorities would know to come when it was over. As he reached for it, it suddenly started ringing causing him to physically jump. He’d been so focused on carrying out his plan that it actually startled him.

  “Damn it!” he muttered, picking up the phone and turning it over. He didn’t recognize the number on the screen.

  It had taken him all day to prepare himself for this, both mentally and physically. Now some idiot who probably had the wrong number had completely thrown him off. Delaying the inevitable once again. Only this time, along with pissing him off, it also made him sick to his stomach. The anxiety he felt was doing more damage at the moment than the gun in his right hand would. He could just ignore the call since it wasn’t even someone he knew but for whatever reason he didn’t.

  “Yes?” he answered angrily.

  “Oh good! You’re there,” a woman said excitedly. “This is Amy Carlton… I called earlier and left a message on your voicemail. Did you get it?”

  He’d listened to the voicemail she’d left earlier offering him temporary work and blown it off against his own sense of propriety that he should at least call her back before… Glancing up at the clock on the wall of his dining room, he noticed it was well after nine at night. What was wrong with people? Didn’t they even stop to check if it was an acceptable time to call someone?

  “Yeah, I got it,” he said in a half-hearted attempt to keep the frustration out of his voice.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Well what?” he asked gruffly. He wasn’t normally so rude on the phone but he needed to finish this before he lost his nerve.

  “Well… can you help me out or not?” she asked, sounding equally frustrated.

  “No. Man Maid is no longer in business,” he replied, no longer caring if he was being rude. He needed to end this conversation quickly.

  “Really? That’s funny because I’m looking at today’s paper and there’s a big advertisement for your business right here,” she said sarcastically. He could hear the sounds of an actual newspaper being shaken to better make her point. A woman after his own heart, he liked to read the newspaper the old fashioned way too… by holding it in his hands rather than reading it on the internet. “Man Maid… Man enough for all your cleaning needs. That’s you, right? Man Maid is your business or is Ian Hamilton lying to me?”

  “Ian?” he asked, his interest piqued.

  Instead of answering him, she instead sounded as though she was talking to someone else in the background. As though Rusty wasn’t important enough to garner her full undivided attention. Nothing made him angrier faster than when someone called a person but then was distracted by everything and everyone else but the person they’d called.

  “Did you do this, Grudge?” she asked, obviously holding the phone away from her mouth as though that would keep him from hearing her side conversation. “I know I forgot to come home and let you outside and I’m sorry for that but you can’t poop in the house and you certainly can’t be chewing up the newspaper. If you have to go, you’re supposed to go on the paper… silly, Billy.”

  Seriously? She was talking to her dog like it was a small child in need of correction. One more item on a growing list of things that was irritating him about the woman who’d interrupted his plans for the evening.

  “Listen, lady. The business is shutting down so I’m not sure what Ian told you but I’m afraid I can’t help you,” he interrupted her gentle baby-talk tirade against the dog.

  “Shutting down means you are in the process of closing but not out of business yet, which according to your own advertisement means that you are still man enough to handle all my cleaning needs,” she said even more frustrated than before. “Otherwise it’s false advertisement.”

  “So sue me, Mrs. Carlton,” he huffed.

  “It’s Ms. Carlton… or just Amy. I own AmyCakes in Miamisburg and Ian said that if I asked you nicely you would help me, at least for this coming weekend,” she said with a much less antagonistic tone to her voice. Was she pouting now?

  “You call this asking me nicely?” he asked, a little taken aback by her statement. “You call me after nine o’clock at night and demand that I help you with a job that you haven’t even specified the details of and then proceed to ignore me while you scold your dog in a way that I’m sure will guarantee his future obedience. This is your version of asking someone nicely?”

  “You’re not being very nice either…” she replied quietly.

  If she were a recruit he’d make her sorry she’d been the strongest swimmer of the bunch when mommy and daddy got busy between the sheets. He could feel his blood pump through his veins a little faster. Even the guys didn’t test him to these limits and they were his friends. Pushing away from the table, he stood up… not that she could see that or even know that it meant she was dangerously close to crossing the line.

  “Well, that may be true, Ms. Carlton but I didn’t call you, now did I? I wasn’t the one who potentially woke someone up only to demand they do what I want them to, now was I?” he asked, attempting not to grind his teeth in his frustration.

  “It’s just Amy… calling me Ms. anything makes me feel… old. I’m sorry if I woke you up but you didn’t call me back and I’m kind of in a panic here,” she said. He could hear her rustling around and knew he still didn’t have her full attention which made him full blown angry… like he hadn’t been since being in the service. “Are you hungry, baby? Mommy will make her big boy something yummy, yes she will,” she said sweetly after a few grunts and some heavy breathing.

  Somehow the sound of her voice as she talked to her mutt made him wonder what she looked like. Upon realizing the direction of his thoughts, which was completely out of character for him these days, he forced himself to picture her as extremely ugly, exceptionally old, morbidly obese or any combination of those qualities. Standing up a little straighter and preparing to rip her a new one for being so disrespectful and rude, he was again caught off guard when she said, “Were you sleeping, Rusty?”

  Shock and awkwardness set in as he felt the lower half of his body respond to the husky sound of her voice saying his name, then the anger returned in full force.

  “Ms. Carlton, in case your parents never taught you this, let me give you some etiquette advice. Don’t call people by their first name or any variation of it until they give you permission to. Just because you give them consent to call you by your first name doesn’t mean that they have granted you the same liberties. You can address me as Mr. Hawkins, Master Sergeant or even Sir, but until I give permission you don’t address me as Rusty!” he said. That should show he
r or maybe even cause her to hang up on him.

  “Mmm… Sir, huh? I like that,” she said even more huskily and then laughed softly.

  She was flirting with him!

  Good grief… what the hell was wrong with him? Or her for that matter? She’d effectively turned him on simply from disobeying a direct order and trying to turn the fact that she’d been incredibly rude into a joke… or a come on.

  “I’m afraid you read too many books, Ms. Carlton,” he managed to choke out. “I’m also afraid you’ll have to call someone else, wake them up and then make your demands of them.”

  “Wait… please. I really need some help this weekend. My delivery driver quit and Renee… my other employee… only works part time and I don’t want my mom to feel like she has to stay and help out. Please, it’s just for Friday and Saturday. I can actually do the cleanup work on Sunday morning. I’ll skip church and everything to get it done myself, that way all you have to do is either deliver the cupcakes during the festival or run the shop while I make the deliveries. Please?” she said as though trying to explain away her earlier behavior.

  “Look… your lack of proper managerial skills or poor judgment when hiring people in the first place that has brought on this catastrophe of yours, does not constitute a problem for me,” he said, calming down some but still unwilling to agree to something he wouldn’t be around for anyway.

  “You’re a soldier, right? Soldiers are supposed to help people… I mean, you’re a hero and stuff. So I’m sorry for waking you up and threatening you about the advertising and everything… but please, Rusty?” she begged.

  “Just because I served in the military does not mean I’m a hero, Ms. Carlton,” he said, sucking in a painful breath. If she only knew how far from the truth her statement was…