Sunflower Alley (The Merriams Book 4) Page 3

  “Yes, it’s cleaned daily like the showers at your local gym,” she said, imagining he worked out. “Are you going to question everything? Because if you are, let me at least take my coat off and get warm myself.”

  “Your cheeks are red, and your stocking hat is so soggy it’s falling off your head. Also, you need new gloves.” He pulled the hat off, surprising her. “God, you really do look like Rihanna.”

  She laughed. “You’re not the first to say so. I’m mixed, but my dad’s people are originally from the Caribbean. Some of our guests think I’ve missed my calling as a singer. It crushes them when they find out I can’t carry a tune or dance.” She did a horrible hip-hop step, one that usually guaranteed a smile or laugh.

  He did neither. His eyes had crested over her face, and she noticed one of his eyes was green and the other blue. It wasn’t completely obvious at first, but when you looked a little closer…

  My goodness, he was handsome in a rough kind of way, dripping snowmelt with that dark beard.

  Be professional. She switched her regard to checking for any yellow tinge around his pupils, indicating any medical issues. There were none.

  “You freaked out by my eyes?” he asked. “They call it heterochromia iridis, but that’s just a big word for having weird eyes. Yours are beautiful. Gold with green and brown around the iris. Quite unusual as well, and very compelling.”

  He stated it more as a fact than a compliment.

  “I think yours are rather cool actually,” she said. “Then again, I don’t like the same-same. Come on.”

  She led him down the hall to the men’s locker room. When she got there, she knocked on the door. No one answered, which she’d expected given the hour, but it always paid to check.

  “It’s after curfew here, so you’ll have the place to yourself. Showers are on two-minute timers out of concern for our water bill. Hope you understand. Let me grab you a towel.” She walked to a cabinet and dug her keys out to grab him one.

  “Do you have to lock everything up?” he asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes. Some people would never think to take a towel, but others who have nothing…”

  “And no ethics,” he finished, pulling his blanket off and folding it neatly.

  “You call it ethics,” she said. “To some people, it’s survival. I try not to judge.”

  He took the towel from her, and those strange, entrancing eyes held her gaze as he placed the wet blanket in her hand. “How’s that working for you?”

  Challenging him seemed the best response, which was fortunate, because it was the only one she could manage. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  “Indeed, I am, Louisa.” He opened the door to the locker room and left her standing there.

  It was the first time he’d used her name, and it seemed significant. Maybe she’d be able to get through to him, help him out of the cycle that could end in him being homeless and worse. She dropped the wet blanket in the laundry hamper and took off her coat, heading back to her office.

  “Hey! You want my clothes?”

  She stopped in her tracks and turned around. He was holding out his shorts and T-shirt, his body hidden mostly by the door. But she could see the firm muscles in his arm and part of his chest.

  In the harsh fluorescent light, she admitted the truth. She was attracted to him.

  It had never happened with anyone they’d come across on the streets or in the park. The realization caught her off guard, even more so because it wasn’t just his looks that spoke to her. He wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met.

  He waved his hand at her, his long muscled arm beckoning her closer. She felt her insides warm, thinking about him on the other side of that door. Her feet wouldn’t move.

  Shake it off. He was totally and completely off-limits. She didn’t fraternize with the people they served. She was here to help—that was a sacred trust—and given her brief acquaintance with him, he was deeply troubled. He needed kindness and only kindness.

  “Why are you standing there like a lump of clay?” he asked, and then he was opening the door and striding toward her in a towel.

  Her breath stopped in her chest, an instinctive reaction that was completely unwanted. She purposely looked away. He had to pick up her hands and plop the wet, soggy clothes into them.

  “You were taking too long,” he said, “and this way you can see that I don’t have the body of some homeless guy.”

  Hadn’t she just been trying to ignore that? “I’ve seen some homeless ex-cons and drug dealers with bodies like that.” That sounded more fair-minded, didn’t it?

  His mouth twitched. “More august comparisons. First homeless and now a criminal. Man, what a night.”

  She couldn’t help but notice as his towel slipped lower, showcasing a fantastic V. Maybe she should call Boxer in, after all.

  “The locker room isn’t too bad, by the way.” Then he was heading back to it.

  She laid a hand on her chest. Her heart was racing. Stop this.

  She put his clothes in the dryer in the laundry room, then headed to her office to shed her coat and check her voicemail. The most recent message was from the director of another downtown shelter who had an overload situation and was hoping Sunflower Alley could take in an extra family. Louisa called their Uber contact—his tab was picked up by a benefactor—and asked if he would brave the streets to pick the family up. It was only ten minutes without traffic, and he’d done it in the snow before. After talking to the driver, she called the shelter back to confirm pickup. When she clicked off, she heard someone clear their throat.

  Connor was standing in a towel in her office doorway as if he owned the place. “I didn’t want to interrupt you, but I need my clothes.”

  She flew out of her chair, tamping down the tightness in her belly at seeing all that hard muscled flesh again. “I’m so sorry. I had an urgent matter. Come on, let’s see if your clothes are dry. Do you need another blanket? Are you sure you don’t want warmer clothes?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said, matching her stride as she hurried down the hallway to the laundry room. “I had a chance to read your job postings on the community bulletin board. You’re looking for someone to create a business plan for a new job training center?”

  Her insides started humming for an entirely different reason at the interest in his voice as she pulled his clothes out of the dryer and handed them to him. “They’re mostly dry. As for the job, I don’t have the time to get to it, and I thought someone might see the posting… We have volunteers and visitors, you know. Anyway, I don’t have the building now, but I hope to acquire it within the next six months.” She had some serious fundraising events planned to get her to her goal.

  “I might be able to help with that.” He frowned. “Were you really arranging for a family to come here in the snow? I didn’t mean to overhear while I was waiting.”

  “Yes, another shelter didn’t have beds for them, so they’ve been calling around. Luckily, we have a couple open tonight.”

  “What would have happened if no one found beds for them?” He shrugged on the long-sleeved T-shirt right in front of her. No body shame or modesty here.

  She wasn’t sure what he was going to do about the shorts, so she spun around. His laughter erupted immediately. “I wasn’t going to pull the rest of my clothes on until I went back to the locker room, but it’s good to know even women try to be a gentleman.”

  Snorting herself, she spun back around to face him. His wet hair looked like he’d run his hands through it, and it somehow made him more appealing.

  “We aren’t supposed to take clients home with us, but in weather like this, if all the shelters are full, some of us will meet the family and decide whether to make an exception. On a wintry night like this one, many, many years ago, someone offered my mom and me a break, something that might have saved our lives. That experience and many others taught me not to draw hard and fast lines.”

  His mouth dropped open. “You were home
less?”

  “Yes. You asked about my story. My mom came home from the Gulf War with PTSD and an injured shoulder from when her team’s Humvee hit an IED. She was the only survivor, which she never got over. She started using oxy for the pain, and later the escape, and developed an addiction. There’s more to it, but yes, after my parents divorced, my mom and I went from the streets to shelters to temporary housing and then back again.”

  He swallowed thickly. “That must have been terrible for you. No wonder you help the homeless.”

  Her laugh was ironic this time. People always assumed that. “For a while, I wanted nothing to do with them. Something happened that changed everything, but that’s a story for another night.”

  He regarded her for a long moment. “You promised me your story earlier, and I want it now. How did you stop being homeless?”

  He wanted it now? Demanding was too tame a word for him. “My dad. He lost custody when they divorced. It’s horrible, but addicts lie, and she made up damaging stories about him. Being the mother, white, and a veteran, the judge believed her.” For years, she’d carried around rage at her mother for lying about her father. Thank God, she’d finally put that to rest. Forgiving her mom had been hard but necessary for her to move forward with her life.

  His mouth was twisted, as if in disgust. “How did your father regain custody after she maligned his reputation? That’s not an easy thing to overcome.”

  Did she discern something more personal in his query? If he did feel responsible for someone dying like she’d guessed, perhaps he was facing some questions about his own character. “My dad appealed the ruling and continued his work as a teacher and coach and community leader, hoping the truth would speak for itself in the end. Of course, my mom’s addiction and our homelessness helped his case, although the court system took way too long to overrule the decision and give me back to him.” Her dad had confessed his agony and guilt over his inability to make it happen sooner.

  “Good for him for fighting and not giving up,” he said, nodding. “What happened to your mom?”

  The wrenching of her heart wasn’t as painful as it used to be, but it was still there despite all her counseling. “She froze to death on a night like this when I was fourteen.”

  “Jesus, I’m sorry.” He studied her. “No wonder you don’t back down at the park. Who could live with that?”

  It sounded as if the words had been ripped from his chest. Yeah, he had deep hurts, ones she could understand, ones she hoped she could help. “For a while, I couldn’t. I got counseling and tried to move on.”

  His face shuttered. “How long did that take?”

  “A few years with some forward movement and some bumps along the road, but I got there. I was lucky. I had my dad, and the woman he married—my stepmom—was terrific. Her heart gave out a couple years ago, it was so big. My half-brother is also really great.”

  “So you ran from the homeless after that. Understandable. What changed?”

  Rapid-fire questions. Did he realize how intense he was? “I was working my first job out of college in advertising, feeling far away from it all, and wouldn’t you know it, a homeless man took to sitting on a bench in the park directly across from my apartment building. I used to walk past him every day with my dog. I tried ignoring him at first, but he always said hello to me. I felt guilty after a while and started to say it back. We did that for three months, and then I got laid off and went on a vacation to reassess things. My apartment building caught fire while I was gone.”

  “Jesus, you’ve had it rough.”

  “Maybe, but I was lucky too. I had a friend dog sitting, but she wasn’t there during the fire, thank God. Anyway, the homeless man saw the blaze and broke into my apartment to save my dog since he heard him barking. He ended up helping a few other people escape the blaze as well.”

  “That’s a pretty incredible story. Some would call it full circle.”

  Wise as well. His intriguing factor kept going up. “It gets better. That man is Boxer.”

  His rapid blink was the first indication he was disarmed. “What happened next?”

  “I was so moved he’d saved my dog, I asked if there was anything I could do to help him. He told me his story, one I don’t mind sharing since most of it is up on our website. The factory he’d worked at for years moved its production overseas and laid everyone off, and his wife left him. When he couldn’t find a new job, he fell into a deep depression. He just didn’t care anymore until the day of the fire. Helping save those people and my dog gave him a renewed sense of purpose. The same thing happened to me in some ways. I had this big life moment. Felt like I’d lost my job in advertising because it didn’t speak to my soul. As you said, full circle.”

  “A big life moment, huh? That’s pretty deep.” Except his body language closed up like a clam.

  “Life is deep,” she said, “especially when it comes to taking our hurts and turning them into something good. After the fire, I knew without any doubt that I was supposed to help the homeless, people like Boxer and my mom. I especially wanted to help families. So I did my homework and saved some money and talked Boxer into working with me. We started out small, but we’ve been steadily growing our organization to help more people. You might not believe it, but homelessness is actually down in Chicago for another consecutive year.”

  “And yet this neighborhood looks worse than I remember it.” Once again, his tone suggested an anger she didn’t understand.

  “When was the last time you were here?” she asked.

  His eyes shuttered a moment before he met her gaze straight on. “You promised me your story. I didn’t promise you mine.”

  She knew a wall when she saw it. “You’re right. Why don’t you finish dressing? I’ll get us some coffee.”

  “In a minute. Regarding the job posting… I’ll give you an outline of what I have in mind for a business plan tomorrow. If you like it, I can draw up a full one for you.”

  To her surprise, she didn’t question his qualifications or ability. Somehow she knew this man absolutely knew what he was talking about. No, what she wanted to know was why.

  “Why would you do that, Connor?” she pressed, studying him.

  He inhaled deeply and looked down at his bare feet before meeting her eyes. “You were willing to take a homeless family into your own home tonight if need be. You put your own safety and comfort on the line to help a stranger in a snowstorm—even though I’m not homeless. If you want to create a job training program, that’s more than simply helping the homeless. That’s rebuilding a community.”

  Succinctly put. Like he was used to summarizing points. Damn but she wanted to know his story.

  “Besides, you were right. I don’t have any prospects right now. I’m used to keeping busy.” He paused. “And you were willing to sit beside me in a snowstorm tonight until I saw reason. Very few people challenge me, and it’s exactly what I needed tonight.”

  Somehow it was a compliment, and her throat grew thick with emotion. “How did you know I wasn’t bluffing about sitting with you?”

  His easy smile stole her breath, the beauty and charm of it so unexpected and captivating. “Louisa, I always know when someone’s bluffing.”

  She believed him. “I’d be happy to see the outline if you’re serious.”

  “I never say something I don’t mean.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Then we seem to understand each other,” he said, the smile fading from his mouth. Maybe he wasn’t used to anyone understanding him either. Something told her that was the case.

  “I believe we do. Now, it’s cold and the snow is likely heavy by now on the road and sidewalk. I have a bed for you, if you’d like to stay here tonight.”

  His mouth twisted harshly. “I told you, Louisa. I’m not homeless, and I sure as hell don’t plan on ever being a client of yours.”

  “Why is that?” she asked, equally direct.

  “Because I think you’re beautiful and
tenacious, and if I end up asking you out, I don’t want you to have any ethical concerns about accepting.”

  His words were a punch to the gut, but she didn’t want him to know how they’d affected her, how he affected her. “Ask me out? Now who’s getting ahead of themselves? An hour ago you were freezing to death, drinking in a park. You might not be a client, but you’re still troubled.”

  He leaned in, the scent of donated Irish Spring soap catching her nose. “An hour ago, I was feeling sorry for myself after a bad meeting. The liquor was part of the pity party. But I’m over that.”

  Her brow winged up. Who had he met and what had transpired to drive him to such dire straits? “Are you?”

  “Mostly.” He grimaced. “I’m trying. Tonight seems to have given me that renewed purpose thing you mentioned earlier as well as the answer to a problem I was facing.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I’m going to help you turn this neighborhood around.”

  Chapter 3

  Arthur Hale was too old for stakeouts.

  And yet, here he was, sitting on a snowy bench the morning after one of Chicago’s notorious snowstorms, freezing his ass off next to his beloved wife in a place he hoped to avoid for a few years longer—a graveyard.

  Clara sat next to him, a Chicago tourist brochure in her hand, reading about all the famous people buried in Oak Woods Cemetery. Graveyard tourism. He wondered what the cemetery’s residents would think of that. Would boss Big Jim Colosimo still want the attention? Would Olympian Jesse Owens want the cheers? A big bummer, as far as Arthur was concerned. “Put that brochure down and keep your eyes peeled.”

  She gave him a look before putting the brochure in the pocket of her fur coat. Not a hard-core environmentalist, his wife, but he loved her to pieces just the same.

  “Hargreaves prepared a flask for you if you’d like to add a touch of mother’s milk to your coffee,” she said, scanning the graveyard like he’d asked. “Your cheeks are red, dear, and you’re a bit grouchy.”

  “They don’t like this lake-effect wind any better than my backside likes this Icelandic bench, and whiskey is the water of life, Clara. Guinness is mother’s milk. Jeez, you should have that one down after our trip to Ireland.”