“Clover Jones?” the woman asked, surveying her critically. Clover winced at the woman’s obvious disapproval and wished she’d dressed better, in one of her few nice outfits.
“Yes. And you are?”
The woman handed her a card. Bonnie Rhoads. Social services.
Clover sat down on the couch and tucked the card into her purse.
“Can I help you?” Clover asked, trying not to show how nervous she was. “What is the reason for your visit?”
“We received some information about your family that caused us to be concerned,” Bonnie said, surveying Clover with a critical eye and wrinkling her nose just the tiniest bit. “Are your parents here?”
“I am the legal guardian of my siblings. I can show you the paperwork.”
“Yes, I’d appreciate that.” Bonnie’s tone was clipped, her smile tight. She’d judged Clover and found her wanting, Clover could tell.
They’d just arrived in town the day before. Who could have called to complain? It had to be Sam, trying to run them out of town before Clover got a chance to speak to his brother.That bastard.
Clover hurried upstairs and brought the paperwork down. She handed it to Bonnie and sat back down on the couch.
Bonnie looked over it very carefully for several excruciating minutes.
Then she looked up at Clover.
“Where exactly are your parents?”
“Traveling. Currently out of touch. As you see, I’m the legal guardian of my brother and sisters, so it doesn’t really matter where they are.” Clover struggled to keep her temper under control. Yelling at this woman would only make things worse.
“You’re staying in a boarding house, so you clearly have no permanent residence. You’re single, and you’re only twenty-one.” Bonnie recited each fact as a damning indictment. As if they were living in the woods and eating out of dumpsters.
Damn it. Yes, she had no permanent residence at the moment. Clover had just left behind her waitressing job and her apartment in New York. Had that been a mistake? Should she have found a bigger apartment, settled down there with the kids and let Sapphire deal with her own mess? At least she’d had a job there. If only her parents and her sister hadn’t decided to have major crises at exactly the same time.
“My age is irrelevant. I’m legally an adult. I’ve never been in trouble with the law, and I am perfectly capable of caring for my family,” Clover said, hoping that her voice wasn’t shaking.
“And how are you employed?” Bonnie looked down her nose at Clover. Clover’s heart sank. Living in a boarding house, absent parents, unemployed…
“She works for my company doing social media marketing,” Sam’s voice boomed out from the doorway.
Clover started. She had been so distracted by Bonnie’s inquisition that she hadn’t even heard Sam pull up.
Sam strode across the room and sat down next to Clover. The couch creaked and groaned under his weight; he was a big, solid man. Clover found herself sliding up against him and desperately tried to scooch away, but the couch was slanting downward towards him. He was wearing cologne with notes of cedar and lemongrass in it, which mingled with the animal scent of his own musk.
She leaned to the left so she wasn’t pressed right up against him, but her leg was still pressing against his. He was like solid rock.
“Oh, Mr. McCoy!” Bonnie simpered. “I didn’t see you there.” Then her expression turned doubtful. “She just arrived in town yesterday, and already she has a job with your family?”
“I believe that’s what I just said thirty seconds ago, yes.” Sam’s voice had an edge to it. “She came to our property today, applied for the job and we hired her. She starts tomorrow. Nine a.m. sharp.”
He glanced at her for confirmation, and Clover nodded in agreement, at a loss for words. Why would he help her?
“Well, they’re living in a boarding house.” Bonnie frowned doubtfully.
“Which is not illegal. It is a very clean and well-kept residence, which has been run by the same family for generations. A very well-liked local family. Are you saying there’s something wrong with this boarding house?” The edge in Sam’s voice had gotten considerably sharper.
Bonnie wilted visibly. Sam could get away with saying that kind of thing; Clover couldn’t have.
“Not at all,” she said. She stood up and glanced back at Clover. “But who will watch the children while you’re at work?”
“I will.” Imogen’s normally sweet voice had turned hard. “We’ve already worked it out. The youngest is ten and the oldest is thirteen, so legally they could supervise themselves, for that matter, but they will be under my supervision.”
