Home for Her Family (9781460341186) Read online

  The two walked slowly back to the gleaming metal table. Jimena stayed close to Marisol, choosing a knife and beginning to work.

  Sabrina stared unseeing at the concrete floor. Just when she thought her life was difficult, she heard of something worse. Much worse. She couldn’t even imagine what might have happened to that girl, but she could guess. Stories swirled about young people, especially girls, being lured to job sites and then never being allowed to leave. Months of slave labor was the very least of what happened, and even that was enough to scar a person deeply.

  She swallowed. It happened, and more often than anyone thought. A lack of education and family meant desperation. Starvation. Utter poverty. Images of her nieces, laughing and running toward the soccer ball, made her throat constrict. Please, God. Help me keep them from all harm. Help us stay together. Help the judge see that I’m capable of caring for them.

  Shrugging off her backpack, she pulled out her coveralls and slipped them on. It was warm in the kitchen, but she never went without her hard hat and safety goggles, even if it meant she was going to be sporting crazy hair and sweaty lines on her face. She glanced at her hands and saw the grease under her nails. Jack had almost swallowed his tongue when she’d shaken his hand. She could see why. A man like Jack was probably surrounded by polished women who got professional haircuts and manicures.

  She felt her lips tug up at the thought of what Maya would do at the sight of Jack. Maya, who lived upstairs, was nineteen and officially boy crazy. She would have at least gotten a phone number. The man was obviously athletic, impressively muscled, attired in expensive athletic gear—those things warranted that first glance. Then there was the classically handsome face and shockingly blue eyes, and a matching set of dimples upped the swoon factor. A man like that could have any woman he wanted.

  But enough of the daydreaming. She needed to focus or they’d be here all night.

  She laid out her small tools and started to remove the front of the food processor. The hinged hood would have to be secured so she could get underneath. Sabrina turned to her toolbox, shaking her head.

  “What? It can’t be fixed? We will cancel Easter?” Marisol’s worried voice cut through her thoughts.

  “No, sorry, just thinking.” She reached out and squeezed the woman’s shoulder. “I need a prop for the hood.”

  Marisol blinked, not understanding.

  Sabrina switched to Spanish while peering around the kitchen for something the right height. There had been a metal prop attached to the inside of the Hobart once upon a time, but it had long ago broken off and been discarded. Could she use a chair? No, the legs would be in her way. Frustration coursed through her. She had a small jack that expanded to four feet and supported a hundred pounds, just for machines like the old Hobart, but she’d left it at home.

  Marisol lifted a finger in the just-a-minute gesture. “Wait here.”

  Sabrina nodded. Not much choice. She could still loosen the parts on the bottom while Marisol went to fetch a small stool or ladder. The machine was clogged with hours-old potato pieces and she scooped the remains to the side, the dank smell clinging to her snug-fitting work gloves. She didn’t mind engine grease, but rotten-vegetable wasn’t high on her list of wearable perfumes.

  The enormous kitchen echoed with the steady sound of knives hitting chopping blocks and the dishwasher running in the corner. She felt the rhythm of the place, as comforting as a heartbeat, and relaxed into the work. Her small power drill made a quick job of the screws and in a few minutes the machine stood exposed. Sabrina sat back on her heels and wiped the sweat from her face with one arm.

  “Nice hat.”

  She startled backward at the deep voice and landed directly on her bottom. Her face flamed as she scrambled back to her feet. The good-looking soccer coach was feet away, perfectly at home in the mission kitchen.

  Touching the back of her hard hat, she remembered Gabby’s little gift. She’d earned it at school and Sabrina couldn’t bear to get angry over the fact it had ended up on her work uniform. It was an act of little-girl generosity, because Gabby had been sure her aunt wanted a big sparkly pink star of her very own. “Do you need something?”

  He laughed, bright eyes locked on her face. “You keep asking me that.”

  “Are the girls okay?”

  “Everybody’s fine.” He moved closer to the Hobart. “Marisol said you needed help.”

  Of course. The way this day was going, she should have guessed that Marisol wouldn’t bring a ladder or a prop. She would bring a man, and one who spoke in a deep, chocolaty baritone that made Sabrina wish she wasn’t wearing coveralls and coated in potato peels. She blew out a sigh and jerked her shoulder toward the metal sheet that was the front of the chopper.

  “I need to get into the engine, but there’s nothing to hold up the cover.” Searching for a tool spared her from having to make eye contact and seeing the look on his face.

  “Sure.” He stood close to the cover, one hand on the edge. “There’s no way to lock the hinge?”

  “No. I usually have a prop, but I forgot it at home.” The idea of him hovering as she worked made her palms sweat. “It’s up right now, but with all the vibration of the machinery, it could fall while I’m working. I don’t want my nose squashed into the gears if I can help it.”

  “I’ll be the spotter.” He set his feet apart, seeming comfortable enough.

  “Spotter?”

  “It’s a sports term. You’re the athlete and I’m the person who stands nearby to catch you if you fall.” He was smiling that slow smile that started at the corners of his mouth and worked toward his eyes.

  Sabrina nodded and ducked under the hood, swallowing back a sudden wave of emotion. It had been a very long time since anyone had been there to catch her. Even when her parents were alive, she had been the one responsible for interpreting for them, for talking to bosses and apartment managers. After her mother died, her dad’s drinking meant she was head of the household at sixteen. It was impossible to keep her little sister under control. By the time Rosa was twenty, she’d had two babies. Another year and she’d been gone, off to live with some guy she met on the internet, a guy who didn’t want the responsibility of kids.

  Turning a wrench with a quick twist of her wrist, Sabrina tried to focus on the job at hand. Responsibility was her middle name. All work and no play was her motto. It was nice to think of having a partner, to not be the only one in charge, but in the end it was all up to her. Better to face that fact and not be disappointed. Plus, when fighting for custody, the court looked more kindly on a woman who was focused on the kids and not her social life.

  “Do you carry all your tools in your trunk?” His voice came from somewhere right above her head.

  “My trunk?” It was easier to talk this way, as if she was talking to the grumpy Hobart.

  “Of your car.”

  “Oh.” She dropped a few bolts into the tin near her foot. “I don’t have a car. We took the bus.”

  There was a pause. Sabrina stared at the shiny blades of the peeler. She didn’t like taking the bus with two little girls at this hour of the night, but a job was a job, especially since the rent just went up. Again. There were only so many hours in the day. Soon it wouldn’t matter how much she worked—they would have to move to a smaller apartment in a tougher neighborhood.

  “My nieces are pretty good about staying out of the tools, but thanks again for letting them play in the gym. When I was taking night classes, they sat in the hallway, right outside the open doorway of the classroom. It was tough, even with picture books and crafts. A few professors would let them sit in the back of the room, but they still had to be quiet.”

  “Not a problem. They’re having a great time. In fact, they’re better than most of the regular team. Does their mom work at night?”

  She reached for a
rag to wipe off more potato sludge and said, “They live with me.” The whole story was too complicated for the moment. She hoped he understood that. The story of her childhood, her dad’s drinking and her sister’s wild life wasn’t something she shared with anybody outside of a court. Even then, it was humiliating to own the disaster of her family life and the poverty of her past. She needed to prove to the court she was the best one to take care of the girls. If they ended up in foster care, her heart would break.

  “Interesting. I’ve never met a—”

  With a loud clank, the tool slipped from her hand and rolled a few feet away. Sabrina closed her eyes, wishing she could click her heels and the chopper would be fixed. He’d never met a what? A single mother? A fractured family?

  He stuck out one foot, not leaving his post by the heavy raised cover, and nudged the wrench back in her direction as if it was a soccer ball. “I’ve never met a professional juggler.”

  She snorted. So he was funny as well as athletic and gorgeous. “Just a mediocre one, actually.”

  “That’s the thing about juggling. It’s really impressive to the person watching.”

  She couldn’t help smiling as the final gear came loose. Even though she usually worked in silence, it felt good to talk to someone older than Kassey. The kitchen sounds were soothing now, less frantic. She wondered if Marisol had sent some of the staff home, but she didn’t turn around to check. The clock was ticking.

  “How did you decide to become a mechanic?”

  Another swipe of the rag and the last half-peeled potato came out of the chopper. “I took classes.”

  Jack laughed, a sound rich and deep. She felt it from the base of her skull all the way down her spine. “Before that. Did you know it was your calling?”

  She shook out the rag and sat back for a second, meeting his gaze. “My calling?”

  He nodded, his expression completely serious. “Your purpose in life, if you want to call it that.”

  She dropped her gaze to the toolbox and kept her face straight as she searched for the locking pliers.

  “You want to say something, but you’re too polite.”

  Startled, she let out the laugh she’d been hiding. “True.”

  “Go ahead, be honest. I can take it.” And for all his obvious strength, she wondered if he could. It took a lot more than muscles to handle honesty; it took maturity. He looked about her age, maybe a few years closer to thirty.

  Sabrina drew in a breath and hoped she was being honest but not rude. Life was too short to be mean. “Finding your purpose in life sounds like something rich people worry about when they have a lot of options.”

  His face didn’t change, but his gaze sharpened, as if he was seeing her for the first time. “And you don’t have options.”

  “Not many. Not like that.” She ducked back under the hood and hoped that was the end of the conversation. She felt raw, as if he had stripped back layers of accumulated worry and anxiety. The question of purpose, of calling, was something she used to understand. But that was before Rosa had walked away and left her the mother to two little girls.

  “You must have a few.”

  “Sure,” she said, feeling a bead of sweat roll down the back of her neck as she worked at an old bolt. “I can fail or I can work harder.”

  “Like the rest of us, then.” He wasn’t letting the question go and frustration flared inside her, just for a moment. Who was he to ask questions that were already answered? Who really cared why she was a mechanic?

  She grabbed a can of industrial solvent and sprayed the inside of the stubborn part. The fumes were a reminder of the dirty, complicated job she did on a daily basis. She had to admit, she hadn’t chosen to be a mechanic because it seemed like fun.

  Twisting the sharp steel disks deep in the machine, Sabrina felt his silence like a steady presence. It was the first time in years that anyone had really cared why she did what she did, let alone asked. She was the responsible one, the girl everyone could count on, the one who never dropped a ball.

  Crawling out from under the hood, she stood with the wrench in one hand and a rusty bolt in the other. “I decided to be a mechanic because I love working with metal.” She waited for his look of confusion, for those dark brows to jerk up in surprise, for a deep laugh at the concept of loving something most people never even noticed.

  “What kind of metal?” Jack’s expression was pure curiosity, nothing more.

  “Brass, iron, aluminum. I used to love copper, but that was in my flashy phase.”

  He was staring at her, eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite define. She ducked back under the hood. “I think once I get the inside put back together, it’s going to work. Seemed to be jammed.” She sure hoped it was a jam and not an engine failure. Marisol was going to have a breakdown if Easter brunch was postponed.

  For once there was silence from Jack. She’d thought she wanted the peace, didn’t need the distraction, but she kept listening for the sound of his voice. His presence was distracting and comforting at the same time, and as her hands replaced part after part, she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to get to know him better, sometime when she wasn’t wearing coveralls and a hard hat. He probably had a girlfriend.

  Shaking the thoughts from her head, Sabrina tried to focus on the stubborn old machine in front of her. She’d really been working too hard. Her emotions were a mess. All it took was one handsome guy paying her a bit of attention and care, and suddenly she was planning their next date. And she didn’t have the leisure to plan anything more than how to get custody of the girls. That was her sole aim and nothing was going to shake her focus.

  It was imperative she show the courts she was steady, reliable and responsible. As soon as she was given custody, they’d find a cheaper place to live. They loved the apartment, true, but she couldn’t keep working around the clock like this. And she couldn’t move now or she might look unstable.

  If it weren’t for Rosa and that no-good boyfriend... A flash of anger swept through her and she let out a deep breath, willing herself to focus on forgiveness.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jack standing there. He was so quiet. She wondered what he was thinking and then was irritated at herself for wondering. It didn’t matter what this guy thought of her. The only thing she could focus on right now was keeping the girls in the only family they’d known.

  If they could just hang on a little longer, she would be their legal guardian and they could find another place. As it was, she was barely paying the bills. They were getting poorer by the month and something had to give. But it wasn’t going to be their little family; she would make sure of that.

  * * *

  Jack gripped the hood of the old chopper and stared into space. He had asked what he’d thought was a simple question about her life choices, but her answer hadn’t been what he’d expected. He’d assumed so much without realizing it. It had never been clearer to him that he was coasting along in life, hardly working for the things that he needed. Every door was open to him, but he was passing time in his father’s company and playing businessman. The young woman crouched by his feet had just knocked the breath out of him and didn’t even notice. He struggled to slow his pounding heart. He had been so sure that he wasn’t meant to work at the family company, and now, after one conversation in a noisy kitchen, he was seeing it from a whole new angle. He had stayed because of his dad’s heart attack, but Jack was easing his way out of the business just as his dad was getting better. But now he wondered, who was he to quit a well-paying job because he wasn’t particularly happy? So what if Bob from packaging and distributions had made him feel powerless?

  The pettiness of it all made him sick to his stomach. This beautiful girl did what she could and didn’t complain about it, even as she scooped out rotting potato parts from old machines. Why? B
ecause she was being a mother to two little girls who needed her. The utter selflessness of her story made him want to hang his head. He had wasted months dithering over whether to start a snowboarding company on Wolf Mountain, while families like hers were fighting to survive.

  “Go ahead and lower the hood.” Sabrina scooted out from under the machine, grabbing the power cord. “I want to see if this crusty old thing will run. Say a prayer.”

  Lowering the hood, he stepped back and watched her flip the switch. The engine roared to life and the kitchen erupted into cheers. Marisol flew at Sabrina, chattering in warp-speed Spanish, tears of happiness making tracks on her deeply lined brown cheeks. He couldn’t help but grin at the expression on Sabrina’s face. Half amusement, half relief.

  She flipped the machine off and found her drill, making quick work of replacing the bolts. She stood up and looked over at him. “Thanks for your help. Marisol says she’s going to make you tamales.”

  “Well, if I’d known there was a reward, I would have volunteered right away.” He pasted on a bright smile, hoping she couldn’t see how rattled he was by their conversation. As it was, she just laughed and brushed off the knees of her coveralls.

  “Would you let the girls know we’ve got to get going? I’ll just clean up here and be right out.” She took off the hard hat and started gathering her tools.

  “Will do.” He turned to the gym, feeling as if his legs were made of lead. In all his prayers over God’s purpose for his life, as he’d struggled over how to find happiness, he had never once considered that he should just work harder at his job.

  A ten-minute conversation with a woman in coveralls had given him a dose of reality. He glanced back, watching her carefully replace her tools in the green metal box. With her fragile features and dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, she looked like any other young woman, but the resolute set of her jaw belied the strength inside. She did what she had to do.