Looking for Home

Sample Chapter

Chapter One

This is what you want. This is what you want.

What? If she repeated it enough times, she’d actually believe it?

Besides, this wasn’t what she wanted, but she needed to do this in order to get what she really wanted.

M hadn’t spoken to her sister in nearly two years, but she stood at the base of an impressive staircase leading to the entrance of the mansion her sister called home.

Since arriving in Toronto earlier that day, she’d been questioning her sanity. She and Summer—her sister—hadn’t been close since they’d hit their early teens. M had barely had any contact with the whole famdamily since leaving the nuthouse at eighteen. Then, out of the blue, Summer called, bragging about the rich old man she’d bagged. And his awesome, humongous house in Rosedale—one of the wealthiest neighbourhoods in Toronto, dontcha know. The only tarantula in her sister’s perfumed body lotion was the fact that she’d have to take care of the old man’s bratty kid as well.

Summer’s parting shot before hanging up had been that if M ever needed a place to stay, and well, of course she would, Summer might consider putting her up for a day or two. Maybe.

All right. M could admit to being a vagabond. So what? At least she had morals. Scruples! But if you asked her, Summer sorely lacked both.

Yet here she was, about to beg her sister for room and board.

She heaved a sigh, picked up her ratty—uh, well-used—old bags, and walked up those majestic stairs.

But it’s a step in the right direction. Just one step—okay, it’s at least ten steps. It doesn’t matter. You can do this.

Finally, standing in front of wide double doors with incredible stained glass inserts, she rang the bell.

Waited.

Checked out the huge planters on either side of the door that probably cost more than her car. Well, if she still had a car, these would probably cost more. She’d sold her car, so she’d have extra cash for her new venture.

Waited.

She was about to turn away when the door forcefully opened.

By a… she searched for the word that could describe someone this gorgeous. Was there one? She didn’t think so, and years of reading anything she could get her hands on had provided her with an excellent vocabulary. Pity she rarely had a chance to use it.

She went for simplistic.

Woohoo! Be still, my heart!

His face was perfectly—perfect. Everything about it. Bone structure, skin, and proportion. His wavy hair fell somewhere between blonde and brown—closer to brown. Since blonde men gave her the heebie jeebies, that worked just fine. His green-gold eyes reminded her of a beast of prey. Aquiline nose and a strong, square jaw. All sitting on top of six plus feet of hard body. On the whole? She could sum it up quite easily. Yum yum!

Oh, oh. He was checking her out as well.

She tensed. Here it comes.

How can a face be totally devoid of expression and yet speak volumes at the same time?

She watched as his eyes rested first on her ancient Birkenstocks and then travelled up to her stick-straight hair. Back down to her bags.

In a voice that reeked with long-suffering, he said, “Look, I’m sorry. I really am. But I don’t hand out money at the front door.”

Excuse me? What, he thought she was a peddler or something? Begging for a handout?

Why do rich people instantly think they’re better than you?  It made her sick.

Okay, to be fair, she wasn’t looking her best, but still. How about a little respect? He’d look rumpled and sweaty too if he’d spent the last four days as she had.

As he turned away and started to close the door, she found her voice. “I’m here to see Summer.”

He froze. Turned back to her. “Pardon me? What kind of game are you playing?”

She picked up her bags and tried to force herself past him. “No game. I said I’m here to see Summer. I’m her sister, and she told me I could stay here if I ever needed a place to crash for a while.”

For some reason, he appeared speechless.

M dropped her bags again, crossed her arms over her chest, and stuck out her chin. “Look, I know this is my sister’s house. Who are you? What’re you doing here? Where’s my sister?”

“I’m Jonathan Davenport. I live here—for now.”

“Jonathan Davenport? Are you related to William Davenport?”

Get outta town! This was the bratty kid that Summer said she had to look after? Uh-huh. Knowing Summer, she’d been “looking after him,” all right.

Then something else he’d said sunk in.

“Was your father?”

“Yes.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I don’t even know if you’re who you say you are. What’s your name?”

“M.”

“Em? What’s that short for? Emily? Emma? And do you have a last name?”

Em worked for her, and it would be easier than explaining it was just the initial M. She just wanted to get this over with and get inside. “The last name is McCallister. Just like Summer’s—before she married your father. And it isn’t short for either. You don’t need to know what it’s short for.”

“Yes, I do. I don’t like using derivatives of names. People have become so lazy they can’t even use a full name.”

Uh-huh. Figures. He’s an uptight weirdo. Such a shame when the packaging was so fine. Not that it really mattered. For a few reasons. One—he’d just looked at her as if she were slime, and two—she’d decided to write men out of her life. At least in the short term.

Anyway, he’d just have to pretend M—Em—was her full name. Not for anything would she tell him she’d been cursed with the handle of Moonshadow Mist McCallister.

Yep. As much as she hated to admit it, her parents were hippies. And by the time she and Summer had been born, they’d sucked back a few too many doobies and fried too many brain cells. At least Summer—Summer Sunshine, actually—could use her first name. But Moonshadow? It made her want to yak.

“All right. If you insist. But I don’t tell just anybody my name. Since you’re… ah, my nephew—yeah, that’s it, I’ll tell you. M is short for Em. Call me Em if you must. I’ll even answer to it.”

She noticed he’d developed an interesting twitch over his left eye. Uptight weirdo with no sense of humour. This just kept getting better. She was relieved that, despite his astoundingly good looks, he was the type that left her cold. He was no temptation when it came to her decision to lead a man-free life for the time being.

“I am not your nephew. Look, I don’t know what you’re up to, but if you really are Summer’s sister, I’m sorry to have to tell you she’s dead.”

M had been on her own and taking care of herself—for the most part—for the last eleven years. She’d made it through a lot, and it took something big to unsettle her. This went beyond big. This was colossal. Galactic.

Feeling the blood drain from her head, she took a step back, as if dodging the blow of his words. Her hand went to her chest and pressed against her stuttering heart.

“Wh-What?”

He had the grace to look chagrined.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so blunt. It’s just… well, your presence comes as something of a shock. Summer never told us she had family.”

Her breath caught. Well, what did I expect? That she’d tell her rich new family about her poor old family?

“And in case you’re wondering, she didn’t leave a will.”

M knew he’d just insulted her, but that was the least of her worries. “It’s okay. I’m not surprised you didn’t know about me. Summer and I… we’re not… weren’t close.” She swallowed. Hard. “Well… um… okay. I’ll be going. Sorry to bother you.”

Her hand left her heart, and she pressed her palm to her throat. The taste of copper—the taste of fear—began to flood her mouth, and she wished she could stop it.

What was she going to do? Her whole plan—okay, she really didn’t have a full-fledged plan, she rarely did.  But her idea hinged on having an extremely cheap—or even better, rent-free—place to stay for a while. She couldn’t afford to live in this city and start her business. She’d checked. To rent a single small room in Toronto would cost around six hundred dollars a month at the bare minimum. And that was in the scary parts of town. A one-bedroom apartment could cost anywhere from nine hundred to—infinity! Her money would quickly run out at that rate.

Everything had hinged on Summer’s largesse, and M had been prepared to beg for it.

She was halfway down the stairs when she heard the door close behind her.

Good. She was alone.

Fearing her suddenly wobbly legs would give out on her, she plopped down on the stairs. Clutching her arms around the bags in her lap, she buried her head in them.

She had to gain perspective.

Her sister was dead—dead!—and she was worrying about a place to live. She’d often accused her family of being self-centred, and here she was falling into that very same mindset. But to be fair, her life since leaving home—heck, even before leaving home—had forced her to look out for herself. She wasn’t self-absorbed, but she’d learned the hard way that she had to keep an eye out for herself. Nobody else was.

What could have happened? Summer was—had been—young and healthy. But she liked to live fast and loose. Maybe that had finally caught up with her. But what about her husband? He was dead too.

She sighed. She would mourn her sister, but she couldn’t change the past. She had a very difficult present of her own to deal with right now.

As always, she’d have to roll with the punches.

Oh, well. She’d been in situations worse than this. She’d been making it on her own for a long time. Maybe she could find some kind of hostel to stay at for a while. Or just head right back out of Toronto.

No.

That wasn’t an option. She had a dream. She had something to prove. To herself and—well—to herself. She’d been aimless for far too long. It was time to take a shot at staying in one place for a while. She wasn’t letting her first setback derail her—even if it was a big setback.

Two things happened at once. She saw an expensively shod foot in her peripheral vision and heard the voice that went with the foot.

“Why don’t you come inside? I really am sorry for telling you about your sister like that.”

Completely freaked, she nearly did a somersault down the stairs. Neither the stone steps nor the tumbled pavers at street level would have been forgiving.

Squelching a squeak, she popped up—nearly taking a header for the second time—and looked at him over her shoulder.

“No thanks. I’ll be going.”

She wasn’t a fool. She remembered him asking what kind of game she was playing. Just as the rich thought they were better than you, they were prone to believing people like her were involved in some nefarious plot to separate them from their money. And while she had hopes of rich people like him someday making her business a success, she didn’t have to like them—or suck up to them.

And besides, he’d probably watch her like a hawk if she did go in. As if she were going to steal the silver or something.

“Where will you go? You said you needed a place to… ah, ‘crash.’”

She looked back toward the street. “Are there any hostels around here?”

“I have no idea.”

M sneered. “Of course you don’t. Not your kind of place, is it?”

She started down the stairs.

The sigh she heard could have passed for air brakes on a semi, but she kept going.

“Look, will you stop? I said I was sorry. This place is huge. If you need a place to stay, please stay here.”

The instant she felt his hand grab her upper arm, she wrenched herself away. What? First, he tries to block her from entering the house, and now he was going to drag her in? She didn’t think so.

She spun toward him, ready to let him have it, when she heard the front door bang open window and the inhuman screech of a banshee cut through the air. Every muscle in her body clenched, and every hair attached to it stood straight up.

It took a moment, but she realized the screech was actually speaking English.

“Jonny! Where you going? Jonny!”

M looked up at the child standing in the doorway—how could someone that small make that much noise?—then looked back at Jonathan. Jonny? That was laughable. He so wasn’t a Jonny.

He dragged a hand through his hair, looking beleaguered. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Okay—not at all.

“Who—what—is that?”

“My little sister. Alicia.”

“Ah. The bratty kid. And here I thought she meant you.”

At the force of his glare, she nearly did the somersault thing down the stairs again. She really needed to get off them. At this rate, she’d die here. They’d intimidated her at first, but now they were going to be the death of her.

Those beast of prey eyes fit. He might give the impression of being the body double of a life-size ice sculpture, but here was a wolf—puma—in sheep’s clothing.

“Excuse me?”

“Ah… nothing. Not a thing.” She started to ease herself backward. Drat. When would she learn to keep her thoughts to herself? She’d spent so much time alone over the years that she’d started speaking them aloud. Just to hear a voice. Problem was, she forgot to curtail that little habit when she wasn’t alone, and it was always getting her into trouble.

“You mean Summer. Summer called her a bratty kid, didn’t she?”

She lifted her shoulders and squinched her face at him. “Well, it’s been a slice. I’ll just go now. I really think you need to go take care of—that.”

“That” was still screeching loud enough to wake the dead, and M wanted to be long gone when they arose.

Without saying a word, he grabbed her bags from where she’d dropped them and charged back up the stairs.

“Hey! You give those back! You… you… Richie rich!”

She hoped his head imploded. With the screeching fore and aft, it was a possibility. Fortunately, though, she had more control than the little troglodyte at the door. That one gave no sign of winding down, but M had some self-respect. She hoped to make a reputation for herself in this city, and yelling and swearing—almost, she’d caught herself in time—in one of the wealthiest areas in town wasn’t quite the impression she wanted to make. It was people like this that she’d need to make her plan work. The people on this street and all their muckety-muck friends.

She zipped her lips and barreled up the stairs. If she fell, she was suing. For every penny he had.

Not that she could afford a lawyer.

Jonathan Davenport—a.k.a. Jonny, ha ha—was just inside the door, trying to get his sister to stop wailing. Unfortunately, he still held onto M’s bags, or she would have grabbed them and run.

He was on his knees, eye to eye with the little monster. “Alicia, please. Sweetie, calm down. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

And the band played on. The kid had incredible lung capacity. She could put an opera diva to shame.

M had had enough. Who was in charge here anyway? Dumb question. Obviously, the short one.

Apparently the tall one was a wuss.

Not stopping to consider the appropriateness of her actions, she stepped forward and tilted the child’s chin up with a finger. She didn’t know squat about kids, but as far as she was concerned, lowering herself to the brat’s level and giving up superiority at a time like this was a bad move. Counterproductive. With a look that meant business and a voice to match, she said, “Stop. That. Racket. Right. Now.”

Alicia’s eyes widened, and her mouth snapped shut.

Blessed silence.

After pinning M with a glare that nearly robbed her lungs of air, Jonathan stood, then reached down and picked up his sister. He kissed her cheek and brushed away her tears. “I promised you. I’m not going away. Okay?”

She nodded.

Giving her a squeeze, he said, “Can you try not to forget it the next time I walk out the door?”

She nodded again. After a moment, she kissed him back, then flung her arms around him. Burying her face in the crook of his neck, she said, “Wuv you, Jonny. Forever an’ awways.”

M watched as his hand came up and cupped the back of her head in a gesture so tender, so protective, it made her ache. “Wuv… love you too.”

Alicia lifted her head and looked at him. “Forever an’ awways?”

He looked like he wanted to cry. “Forever and always.”

Until that moment, M hadn’t even considered the ramifications of Summer’s death. Her husband’s death. Okay, she had, but only how it impacted her. This child had lost her parents. And no matter how hard it was for M to picture Summer as any kind of mother figure, the fact remained. For a few years, she had been Alicia’s mother.

Maybe she needed to cut the kid some slack.

Jonathan put his sister down. “Now, I need to talk to this lady. Can you go back to your playroom and play by yourself for a bit?”

In the lightning-swift mood change of a child, she grinned up at him. “’Kay, Jonny. Bye, wady!”

With that, she charged up the stairs. And what a surprise. It was another grand staircase.

M still wasn’t in the mood to play nice, and besides, she didn’t believe he deserved it. And if she had to keep reminding herself not to turn to pudding inside just because he’d treated his sister with more concern than her own father had ever treated her, so be it.

With her hands fisted and her arms folded over her chest, she tapped her foot. “My bags, please. I’d like to leave.”

He moved his own foot and stood on the strap of her bag.

Yeah, call her crazy. She’d been so distracted by the scene when he picked up his sister, that she hadn’t realized he’d had to set her bags down to do so. If her brain had been firing at full capacity, she would have grabbed them and ran when she had the chance.

Oh, well. Spilt milk and all that. And since her life consisted of bathtubs full of spilled milk, she knew how to deal. Suck it up and move on.

“Thank you.”

That brought her up short. “Huh?” She cringed. Apparently, her vocabulary was packed away like everything else she owned.

“While it certainly wasn’t your place to do so, I’m saying thanks for getting her to quiet down. I never can. This is all new to me, and she can be a bit of a handful.”

M snorted. “That’s not a ‘handful’. That’s out of control.”

His eyes narrowed.

The words were barely out of her mouth when she began to castigate herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Would you learn to keep your mouth shut?

“Sorry. I… sorry. She just lost her parents. Um… how long ago did they die? What happened?”

He hunched his shoulders, then scrubbed a hand over his face. “Six months ago. Summer was…”

She actually heard his mouth slap shut.

“Summer was…?

“Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”

“Look, either you tell me or I find out from someone else. Summer was what?”

She watched him struggle for a moment, then give up. “Summer was drunk. She was driving. They’re dead.”

His words hit her with the staccato beat of bullets from a machine gun.

M kept her expression stoic, but inside, she cringed. She had to bite her tongue. How many times had she apologized for her family because they were too lazy, too drunk, or too stoned? She’d promised herself she’d never do it again.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Which sounded incredibly trite, but at least she wasn’t apologizing for Summer’s actions.

“Thanks.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “Will you stay?”

She shrugged. “Thanks for the offer, but why should I? We’re not family. You don’t owe me anything. Besides, I’ll figure something out. I always do.” Her eyes shot firebombs at him. “I’m not a charity case or a beggar.”

Tropes

Unequal social status
Employer & nanny
Opposites attract
Sworn off relationships
Emotional scars / childhood trauma
Rejected as unworthy by former love