Amber ran to him and gripped the fence. “Hi, Daddy. Want to come in and play with us?”
He put his arm over the top and ruffled her hair. “Not now. Why don’t you come out for a few minutes and chow down on the great-looking sandwich Marla packed for you. She also put ice-cold milk in the cooler. Just the way you like it.”
“Okay. I’m rill pooped anyhow. Should I get Skipper?”
“Nah. He’s having fun. Come on, I’ll unlatch the gate for you.” He was about to walk to the gate when she ran off.
“I can do it.” Of course she could. She was growing up way too fast.
In seconds she joined him. He threw her in the air and caught her while she squealed and laughed, then he set her on his shoulders and returned to the picnic bench.
Marla strolled between the rows of lemon trees beyond the table. She looked up and smiled at Amber.
“Here you go.” Dwayne put the bagged sandwich in front of Amber, opened the milk, and poured some into a paper cup. “Wipe your hands with one of these things.” He tugged a hand wipe from the plastic container Marla had put in with the sandwiches.
He glanced quickly around the park for any sign of Francine. “You eat all of it now. I need to go talk to Marla for a minute, okay?”
“Mmm hmm,” she mumbled through a big bite of peanut butter and jelly on thick, squishy white bread.
“That’s my girl.”
He ambled to the lemon trees. They’d been planted in Spring Grove generations ago, and hadn’t been harvested since the big Sunkist co-op had closed in the 70’s. He, his brothers, and other boys had played in the abandoned processing plant often, crawling over and under the rusted equipment, playing war, playing power rangers or having a light-saber fight with Darth Vader. Good memories.
He stopped in front of Marla. “Hey, Danaher.”
“Hey, Dempsey.”
“Truce?”
He held out his hand. She was unpredictable. Would she take it?
She took it.
Chapter Eleven
Marla groaned and shook her head at Dwayne’s haphazard filing. It had been two days since he’d left. It seemed longer. She dug through the stack of invoices. When she couldn’t find the one she wanted, she shuffled them and began to categorize them by material, price, order date, and delivery date.
The door banged open hard enough to shake the trailer, and a woman marched straight to the table. She slapped a paper on the surface. “Where is he?”
Marla bolted back in Dwayne’s chair and took a breath to calm her shattered nerves. “Excuse me?”
“I said where is he?”
She stared at the woman, took another breath, and laid the invoices down. “Where is who?”
“Don’t play games with me.”
Cluny McPherson tromped up the steps and through the open door. “What do you want, Francine?”
Oh! Now she recognized the petite woman. Dwayne’s ex-wife. Amber’s mother.
Francine’s face twisted in an ugly scowl as she whirled on Cluny. “Mind your own business, Cluny!”
“This jobsite is my business. I’m acting supervisor. What do you want here?” He crossed his arms and widened his stance.
“I’m serving a summons on that sneaky bastard, Dwayne Dempsey.”
He snorted. “You’re out of luck. He’s not here.”
“Where is he?”
Marla’s heart pounded. Glued to her chair with trepidation, she watched their exchange. Cluny knew Dwayne’s ex-wife. He also had a hair-trigger temper, and Marla crossed her fingers in her lap, hoping their confrontation wouldn’t get ugly. She had no idea what to do.
Cluny scowled. “He’s out of town. He took his daughter to Florida for a Disney Cruise vacation. He won’t be back here for a couple of weeks, so take your summons and clear out.”
“You mean my daughter.” Francine crossed her arms and looked daggers at Cluny. The woman wasn’t going anywhere.
He shook his head and sneered. “Your daughter? That’s a laugh. Where do you get the nerve to show up after all these years and demand access to ‘the kid’ you deserted six years ago? You always were a nasty piece of work.” His deep disgust hung in the air like a thick fog.
“Dempsey’s not her father. My husband and I are suing for custody.” She grabbed the summons and shook it under his nose.
“Your husband?” Cluny rolled his eyes. “He must be a real prize.”
“Don’t give me any lip, you raggedy-ass Irishman. I married Luke Henry, the girl’s biological father. He’s in the car waiting for me.”
Cluny snorted. “You married that skinny snot jailbird? It figures.”
“Luke served his time. And for your information, he was framed. I’ve been waiting for him to get out of Montana State Prison so we could come and claim our kid.”
Marla’s head buzzed. How could this appalling woman be Amber’s mother? She’d come, with no thought for the child, armed with legal documents, threatening to take Amber away from the only loving parent she’d ever known. Cluny’s quick-thinking lie, that they were on a cruise, should buy them time. If only he could get her to leave.
To Marla’s horror, Cluny gave Francine a little shove. “Your kid? What kind of mother are you? You don’t even know her name.” Cluny huffed his disgust and pointed to the door. “You need to get out. This is private property, and the person you’re looking for is not here.”
“You’re a goddamn liar, Cluny!” Francine jammed the summons into her purse. “When I come back I’ll have the U.S. Marshall with me.”
Marla’s alarm increased at Cluny’s clenched fists and the growing redness in his face. Afraid he would lose it she stood and cleared her throat. “Um, he’s telling the truth. Mr. Dempsey isn’t here.
