Landing Love (Mile-High Madmen #2)

Chapter 1

Troubles came in threes, Mama always said, but lately, they’d been coming by the dozen.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a fat raindrop splotched the black fabric of Ann’s sleeve.

Her stomach plummeted as she looked up at the rotted shingles of the bungalow she was supposed to move into in a month and then back at the wrinkled, balding repairman in his patched coveralls.

He peered at the sky, a heavy drip landing in the middle of his sunburnt forehead. Wiping it away, he sighed. “Eight hundred dollars. That’s the best that I can do.”

The number knocked the breath out of her. Where was she supposed to find eight hundred dollars? For that amount, a person could buy two brand-new Model Ts. Granted, it was the lowest price anyone had given her yet, but he might as well have said a million. She didn’t have it.

Of course, that was the moment the baby woke up and started crying. Ann beckoned the repairman inside and scooped up Junior from his makeshift crib—a wooden milk crate softened with a blanket and pillow.

The man frowned and furrowed his brow as he stared at the milk crate, making her stomach sink even further. Whether it was an expression of disapproval or pity, she couldn’t be sure. This was all so humiliating!

“Would you be able to give a discount to a war widow?” It was worth a try. Junior’s cries sharpened as she cradled him against her chest, his high-pitched voice drilling into her already throbbing head. Between them, they must have been quite a pathetic sight.

“I’m very sorry, ma’am. I have to put food on my table too.” He turned his gaze to his worn shoes and twisted his cloth hat in his hands. A pang of guilt assailed her. Times were hard for everyone with the war on.

“Is there any possibility I could pay in installments?” They would have to be spread out over a very long time for her to make it work, but it was her last hope. She had to try something.

He shook his head without looking at her. “I’m sorry.”

Thunder rumbled again, and she glanced up at the water stain on the ceiling.

What was she going to do now? She’d talked to every repairman she could find in Nassau County, and none had come anywhere near quoting a price that fit her budget.

Not that she had a budget. Her bank account had one hundred and thirty-two dollars in it, and she needed every penny to move to Merrick and tide her over until she could find a job.

Though how she was going to work with a newborn she had no idea.

Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be in touch as soon as I figure out the money.”

“My condolences, for your loss, ma’am,” the man said, still staring at his shoes.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the prickle of tears.

If only Roger was still here, none of this would have been happening.

He could have fixed the roof himself. Though if he was still there, she wouldn’t have been forced to move to the decaying heap she inherited from her parents in the first place.

And if Mama was still here… No. She couldn’t let herself think about that or she’d fall to pieces in front of this poor man.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded and opened her eyes.

The man shuffled his feet and stared at a spot on the worn carpet. “I lost my Jimmy last year. He was in the infantry. Don’t think I’ll ever get over it. If I could help, I would, but I have to take care of the missus.”

Her heart squeezed painfully. As difficult as it was to lose Roger and Mama in the span of two months, it paled in comparison to losing a child. She clutched Junior tight to her chest and kissed the silky down on his head. “Thank you, sir. My condolences to you too.”

He nodded, and his shoulders slumped.

She searched for something to say, but there were no words that could ease a grief so deep.

Junior let out a shriek loud enough to be heard all the way in Manhattan, and she could smell the reason why. “Thank you for coming out here. I’ll be in touch,” she said as gently as she could over her son’s caterwauling.

The man donned his hat and went on his way.

Ann closed the door behind him with relief.

Rolling out a blanket on the dusty sofa, she pulled out a clean diaper from her satchel and changed her son as quickly as she could manage, shoving away thoughts of Roger and her mother.

As soon as Junior was clean and dry, he giggled, and her heart lurched.

His burst of innocent joy tipped her over the edge. Tears began to fall. She couldn’t hold them back any longer.

What was she going to do? This was the last month on her lease in the city, and her money was running out. She had to move into this house whether it was habitable or not. It was the only option she had left.

A plink in the bucket in the corner made her jump. The enormous stain on the ceiling began to bulge and drip as rain seeped in.

Not again! She had just finished bleaching the mold away from the last time it rained.

Junior cooed on his back, exploring his toes on the worn rug. She refused to raise him in a house that didn’t even protect him properly from the elements. There had to be a way to get the roof repaired.

Clenching her handkerchief, she ran through the same list she’d reviewed a thousand times in her head. Mama was gone now, so there was no asking her.

Roger’s parents were out of the question. They would barely even speak to her after Roger’s death except when they wanted to see Junior. It was astonishing what a grudge they could hold against her for being a Methodist instead of a Lutheran.

Her aunt in Poughkeepsie didn’t have a cent to spare. Until Roger died, they were sending her money.

She’d asked her church for assistance, and they gave her a token sum, but she already spent it on rent.

Maybe someone in the Army could help? She never seemed to be able to get through to anyone with useful information.

If only she could find the right person.

She tried writing to her husband’s commanding officer, but he was still fighting somewhere in Europe and never replied.

She would have to try the local civilian liaison’s office again.

Her husband had given his all for his country.

Surely, they owed his widow a modicum of assistance.

It pricked her pride to have to ask for charity, but she had to keep a roof over her son’s head somehow.

It was astonishing how quickly the comfortable life she led fell apart after Roger’s death.

Until she got that dreadful telegram, she had no idea how fragile the life they’d built together was.

Now everything had been washed away by the tide of fate, and she was left with nothing but a pile of wet sand.

Or wet shingles, she thought peering up at the ceiling again.

The clock on the mantle chimed ten o’clock, making her jump.

How was it possible so little of the day had passed when so much had already gone wrong?

She still had two hours before her train back to the city.

Two hours to attempt to repair the bathroom sink and clean out more of her mother’s old papers.

She took the library book she borrowed about plumbing, the new faucet fixtures she purchased, and her wrench, and set to work.

There was no one to do the work for her, so she’d simply have to make do.

Rolling up her sleeves, she reached beneath the sink and unscrewed the nuts that held the faucet fixtures in place.

In the other room, Junior screamed. Dropping the wrench like a hot coal, she ran to him.

Scooping him up, she nearly screeched as a huge jumping insect had landed on a stack of her mother’s papers.

She rolled up a newspaper from another pile and whacked the bug, squishing it where it stood.

Good heavens. What else lived in these papers?

Maybe she’d throw the whole lot away and not bother reviewing.

She’d had enough of her mother’s endless magazines and newspapers.

But then what if she missed something important, like a bill or a letter? No, she’d have to go through it, darn it all.

Soothing Junior and distracting him with a toy, she looked around the room to make sure there weren’t any other insects lying in wait. After examining every corner and assuring herself there was no further danger, she went back to her plumbing.

An hour later, after many interruptions, she whooped in triumph as her new faucets turned on and off without leaking.

She washed her hands in the newly repaired sink and set to work reviewing papers and clearing away the junk.

Before she could move in, Ann had to clear the house out, making room for the furniture and belongings she refused to sell or give away.

To all outer appearances, her mother was everything that was good and proper—a pillar of the community, a boon to her church.

But she had one notable weakness: an obsession with high society.

Gossip rags filled the entire house, stacked willy-nilly.

The one on top had the headline, WEDDING OF THE CENTURY, and went on to describe the lavish plans for the so-called Princess of New York, Aurora Belmont, and Connecticut Senator Henry Windham. Well, that could go right in the trash.

She worked her way through the piles methodically, throwing out tabloid after tabloid with sensational headlines about forbidden romances, celebrity divorces, and what the rich and famous wore to which charity gala.

The city’s elite had no idea what it was like to wonder how they would keep a roof over their heads or feed their child.

In better times, her mother’s obsession with the Knickerbocker set amused her, but at the moment, the frivolous tales were salt in her wounds.

The sooner she could throw all this nonsense out, the better.