Chapter 7
Saturdays were always busy, but this day seemed more so.
Thankfully, Andy was in an extra good mood and didn’t seem to mind that it took her a little longer than usual to get him new toys and answer his questions.
Some of the people who came through were friends, and they took turns giving him attention.
She had just finished ringing up the last person in line.
Finally, she had a free moment, but she knew it wouldn’t last. She desperately needed a bathroom break, and she’d love to grab a cold bottle of water, but she went to Andy instead to see if his diaper needed to be changed or if he needed anything.
There were still several people in the shop browsing, so she kept an eye on them, too, as she gave Andy some animal crackers and a cup of juice.
“Is he yours?” someone asked from behind her.
Pixie straightened and nearly bumped into the woman who loomed close to peer at Andy.
She wasn’t unattractive, yet she had a hard edge to her, visible in her stare and the pinch of her mouth.
Probably late fifties, with short, mussed light brown hair highlighted with gray.
She was a thin woman, her shoulders rigid, the flesh of her throat tight with antagonism, as if she barely restrained herself.
Cautiously, Pixie moved away from Andy. “May I help you?”
“I’m looking for Pixie Nolan.” Heavy frown lines showed between her brows as she sent an insulting glance over Pixie. “Was told she’d be here with her kid.”
The words were innocuous enough, yet Pixie had a very bad vibe from her. “Who told you I was here?”
“Don’t know. Doesn’t matter.” Impatience leeched into her tone. “Someone in town.”
“You were asking around about me?”
The woman leaned against the counter, blocking another customer who appeared ready to get in line. “Settle down, honey.” Her smirk was far from a smile. “I don’t know you, but I was told you were renting to Brogan.”
Pixie held herself absolutely still. She said nothing, merely stared back at the woman. Usually, her protective nature was roused only for Andy, but now it came out in full force for Brogan.
“Well?” the woman snapped.
“I don’t own any rental property, ma’am.” Pixie kept her tone annoyingly polite. “Excuse me. You’re blocking a customer.”
The woman behind her gratefully stepped forward and put several things on the counter.
“Hey. I wasn’t done.” The stranger aggressively shoved things aside before planting both palms on the counter and leaning in. “I’m looking for Brogan Rafferty, and I think you know where he is.”
“If you’re looking for him, I assume you know him?”
“I know the bastard better than I want to.”
The casually slung insult hit Pixie like a slap. “You will not use that language in this shop.”
“Fine,” the woman said. “Tell me where he is, and I’ll get out of your hair.”
“If you want to know where he is, give him a call and ask him.” Pixie gathered up the items on the counter and prepared to ring up the customer. “Thank you for your patience. Did you find everything you needed?”
“I did,” she said, after giving the rude stranger the side-eye. “Thank you. Everything is so cute. I was here once before, but now you have so many new items.”
Pixie knew her hands were shaking as she scanned prices and folded each purchase into a bag.
For the very first time since she’d started working at the shop, she wished she hadn’t brought Andy along.
Alarm bells were going off in her system—her head, her heart.
She knew this confrontation was about to escalate, she felt the tension in the air, but she wasn’t sure what to do about it.
Making small talk with a happy customer wasn’t easy—not with the other woman fuming beside her, her nicotine-stained fingernails tapping on the counter. “We change our inventory often, except for the most popular items. Each season, we have new designs.”
“How long’s this going to take?” the intruder asked. “I’m not hanging around here all day.”
Without meaning to, Pixie crumpled the cute hat the customer had chosen.
“Good. I have no information for you. There’s no reason for you to stay.
” Annoyance deepened her breathing so that she had to dig deep for a calm facade.
Again, she turned to the paying customer.
“I’m sorry.” Carefully, she smoothed out the hat.
The customer gave her an understanding smile. “It’s fine.” Leaning closer, she asked, “Would you like me to call someone?”
Before Pixie could reply, the obnoxious woman snorted. “What? You think she needs the cavalry?” Eyes narrowing, she asked, “Do I look that threatening?”
Pixie’s calm nature spiraled away. She’d never snapped before, but now she was dangerously close.
With propitious timing, Renee breezed in at that exact moment.
All eyes turned to her. She was halfway across the shop when she realized something was wrong. Taking in the scene in one sweeping glance, Renee rushed forward.
“Hey, girl,” she said, coming around the counter and giving Pixie a hip bump. “Sorry, I’m late. Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”
Relief nearly took out Pixie’s knees. Not that she couldn’t deal with the situation, but at every moment she was aware of Andy’s attention focused on them. He’d never heard such rudeness before, and she knew he’d be unsettled. One glance and she saw his widened, watchful eyes.
This was no time to be divided, and Andy always came first. “It’s fine. While I finish with this customer, would you take Andy to the breakroom?”
“Nope.” Smile firmly pinned on her face, Renee moved to stand directly in front of the troublemaking woman. “I’ll wait while you finish up. Then you can take him to the breakroom while I handle … things.”
The way she enunciated “things” made it clear what she thought of the woman before her.
With alacrity, Pixie gave the shopper her total, and then accepted her credit card. She put the receipt in the bag. “Thank you so much—for shopping with us, and for being so patient.”
Nodding, the shopper cast one last look at the rude woman. “Take care now.”
When Pixie turned, she found Renee and the other woman in a staring contest. Renee appeared amused; the stranger, not so much.
“Now,” Pixie said firmly, hoping to take control of the situation. “It’s time for you to go—”
“Not until you tell me where to find him.”
“No, ma’am, I will not.”
“Him who?” Renee asked.
“Brogan Rafferty, my stepson.”
That bombshell squeezed all the oxygen from Pixie’s lungs, leaving her lightheaded. No. This horrible woman couldn’t possibly be … but, of course, she was. She was the right age and Pixie could certainly picture her treating a young boy so callously.
Then it struck her that this woman had also had Shayna for a time. She’d been guardian to that beautiful, innocent infant.
Thank God Brogan has her now.
“You look like a nice enough girl,” the woman said. “Don’t let the bastard cause you any problems. Just tell me—”
Hearing that word a second time shattered Pixie’s composure. Rage sent her around the counter to growl, “Get out.” She stepped into the woman’s space, her voice low and mean. “Get out right now!”
“Whoa. Don’t tell me he has you bamboozled already?
” She chortled, and the sound turned into a cough.
Impervious to Pixie’s fury, she bent forward to hack and wheeze until she finally caught her breath, only to cackle once again.
“Look at you, all riled up on his behalf.” Her lip curled.
“As if he needs the likes of you defending him.”
Renee had already picked up Andy and disappeared. Pixie knew she’d catch hell about that later, because Renee had wanted to deal with this particular ugliness. And it was ugly, extremely so. The woman was so foul, Pixie had to assume her husband—Brogan’s father—was no better.
And yet he was wonderful. Truly amazing. It crushed her to think of what he must have survived.
Two other customers now stood silent on the other side of the shop, watching as if afraid to move.
Pixie said, “I pity you.” She would never truly know Brogan, her daughter was gone, and she’d lost her granddaughter. Sometimes evil had a way of consuming itself. “You will leave now, and you will not come back.”
“The hell I won’t.”
“My employee is even now calling the police,” Pixie explained. “I intend to tell them all about you.”
“Brogan stole my granddaughter and I want her back!”
“Then perhaps you should call the police.” Pixie pointed at the door in silent demand.
“He robs his family, spits on his own father.” She hefted a purse strap up on her shoulder. “You tell him, girl. You tell him Ruthie said he better call. He’ll be damned sorry if he doesn’t.”
Finally, she turned and took her own sweet time moseying out, flitting her fingers over items as she went, stopping once to glare at the other shoppers, who hurriedly turned away. Then, at last, she was out the door.
The urge to race forward and lock it behind her left Pixie frazzled. She’d dealt with vile people before. Of course she had.
But she’d never met anyone like Ruthie.
She wanted to collapse. To sit down and hug herself and block images of what Connie’s childhood had likely been. Her throat burned with the need to cry. Her entire body quaked with a dump of emotions too painful to bear.
By sheer force of will, she got her feet to move. Going back behind the counter—mostly so she could lean on it—she tried to act as if everything was fine. It wasn’t. Far from it.
Though the shop wasn’t in Bramble, it was near enough that if Ruthie continued to ask around, she’d find out where Brogan was staying. Given the temperament she’d displayed here today, there was no question that she’d go after him aggressively. What the woman wanted, Pixie didn’t know.
But she did know she wanted to protect Brogan. She had to warn him.