Shoe Strings Read online

  Shoe Strings

  By Christy Hayes

  Kobo Edition

  Text Copyright © Christy Hayes

  All rights Reserved

  The characters portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the author.

  Kobo Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for you, then please return to Kobo.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 1

  Every second of the last ten years disappeared when Angelita Barros drove up to her boutique and saw her father fingering the shoes she’d created, the same shoes that were making waves in the industry where names like Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo were synonymous with style and fashion. One look was all it took and she knew everything she’d built since the day he’d thrown her out of the house--her business, her success, her sanity--meant nothing. How dare he, after everything he’d done, after everything he hadn’t done, come trespass on the life she’d built despite him?

  There was gray in his hair now, just a dash around the temples, and she saw a paunch around his beltline that hadn’t been there before, but everything else was the same. After all these years, she’d recognize Davi Barros anywhere. But what was he doing inside her store? Her shoes were fun, frilly, and fabulous, the tag line Atlanta Wears magazine intended to use in their upcoming spread. From flip-flops to low-heeled sandals to drop dead gorgeous three-inch heels, Angelita Feet was becoming the brand everybody wanted and the brand she wanted everyone to know about. Everyone but him.

  Lita watched him smile at Sophie, her business partner and best friend, the only one who knew the sordid details of her past. To Sophie, Davi was no more than a stranger, a customer who deserved the best. If only Lita could warn her, tell her to throw him out, tell her not to reveal a single detail of her life to the man responsible for nearly crushing it. But she couldn’t risk exposing herself, so she peeled out of the parking lot and headed north, instead of south toward the airport and her planned vacation to Florida. Sophie wouldn’t tell her father anything, even if she didn’t know who he was. She’d never give a stranger, or the father she knew Lita hated, any personal information. But if he’d shown up at her shop after ten years of no contact, her father was up to something. Damn. Her beach vacation, in the span of seconds, had become a thing of the past. But where should she go?

  Just drive, she told herself as she pulled onto I-85 and kept on going, past Atlanta’s affluent Buckhead community, beyond the edges of its perimeter highway and out beyond the teeming suburbs. She drove and drove until her need for a clear-cut plan forced her off the interstate. What now?

  She pulled into a gas station and decided a clear plan called for a clear head and that meant caffeine. She purchased a large coffee and, back inside her car, pulled up a map of the southeast on her phone. Where could she hide for awhile until she figured out what to do? A Google search for mountain cabins in the Southeast brought her to a Web page advertising two cabins for rent by the week or month in western North Carolina. Owner Calvin Bloodworth answered on the second ring and the singsong melody of his voice sounded as peaceful to Lita as his description of the brook that ran through the property and the stunning bird’s-eye view the cabins offered.

  Both cabins were available, as early March was before the official summer crunch, but only one was ready for occupancy. As the first caller of the season, Lita could rent the smaller cabin for as long as she liked. Since she’d chucked all common sense out the window when she peeled out of her boutique parking lot, she agreed to a two-week rental with an option for more. What better place to hide and figure out what her father was up to than a spot that promised the extremes of both quiet nature and adventure at a leisurely pace? Could it really only take two-and-a-half hours to get a lifetime away?

  It wouldn’t be such a big deal to change her plans and stay away a week or so longer than she’d planned. The photo shoot for Atlanta Wears had taken two days and nearly twenty hours to complete. Angelita Feet was on the brink of expansion. Where she’d once thrown herself into work after losing the most important thing in her life, now she needed to come up for air. Her exhaustion, the looming decisions about her company, and her inability to design over the last few months had prompted her getaway. The reemergence of her estranged father simply meant a spontaneous change in plans.

  She took the exit into the tiny riverfront town of Sequoyah Falls and wound her way through the old-fashioned two-block downtown and up a side street into the foothills. She passed mobile homes, log cabins, and small structures she could only describe as shacks tucked beside oceans of forests. The rich smell of pine sifted through the car’s windows along with the pungent aroma of the red clay earth. She couldn’t have been farther from her life in the city if she’d taken a shuttle to the moon.

  The entrance to Bloodworth Cabins was marked with an overhanging wooden sign dangling between two enormous tree trunks and a drive that led straight up the mountainside. This, she mused as she geared down to low, was not a driveway she’d want to traverse in the winter. Around the second bend, the trees parted to reveal a wooden and stone structure as quaint as the footbridge that led to what looked like a storage shed. She pulled her car to a stop next to a late model Lincoln Towncar.

  Two oversized cats greeted her as she got out of her SUV. One was a shiny black and the other a gray with brown stripes. Angelita wasn’t sure what to do when they began purring and rubbing furiously at her ankles. Just as she shook her ankle to dislodge the black cat, a tall man with a head full of windblown silver hair walked around the side yard onto the drive to welcome her. He wore fraying khaki pants, a well-washed golf shirt, and rubber boots.

  “Angelita?” he asked and walked to within a few inches of her. He removed a soiled glove and offered his hand for a shake.

  She nodded and placed her hand in his larger one. She could feel the calluses on the underside of his tanned grip. “Mr. Bloodworth. Thank you for letting me stay.”

  “Thanks for inquiring. And since you’re going to be here awhile, you’d better call me Cal. I won’t think to answer to Mr. Bloodworth.” He flashed a crooked smile complete with dimples and a chiseled jaw. Lita grinned like a schoolgirl. Despite his age and shabby attire, Calvin Bloodworth was a devilishly handsome man.

  “Please, call me Lita.” She turned to look over the crest of the property, shielding her eyes as the sun had final
ly burned away the morning fog. “You have a beautiful property, Cal. Your website doesn’t do it justice.”

  “Thanks. I’ve enjoyed that view every day for the last thirty years. My wife and I moved up here in ‘74. Couldn’t see another living soul in any direction. Still just as peaceful now, even with the few cabins and homes that have popped up over the years.” He ran his hand through his mass of silver hair. “Tell the truth, I’m glad to have some neighbors around. Gets pretty lonely sometimes.”

  “And your wife?”

  “Oh, she passed eleven years ago next month. Cancer. Took her fast, mercifully fast.”

  “I’m very sorry.”

  “She’s in a better place.” With a hand on his lower back, Cal arched into a stretch. “Way I’m feeling lately, won’t be too long before I’ll join her.”

  Lita looked at Cal. He couldn’t have been more than sixty. How could someone as virile and robust looking be near death? “Are you ill?”

  Cal laughed, a deep-chested rumble that seemed to come all the way from his toes. “Just feeling my age.” He walked with her to the back of her car. “You got some luggage I can help you carry?”

  Lita struggled with the unfamiliar latch on the back of her new SUV and watched as Cal, despite his claim to be aging quickly, heaved her bursting-at-the-seams suitcase from the back as if it weighed no more than a sheet of paper. She gathered her cosmetics bag, shoe suitcase, and purse before trailing after him into the nearest cabin.

  Cal set the heavy case down at the start of a small hallway. “You don’t travel light, do you, Lita?” he said with a huff.

  As she looked at the mountain of suitcases at their feet, she had to agree. “I’m a shoe designer. I’m afraid most of these are filled to the brim with shoes.”

  He looked down at the zebra print wedges she’d slipped on that morning. “Oh, well…” Men were always at a loss when it came to her line of work and most were surprised at her success. Few would believe the humble beginnings that had inspired her first creation.

  The Mommy Sandal, she’d called it. At seventeen, seven months pregnant, and no longer able to reach her toes, much less see them, her feet were a size and a half larger than normal and swelling in Atlanta’s signature summer humidity. Because none of her shoes would fit and she didn’t have the money for new ones, she attached an adjustable watchstrap to her dollar store flip-flops and managed to ease both her comfort and her bank account as word of the pregnancy shoes spread.

  Cal carried the suitcases back through a small hallway as Lita looked around. The one floor cabin contained a den with mismatched furniture, a small table for eating, and a good-sized kitchen. It wasn’t a five star resort with a spa, but it would certainly do. She could all but hear the well-worn couch calling out to her weary bones.

  “This is it,” he said a moment later. “As you can see, you’ve got a full kitchen with all the silverware and dishes you’ll need.” He opened a few drawers and cabinets. “There are plenty of pots and pans under the counter. Down the hall is the bedroom and bath. Bedroom’s got a queen bed and closet and the bathroom’s just across the hall. Plenty of linens and towels. I’ll collect them every couple days and do a wash.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary. If you’ll direct me to the laundry, I’ll do them myself.”

  “Nonsense. You’re a guest and it’s all a part of the service. Besides, I’ve got a girl who does basic housekeeping. What’s today? Wednesday? She’ll be around Saturday to freshen up, then back again Wednesday. If those days don’t work for you, just let me know.”

  “Wednesday and Saturday work just fine.” She eased the bag from her shoulder and placed it on the scarred counter. “Is there a grocery store nearby where I can pick up a few things?”

  “Sure is. You passed it on the turnoff coming up here. They’ll have everything you need, including movies to rent. The den has a DVD player, but not the bedroom. Both TVs have cable. Remotes are on the coffee table and back on the nightstand. Got the basic package plus HBO.” He winked at Lita. “I like their series shows.”

  Lita smiled, as she had no idea what series were on HBO, but couldn’t help but be charmed by the engaging Cal Bloodworth. “Sounds perfect. I’ll just wheel this back to the bedroom and head to the grocery.”

  “I’m headed into town too. My house is just over the ridge there.” He pointed out the kitchen window to the roof about fifty yards away. “You just holler if you need anything.”

  “Oh, Cal,” Lita said as he turned to leave. “Do you have a key?”

  Cal laughed and leaned against the doorjamb. “I haven’t locked this place since I built it. No crime around here, but if you’re set in your city ways, there’s a key in the bowl on the table by the front door.”

  As the door shut behind him, Lita turned to look at the key in the bowl, then at the door. There was no deadbolt, only a turn lock on the door handle. With security measures like that, she may as well leave the door unlocked.

  ***

  Jesse Bloodworth peeled off his wetsuit and shook his icy limbs in the cool March air. He didn’t have a temperature gauge, but he’d guess the river wasn’t much above forty degrees. Hopping into the cold river was, during this time of year, like taking a cold shower. It worked about as well as a gallon of hot coffee for getting the day going.

  He’d spent the morning scrubbing clean the rafts that would soon carry hundreds of families, church groups, day campers, and adventure seekers down the class two and three rapids of the Powollachee river. And as much as he hated cleaning, be it his room as a teenager or his house now, he was pretty damn pleased with the job he’d done so far.

  He’d gotten a good jump on the day and now he was starving. He checked his watch. Noon—he should have known. His stomach worked better than any timepiece. He heaved the wetsuit over the banister of the registration cabin and stretched his back. He could head into town and weasel a pizza and beer out of Kerri Ann, but he was a whole lot closer to Cal’s and he hadn’t seen his dad in over a week. He could kill two birds with one stone and be able to swing by the high school and get Ty to help him this afternoon.

  He whistled as he hopped into the ancient Super Scout II he’d had since high school and headed toward his hometown. God, it felt good to be home. It was a thought that entered his mind almost every day this time of year before the tourists started coming and the mountains were just waking up from winter.

  He pulled onto Main Street, honked at Bobby Joe under the hood of somebody’s old Ford just to see him slam his head into the lift. He chuckled as he turned off toward Bloodworth Cabins. He’d just passed the grocery when some idiot in a brand new Land Rover swerved into his lane and nearly caused him to run off the road. “Damn tourists,” he muttered as he chugged along, the wind from the doors he’d removed this morning rushing past so fast that he had to turn his radio up to max volume to sing along with George Strait.

  Jesse bypassed the main entrance, choosing to make the trek to his dad’s on the rocky side road used mainly for hauling wood because it always made him feel like the reckless teenager he used to be. Seeing as how Ty was sliding headlong into the reckless years, Jesse knew he needed to curb his indulgences. But Tyler wasn’t there, so he geared down and gunned the engine, nearly howling in delight as the car bumped over rock and gravel. He pulled to a stop by the woodpile and hopped out.

  Cal’s car wasn’t parked in its usual spot along the garage by the one-bedroom cabin he rented, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t up at the larger cabin or fooling around in the storage shed. Jesse made his way to his mom and dad’s house just to be sure. Funny how Ellie Bloodworth had been gone for over a decade and yet Jesse still couldn’t think about his parents’ house as anything but hers.