Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
There was nothing for it. He had to go in. He needed all the deets.
The Mavericks had moved their parents from Chicago a year and a half ago. Where once the entire Maverick family, the four foster boys included, had resided in a cramped apartment in a subpar neighborhood of Chicago, as soon as they could, the Mavericks had moved the Spencers out to the suburbs. While Susan and Bob had a lovely home there—which the Mavericks had provided, paying it forward for all the Spencers had done for them—with all the grandchildren arriving, they wanted to be in the Bay Area.
He respected that about the Mavericks. They took care of their own, Bob Spencer working as a baggage handler, even after his back could no longer take it, and Susan as a waitress. They’d supported one little girl, Lyssa, and five strapping boys who probably ate them out of house and home. Troy admired Susan greatly. If he ever let himself dwell on it, which he didn’t, he would have wished his parents had been as caring as the Spencers.
Susan answered the door, wearing a pretty blouse and white shorts. A lovely woman approaching sixty, she became ageless when she smiled.
Grabbing his arm, she pulled him inside for a hug.
“It looks like I’m disturbing a party,” he said. “We could do this another time.” Which was merely politeness. There was no other time.
“It’s not a party,” she said with a breezy wave. “It’s not even a get-together. The girls wanted to stop by with the babies.” She shrugged, lifting her hands. “What could I do?” But he knew she adored all her grandchildren.
Still with her hand on his arm, she said, “You aren’t afraid of a few babies, are you?”
Of course he was. “Absolutely not.” Even more, he wasn’t looking forward to discussing his love problems with an audience of Maverick women.
But he had no choice as Susan propelled him through the kitchen and out to the backyard, where several Maverick ladies, a gaggle of children of various ages, and Jeremy, Harper Franconi’s younger brother, gawked at him as if he were Bigfoot.
The estrogen on that deck enveloped him like a cloud. The two boys, Jorge and Noah, splashed in the pool, while their mothers, Ari and Rosie, sat at the table, watching over them. A huge playpen had been set up on the deck—though it looked more like a corral for puppies—with innumerable babies crawling or toddling around. As Owen, Lyssa’s little boy, bonked his head against the side of the playpen, it was obvious that without the corral, he would been over the edge of the deck before anybody could grab him. Isabella, Rosie’s baby girl, clung to the railing, holding herself up, and Penelope, Ari’s daughter, went wherever Isabella did.
Behind him, Susan whispered, glee in her voice, “They’ll all be taking their first steps any day now.”
Jeremy, the very big brother at twenty-one years old, gamboled on the lawn with Paige and Evan Collins’s twin toddlers. He was a wonderful big kid himself, and Troy didn’t think Jeremy had ever been happier than when he had toddlers and babies to play with.
Susan dragged over a chair for Troy. “Would you like some lemonade?” Then she winked. “Or, if you’re going to stay for a while, you might like a margarita.”
With this much estrogen around him, he needed to keep his wits. “Lemonade would be great, thank you.”
After he’d taken a sip, she asked with a smile, “You were very mysterious about what you wanted to talk about. Tell us, Troy, how can we help?”
He wanted to say there was no we about it. He wanted only Susan. This felt like showing his underwear to the entire Maverick clan. Before he knew it, all the guys would know too.
But he couldn’t wimp out now. “I know you’ve become friends with Flo Killian.”
“She’s a lovely woman,” Susan enthused. “She came over for coffee the other day, and I so enjoyed getting to know her better.” Then, before Troy could even ask for advice, Susan launched into a litany of glowing comments about Flo. “She came from such humble beginnings. Flo supported herself and Michaela as a seamstress back in Modesto. She could work at home, you see. Though she worked for a dry cleaner, that was never enough, and she had to hustle to find clients.” She leaned forward and tapped Troy’s hand. He was aware that the other women around the table listened as avidly as he did. “Some of the women she did alterations for at the dry cleaners wanted her to make clothing designed just for them, choosing fabrics and patterns, and Flo was so good at picking out what would enhance their features.” She squeezed Troy’s hand. “But, oh my gosh, the one who was best at matching a pattern and fabric to a woman’s figure was Michaela. Even when she was just a child. She even brought in business,” Susan said with a smile that spread across her face. “From her school friends and their mothers. She and Flo went to thrift stores and found the most amazing things they could revamp and resell. They made an incredible team.”