Second to None Read online

  She’d thought Max might contact her when Jake died, but clearly he hadn’t known about her husband’s death. That explained why he hadn’t attended the funeral.

  A discouraged murmur traveled around the table.

  “Does anyone have any other resources?” Gloria asked.

  A leaden silence settled over the group.

  “If only we had more time,” Violet Johnson said. Her voice was soft, like the halo of white hair around her head, but she could mobilize every able-bodied person in the neighborhood if there was need for a vacant lot cleanup or a bake sale.

  Emily sighed in agreement. She could have cobbled together a patchwork of grants and loans if they’d had even six months. “Gloria, would you talk with Buster Morton one more time to see if he’ll tell us who the developer is? Maybe we can strike a deal with him before he starts construction.”

  “Sure thing, hon,” Gloria said with a nod.

  Emily knew that was a long shot, but she would go through the motions to make herself feel she’d left no stone unturned.

  “Let’s move on to the final numbers for last month,” she said, picking up a printout of her spreadsheet. The Carver Center ran on a shoestring, but at least it was a long, strong shoestring, thanks to the people in this room.

  When the meeting was adjourned, most of the board members stayed to have another cup of coffee and a second wedge of the homemade sweet potato pie Violet had brought. Her pies were legendary, which might explain her influence over the large, muscular men of all ages who showed up to help whenever she called for it.

  Emily indulged herself in another slice of sweetness in an effort to drown her sorrow about the demise of the K-9 Angelz project.

  Back at the beginning of December, she’d been excited, as usual, when the kids wrote down their requests for Santa. Every year, the Carver Center’s staff took those wish lists and worked with the local merchants to guarantee one gift for each child. It was a small miracle in these children’s lives.

  But that afternoon, three kids had stared glumly at their blank papers without writing a word. When she asked them why, first Tishawn, then Mallie, and finally the huge but soft-spoken Diego had told her that all they wanted for Christmas was a dog like her collie mix, Windy.

  None of them had any hope of getting one.

  Tishawn’s mother worked two weekday jobs and one weekend job to keep the family housed and fed. There was no money left over for dog food or vet bills. Mallie lived with her aunt, who treated her more like a servant than a child. She slept on an air mattress on the kitchen floor, like Cinderella without the fairy godmother.

  As for Diego, no one knew whether his mother was alive or dead, and his father was a loan shark who was known to beat up customers if they didn’t pay on time. When twelve-year-old Diego refused to join the family business, his father threw him out of the apartment. Now Emily broke half a dozen laws by allowing the boy to sleep in the warm, dry basement of the center, on a bed Violet had scrounged up, until they could find a stable foster home for him. Violet also dropped off clothes whenever she could find large enough sizes to fit the boy. The elderly woman never mentioned Diego’s name, but Emily accepted them, knowing who they were for.

  When all three children had expressed the same wistful desire within one hour, how could Emily not take that as a sign that she was meant to find a way to make it happen? These children needed the kind of unconditional love and attention a dog would give them.

  Turning to the window, she looked out onto the vacant lot beside the center’s four-story building. The lot they couldn’t afford to buy. The temperature had warmed up from its arctic levels just enough to allow a light dusting of snow to fall, coating the short brown grass of the lot in a layer of white that glowed under the streetlights. The window she stood beside painted an elongated rectangle of gold on the snow, with her silhouette at its center.

  Buster Morton was a good neighbor. Unlike many absentee owners, he kept the lot tidy behind its chain-link fence, partly out of respect for the center. He approved of their mission, but he approved of money more.

  Emily couldn’t blame him. He deserved to make a profit on the property he’d invested in before a slow wave of gentrification began to make South Harlem more desirable. She turned back to the dining room, where the warm cream walls were festooned with colorful paper chains, cotton-ball-bearded Santas, and cupcake-liner wreaths, the holiday decorations all handcrafted by the kids.

  This was where the children ate what the staff called an afternoon snack but was often the kids’ only dinner, one as healthy and hearty as Emily’s talented chef could make it on the center’s limited budget. One that could be even better with homegrown vegetables.

  If gentrification came a little closer, maybe they could sell the building for a profit. A lot of sweat equity had gone into fixing up the formerly dilapidated row house. That might produce enough money to buy a building with an adjoining empty lot farther north, where real estate was still much cheaper.

  She shook her head. The kids lived in this neighborhood. This was where the center needed to be.

  As she pivoted away from the window, her phone vibrated in her pocket. She’d left her nine-year-old daughter, Izzy, home with the babysitter, so she checked it. There was a text message from a number she didn’t recognize.

  Cleared my schedule at 4:30 tomorrow to visit your facility. Max.

  “Oh my God!” Emily looked up to see four faces turned in her direction. “Max . . . Mr. Varela . . . is coming tomorrow at four thirty.”

  “You did it!” Gloria said, throwing up her hands in triumph.

  “He’s just coming to look. There’s no guarantee he’ll fund the project,” Emily said. But hope danced in her heart as she took a deep breath and typed in, Thank you very much. I appreciate the time you are taking away from work. Do you need the address?

  His return text snapped back: No.

  “That was abrupt,” she muttered under her breath before raising her head to meet the watchful gazes again. “We’ll make this place shine.”

  “And I’ll bake a pie,” Violet said. “Pecan sounds right.”

  *

  Max cursed softly as he shoved his phone into the pocket of his jeans. He didn’t have time to spend touring a kids’ center all the way up in Harlem. V-Chem Industries was about to become a subsidiary of MatCorp, and he was about to move to Chicago, where his new research laboratory awaited him.

  But ever since Emily Wade had burst into his office, he’d been unable to get her out of his mind. Just like seven years ago, when he’d wanted her so badly that he’d cut off a friendship he valued profoundly. But it had hurt too much to spend time with her while he fought to keep his feelings hidden.

  Outside his penthouse window, Manhattan’s lights blazed in all the colors that chemistry was capable of creating. He tried to take his mind off Emily by matching chemicals to their hues: mercury for electric blue, helium for the yellow glow, hydrogen to flash red.

  But nothing worked. He kept coming back to the fact that Jake was dead. Which meant Emily was a widow.

  He mourned the death of the strong, courageous Marine captain he’d felt such a bond with. The blow of that reality still vibrated in his gut.

  But no matter how guilty it made him feel to think about the implications, he couldn’t dismiss the most significant one.

  The woman he’d been obsessed with seven years ago was no longer off-limits.

  Chapter 3

  Emily stood in the middle of the Carver Center’s main room on the second floor, making one last check before she went downstairs to wait for Max. About twenty-five kids were packed into the space, lounging on the mismatched couches and chairs, bending over puzzles and board games, or concentrating on projects in the art corner. She’d already looked in on the third floor, with its computers, desks, and study rooms, where another fifteen children were doing homework or cramming for exams.

  The room’s usual decor was supplemented by strings
of colored lights draped around the windows, wreaths hung on the doors, and a Christmas tree standing in one corner, adorned with ornaments created by the kids. She hoped the festive additions would put Max in a generous mood.

  She had called the kids together earlier to explain that they were having an important visitor and asked them to keep things neater than usual today. The children were doing a pretty good job, although Jackson thought he was hiding the fact that he had smuggled in a candy bar. Food was supposed to be confined to the first floor, where the kitchen and dining room were located.

  Emily sighed and walked over to hold out her hand.

  Jackson straightened up on the couch where he had been slumped listening to something on his phone. He pulled out one earbud. “What?”

  “The candy. You can pick it up from Powell at the front desk on the way out.”

  Jackson rolled his eyes but fished the half-eaten chocolate bar out of his sweatshirt pocket and handed it over. “Sorry, Ms. Emily.”

  “If you bring it in here again, I’ll hand it over to Nurse. She loves chocolate.”

  The boy snorted. “She say . . . says my teeth will rot and fall out if I don’t quit eating so much of it. But she eats more than I do, and her teeth are all still there.”

  Emily laughed and rewrapped the bar before sticking it in her blazer pocket.

  As she started down the stairs to check on the dining room and kitchen, the front door flew open and Diego dashed in, holding something in his arms. Powell, the security guard, jumped up and started around his desk before he stopped with a chuckle. “Diego, what are you doing running in here like that? I nearly tackled you.”

  The boy didn’t stop, heading straight for Emily. He held out the bundle in his arms, choking on a sob. “He got hit by a car. Some bad kids was being mean to him, and when I stopped them, he ran into the street. Can we take him to the vet?” His voice was tight with anguish.

  Emily hurried down the last two steps to look at what Diego carried. A small black dog, its eyes closed, its head encrusted with blood and dirt, lay wrapped in the boy’s sweatshirt while Diego shivered in his shirtsleeves from the deep freeze outside.

  Diego looked at her as he cradled the dog in his thick, muscular arms. The arms his father wanted him to use for intimidation of delinquent customers, while Diego wanted to use them to hold and protect every small creature he encountered. She saw the clash of hope and uncertainty in his brown eyes. He’d been let down—and worse—by so many of the adults in his life. She wasn’t about to add to the list.

  “Let me think,” she said. The vet was too far away to carry an injured dog on foot, and everyone at the center either walked or took public transportation to work, so she would have to get a taxi. Which wasn’t so easy in this area.

  And what about her appointment with Max? He had made time in his hectic CEO’s schedule to come here. If he liked what he saw, his support could help more than just one boy and one stray dog. She closed her eyes for a brief moment as she made her decision, knowing it might jeopardize the whole K-9 Angelz project. “You stay here. I’ll grab my coat and purse and tell Nurse I’m leaving.”

  Diego nodded. Emily was about to head back up the stairs when the front door swung open again.

  Max strode through it, his charcoal overcoat flapping open to reveal a dark blue suit and red tie. He looked even more intimidating than he had the day before in his office, maybe because he was frowning.

  Inspiration struck her in a blinding flash. She could solve two problems at once and give him a vivid illustration of why K-9 Angelz was so vital to the kids. “Max, it’s so great to see you. Did you drive here?”

  He came to a halt, the tenor of his frown changing from irritation to surprise. “Yes. Why?”

  “Because we need to take an injured dog to the vet, and we need a car to do it.” She put her arm around Diego’s massive shoulders. “Diego rescued him from being tortured by some kids, but the poor dog ran into the street to escape and got hit by a car.”

  Max surveyed the large boy and the small dog, his expression impassive. His gaze flicked to Emily before he turned back toward the door, saying over his shoulder, “Come with me.”

  Emily realized she hadn’t been breathing when she sucked in a gulp of oxygen and gave Diego a quick squeeze before releasing him. He started forward while she debated going for her coat.

  “Take my jacket, Ms. Emily,” Powell said, holding out a bulky, flannel-lined brown garment with a security patch sewn on the arm.

  “I appreciate it,” she said, thrusting her arms into the too-large coat and heading for the door.

  She didn’t have her purse, but Dr. Quillen knew her from caring for Windy, so the bill wouldn’t be an issue. Except for having to pay it. She grimaced as she thought of the only spare money she had, a small reserve she’d scraped together to buy a new laptop to replace her old one, which had crashed four times in the last two weeks.

  As she hurried out the door, the frigid wind slapped her cheeks and blew open Powell’s jacket. But what made her gasp was the gleaming black limousine pulled up at the curb. Max and Diego had just made it to the bottom of the steps, when a chauffeur leaped out to swing open the back door.

  “We have a medical emergency, an injured dog.” Max nodded toward Diego and his burden.

  “Yes, sir,” the chauffeur said. “Where are we headed?”

  Max swung around with his slashing eyebrows raised as Emily reached the limo.

  “The South Harlem Veterinary Clinic,” she said before reeling off the address.

  Diego had already ducked into the elegant car. Max held out his hand to help Emily in, his dark gaze giving away nothing. She braced herself before she touched him, but the warmth and strength of his grip still sent a thrill racing up her arm. As she settled onto the smooth leather seat beside Diego, Max released her hand and bent to enter the car, his sculpted face and broad shoulders briefly looming over her. When the heavy wool of his overcoat slid over the back of her hand as he brushed past her, she jerked at the contact.

  She needed to get her reactions under control.

  The door slammed shut, and in the next minute, the car glided forward.

  Max had pivoted and dropped into a corner of the seat facing her, stretching out his long legs diagonally. Emily couldn’t stop her gaze from skimming down the entire length of fine wool laid over hard muscle.

  “Thank you for letting us use your car, Mr. Varela,” Diego said, jerking her attention back.

  “You know who I am?” Max sounded startled.

  “Yes, sir. Ms. Emily told us you be . . . were coming.”

  Emily pulled herself together, thanking her lucky stars for Diego’s good manners. “I apologize for the unexpected detour, Max. I hope you will still have time to visit our facility.”

  He glanced down at the wafer-thin gold watch on his wrist. “I’ll make time.”

  Relief rushed through her. She hadn’t ruined the center’s chances . . . yet.

  A long, high-pitched whimper issued from the bundle Diego held so carefully. “That sounded bad,” the boy said. “Could you look at him, Ms. Emily?”

  Although she didn’t know much about canine anatomy, she scooted closer to Diego. “You keep holding him,” she said. “I don’t want to move him any more than necessary, since he may have internal injuries.”

  Easing Diego’s sweatshirt away from the dog’s head and body, she winced at the blood-matted hair around several gashes on his neck and back. There were raw patches on the little creature’s sides, and one of his back legs was bent at an unnatural angle. Something white and blotched with blood protruded through the skin. Emily sucked in a breath when she realized it was a bone. But the dog’s side continued to rise and fall.

  She folded the soft fabric back around the animal. “Diego, I don’t want to give you false hope. He’s not in good shape. However, that doesn’t mean that Dr. Quillen can’t help him. We’ll just have to see what she says.”

  “Thos
e shi . . . kids was treating him bad.” Diego curled his torso around the dog as though to protect him. “Why do people hurt animals who never did nothing to them?”

  There was no good answer to that.

  “It makes them feel powerful.” Max’s deep voice surprised her. She’d almost forgotten he was in the car. No, that wasn’t true. Strength and heat radiated from him, permeating the air of the enclosed space, so that she could feel his presence rippling over her skin. She just hadn’t expected him to involve himself with Diego.

  The dark velvet of his voice wrapped itself around her as he continued. “Hurting something or someone weaker than they are is the way some people make themselves feel strong. Of course, it only proves how contemptible they are.”

  Emily shook off his spell just enough to throw him a look of gratitude. He met her gaze but gave no indication of what he was thinking.

  “Three guys against one little dog don’t . . . doesn’t make them look strong,” Diego said.

  “No,” Max said. “The truly strong protect those who are weaker.”

  Emily wanted to cheer as hope began to unfurl in her chest. She couldn’t have asked for a better representative for the center or her project than Diego.

  Max shifted his attention to her, and she felt it like a spotlight. “The veterinarian is someone you use for your own dog?”

  “Yes, Dr. Quillen runs a clinic that provides low-cost medical services for all kinds of animals. She’s amazing. I’ve never seen her turn any creature away, even a rat someone brought in.”

  “She’s highly skilled?”

  “She was number one in her class at Iowa State University,” Emily said. She knew Max was questioning why a veterinarian who would be in demand anywhere would choose this locale. Which meant that he cared whether Diego’s stray lived or died. “But I only know that because I did a search on the Internet. She doesn’t boast about it.”