“Ronnie?”
“Sorry, uh, the last time I painted walls I was seven. My dad let me pick out any color I wanted for my bedroom before he deployed. So I picked the deepest, brightest pink I could find. Berry Kiss. Mom was worried it would be too bright, so we did the walls in a pale pink, but Papa taped off a big heart right over my bed. We colored it in with that bright Berry Kiss paint, listening to the radio and singing along. When we finished, he told me that the heart was there to remind me that he always carried me close to his heart and he was always watching over me, even when he was far away.” She didn’t know where all that had come from, but saying it now brought her almost back to that moment—the smell of the cotton of her father’s shirt, his husky laughter that still embedded her bones. Wow, she missed him.
“Sounds like a great guy. You said he died, though?”
“He was in the Army too. Died in Iraq. And after—” Her voice caught. “Um, after that place, we rented. Most landlords don’t let you pick out a wall color.” Even if they were your own grandmother, because of course, she had to share the room with two of her older cousins and they had been there longer. The Army never let her choose her wall color either.
“Will you keep renting here?”
She looked out across the lake, wondering if she dared let hope swell. “I’d love to find a place to own, but I need to save up a bit for that.”
“A place you could paint however you want?”
She looked back at him. Way too much…something in his eyes. Something kind. Something intimate.
Like the man could see inside her.
And crazy enough, he didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. Just kept looking.
“Yeah.” She tore her gaze away before his hazel eyes drew her in any more. “What about you?”
He took a breath, looked back out to the lake. “I have a house in town. A little cottage not too far from the skate park. Nothing fancy, but it’s home. And I had no clue when it came to paint color, so I let my mom and sister pick it all out.”
She shook her head, asking herself the same question for the millionth time.
“What?”
“I just don’t get it. How are you still single? I mean, you’ve got your own house, you have a steady job, you’re, uh…” She cleared her throat. “Good-looking—”
“Just good-looking? Before you said I was hot.”
Ronnie laughed. “Don’t let it go to your head, Farm Boy. But seriously, why aren’t you married?”
He leaned back on his hands. “It’s kind of hard to date when you’re related to everyone in town.”
“Oh, yeah, I suppose.”
The light breeze blew through his hair, and he turned his dangerous eyes toward her. “But…you’re not related to me, Buttercup.”
Oh, her stupidity had no limits, her lips no restraint as they broke into a coy smile. “No. No, I’m not.”
Chapter 9
Peter rolled primer onto one of the tall backdrops spread out on a table outside the workshop at Evergreen Resort, their makeshift stage construction headquarters. A matching cityscape of lower Manhattan had already been dropped off backstage down at the school theater.
To his surprise, they weren’t half bad. Not his talents, but Ronnie’s, as she turned out to have a knack for this kind of thing.
He’d thought of the Evergreen Resort after their first attempts at painting were interrupted by the vast nobody-left-out ensemble of the Jets and the Sharks.
And it got them away from the prying eyes of Deep Haven.
But after nearly a week of work, his brilliant plan to get to know Ronnie one-on-one was a flop. So far he couldn’t determine if that moment they’d shared at Artist’s Point was a fluke or the start of something serious. Since then, she’d been friendly but not personal or even flirty.
He sneaked a glance over to her, toned arms lithe and strong as she brushed paint onto a base of one of the false building fronts. Her hips swayed to the Latin beat from her phone. Dust swirled through the air inside the workshop.
She caught him looking and frowned. “You’re making a mess.”
Huh? Sure enough, primer dripped down his roller onto his arm. She laughed, laid down her own brush, and took the tray and roller from his hands while he scrambled for the paper towels.
Real smooth, Dahlquist.
She held his hand as she wiped his arm, stood close enough to tease him with her tropical scent. One touch from her sent his pulse racing. “Well, maybe if you’d stop distracting me…”
“I distract you?” Her voice was soft, playful, but her gaze bold, almost daring.
Put him out of his misery and just drown him in her cinnamon eyes already. “Very distracting.” And then, without realizing it, he wiped a small drop of white primer off her cheek. Her skin was incredibly soft.
Oh.
Neither of them moved.
His gaze went to her mouth, and a weird rushing filled his ears. He wondered what her lips tasted like…
The sudden roar from a chainsaw outside the shop sent him jerking back. He cleared his throat. “Better get to work if we want to take that canoe ride I promised you on the way here.” Because the point was to get to know her. Something a little more personal than which flavor lip gloss she wore.
She went back to her project, but a shade of pink lingered across her cheeks.
So obviously they had some chemistry. But every time he tried to ask about her family or her past, she shut down the conversation faster than he could stomp out a spark in the middle of a dry field.
This time he didn’t let his focus leave the roller as he covered the backdrops in primer.
“That should do it for now,” he said when he finished. “We need to let this dry before we do the base coats.”
She too had finished the false front. “Good. I’m starving.”
She’d painted a copy of the Empire State Building.
“That’s really good, Ronnie.”
She grinned at him, and warmth filled his entire body.
They rinsed out their rollers and sat at one of the Christiansens’ picnic tables, watching a pair of loons on the lake while they ate the ham-and-swiss sandwiches Peter had packed them. Ronnie had brought Cheetos.
“For all your healthy eating, egg-white omelets and all, you know those things are gonna kill you, right?”
She licked the cheesy powder from her fingers. “Everyone has a vice. Look at what you’re drinking.”
“Hey now, don’t mess with the Dew.” He took a long drink from his soda.
She shoved him playfully.
“Better watch—”
A feminine voice called from the trail. “Hello!”
Ronnie scooted away, stiffened. Aw, he should’ve known he wouldn’t have privacy for long.
Ingrid Christiansen came with a plate of fresh-from-the-oven cookies. “I saw you got everything built and primed. Looks great.”
Peter introduced Ronnie. “Thanks for letting us use your workshop. We’ll finish these pieces in the next few days and get them out of the way.”
“Oh, Peter, you know you’re not in the way. The boys are working on cutting wood this week anyway. They have the chainsaws going nonstop. Well, except for Casper. Raina had her baby last week. He hasn’t left her side since.”
“What does Layla think of her new brother?”
Ingrid glowed with grandmotherly pride. “She adores him. We’re all just smitten with Baby Rhett. He’s got Casper’s blue eyes and lots of dark hair.”
Ingrid stayed and chatted for a while, getting to know Ronnie, but Peter didn’t learn anything he didn’t already know. Eventually Ingrid looked down at her watch. “I’d better go check on the spaghetti sauce I have going. Ronnie, I’m glad to meet you. You two should take a break, enjoy the water. And I hope we’ll see you at church tomorrow.”
She was off with a wave goodbye.
“She seems nice,” Ronnie said as they packed away their leftovers and dug into the plat
e of cookies. “How are you related to these guys?”
“I’m not.” He stuffed the last bite of cookie in his mouth and led Ronnie down to the canoe rack on the lakeshore. Better to be out on the water. No one could bother them there, and maybe he could make some progress on understanding this captivating yet confusing woman.
“A Deep Haven family you’re not related to? Did they not have any girls?” She took the stern end of the canoe he pointed to and lifted.
“What’s that have to do with anything?” He flipped it over, carefully dropped the bow into the water, and grabbed the oars and lifejackets. “Get in and I’ll push us off.”
“Look who’s bossy now.” She grinned as she stepped into the canoe and sat. “But I still need an answer. Does Ingrid have any daughters?”
He pushed them off and hopped in, picking up his paddle. “Yeah, three of them. Eden, Grace, and Amelia. I’m closer in age to Grace but hung out more with Amelia. Vivien and Ree are her best friends. Why?” he asked as they paddled away from shore.
“There’s three available girls you’re not related to. Why don’t you date them?”
He laughed. “First, they’re all married or engaged now. And before that, they weren’t related, but they were the competition. At least as far as the Zimmermans were concerned. Besides, the Christiansen girls almost felt like family growing up together like we all did.” Sure, they were nice, but had never held much appeal as far as romance went.
Now the woman sitting in front of him, on the other hand…she was a different story. A light breeze played with the loose tendrils of her hair. Their paddles whooshed through the clear water in perfect rhythm.
“Seems like everyone in Deep Haven has big families. And are they all so nice? I mean, these guys let you use their workshop. Ingrid brought us cookies.” She shook her head a little. “It’s strange.”
Finally, a segue into something a little more personal than food preferences. “I guess it just seems normal to me. You didn’t have neighbors or family that would do that for you?”
“Tiago and I actually have a pretty big extended family, but it’s nothing like this.”
Now they were getting somewhere.
She stopped paddling and turned on the seat to face him. Studied him. The rigidness in her posture relaxed the slightest bit, as if she found something in him she’d been searching for and wasn’t disappointed.
“My cousins are wrecks. Gangs, drugs, addictions, unwanted pregnancies. You name it and they are neck deep in it. And they’re only following in my uncles’ and aunts’ footsteps. I don’t know where my mother is. Last I knew she was in jail. But I think she’s out now, and obviously she doesn’t care enough to let us know where she is.”
Peter had no words.
“We came to Deep Haven because Tiago was in foster care, on the verge of getting sucked into all the same trouble. My abuela isn’t a bad woman, but she’s too trusting. She lets everyone walk all over her. She tried to keep an eye on Tiago after Mom left and while I was overseas, but she works two jobs. She just can’t do it. That’s why I left the Army and came back. Now I have guardianship of Tiago, and I will make sure he has a better life. He deserves it.”
Peter didn’t know what to say. His admiration grew, but his heart hurt to think of what Tiago and Ronnie had been through. “That…that had to be rough.”
She shrugged it off and tried to smile, but it fell flat. “My mom…she wasn’t always such a wreck. With my dad, she was healthy. Strong. We had our little family and moved to wherever the Army sent us. The house with the heart on the wall was the last home we ever had. The last time I saw her happy.” Ronnie leaned over, dipped her hand in the water. The late afternoon sun reflected off the lake surface and shined in her sad eyes. “When my father died, she didn’t get out of bed for weeks. Maybe months. I tried. I begged so hard to get her to eat, to get dressed, anything. She just…fell apart. Stopped living. For a year, I took care of her. Even stole food at the grocery store so we could eat.”
“Ronnie…how old were you? You couldn’t have been more than a kid.”
“I was eight, nine. It was what it was. But eventually she started going out a little and this guy came into the picture. I didn’t like him, but at least my mom was among the living again, you know? Then she let him move in. And—” She shook the water off her hand with a jerk. “He took over. Everything. Suddenly he was the one deciding what we ate, where we went. What my mom would wear. He took over the money, and she let him. Then he sold the house and took us away from our home too.”
Peter lost all words as a fist bore through his chest. He fought a fierce and crazy desire to rip the arms off the guy who had torn Ronnie’s world apart.
It got worse when tears shimmered in her eyes. “That was just the beginning. That jerk left, and Mom let another one take his place. We moved back to Minneapolis to be near my mom’s family, and I got my first taste of why my father never wanted to spend much time with them. Eventually Tiago came along. He was the one bright spot, but I was seventeen when he was born. Mom did okay with him initially, but she didn’t work. I needed an income, so someone could take care of him. I joined the Army as soon as I graduated and sent most of my pay to Mom. But she would run off, come back, find a new guy, and the whole cycle would start over again. Tiago was left in the dust to fend for himself.”
She looked up at him, so much of her past in her expression. Finally.
And in that moment he wanted nothing more than to be a safe place for her.
But a steel laced her voice as her chin lifted. “So you see, Peter…I can’t…I can’t let someone take over my life. I have my brother to take care of. He needs me, and I don’t have room for anything else.”
“Who takes care of you, Ronnie?” he said softly.
Her chin dropped slightly. “What?”
“Veronica, you are the strongest woman I know. But everyone needs help sometimes. You don’t have to do this alone.” He put his paddle into the canoe and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Who takes care of you?”
She blinked at him. Swallowed, and a defiance filled her eyes. “I do.”
Oh, Ronnie.
“Ronnie, God cares deeply for you. You know that, right?”
Her jaw tightened. “Then where was He when my father died? Where was He when I begged Him to help my mom? Where was He when every other man that was supposed to take care of me instead ravaged us, took away our home, our money, our choices? Where was God then, Peter?”
He opened his mouth but shut it again.
He had nothing.
But words whispered through his soul. “I…I think He was there, Ronnie. Hurting right along with you. He felt it all. Heard every prayer. He wants to be your safe place when everything is falling apart.”
And they weren’t just words. He believed them, right down to his core.
“Then why didn’t He do anything?” A single tear rolled down her cheek.
Peter fought the urge to reach out and wipe it away. “I don’t know. He tells us we’ll have trouble and hardship, but He also promises to be our Rock. To weather every storm with us. He promised that in the end, all wrong things would be made right.” He took a breath, softened his voice. “I know what happened to you was wrong. And I know He hates that our brokenness hurts others. But He’s still here. And now, so am I. I want to be someone you can count on.”
She stared at him so long in silence he wondered if she’d heard him.
Then, “You won’t try to control me?”
He frowned at her. What—?
“Because as much as I like you, Peter, I won’t have anyone holding me back. I won’t let anybody come between me and my ability to take care of my brother.”
“Ronnie, I have no desire to control you or hold you back. I just want to be there for you. Maybe help shoulder that load you carry.” And maybe show her she mattered too.
Because now that he saw into her heart, there was no going back.
There
had to be a way to put the brakes on this thing before it rolled out of control with her heart.
How did Ronnie get to the point of baring her soul to Peter in the middle of Evergreen Lake? It might’ve been the ripples pattering against the side of the canoe or the slight rocking that had lulled them to a comfortable silence. A loon couple gliding on the water, tricking her into letting down her guard.
Ronnie stared at the paddle in her hand. Why wasn’t she using it to get as far away from Peter as possible? End this little lake time confessional?
Why? Because she believed him. Believed him worthy of trust.
Maybe God—the God her papa had taught her about as he’d read to her from her children’s Bible—maybe He wasn’t as absent as she thought. Peter spoke with such quiet conviction, unwavering and yet gentle in its prodding.
God caring? About her? Surely, He had better things to do. She’d been fine on her own.
She needed no proof of sin and depravity. That was everywhere. But if God was here, if He was as good and powerful as Peter said or as her papa had taught her, she could use some proof of that.
And maybe the man across the canoe from her was just the one to show her—this man who jumped through fire to save others. Who spent his free time with a children’s theater production, playing video games with Tiago, and even now showed more concern for her well-being and feelings than she’d ever known from her own family.
Of course, they hadn’t known each other long. A few weeks. But she could try. See if he was who he seemed to be. Maybe she didn’t have to resist the way she was drawn to him quite so much. Didn’t have to hate herself for allowing him in through the back door of her heart.
She’d never wanted to follow in her mother’s steps, but Peter was nothing like the men her mother followed around. Peter had shown her kindness and integrity. Like Papa. It made a girl think she could drop her guard just a tad. His strength tempered with tenderness was like nothing she’d ever witnessed. No wonder she was intrigued by him.
Okay, so more than intrigued. But she still needed to take it slow.
Crazy for You Page 13
