A House Full of Hope

by Missy Tippens

  Broad shoulders dominated the kitchen. Hannah couldn’t think straight. She’d reached for the salt instead of the butter and barely caught herself before sprinkling the rolls. How could one strong pair of shoulders knock her so off balance?

  She wanted nothing more than to tolerate a meal with Mark—and try to be nice in front of the kids. But having him crowd her kitchen was making her a nervous wreck.

  “I just need a few more minutes before the meal is ready,” she said as she brushed past him to pull the casserole out of the oven. When he reached to help her, she stopped him with a hot-mitt-gloved hand. “I’ve got it. Why don’t you go sit in the family room for a few minutes? Visit with the kids. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

  He chuckled. “Ah, okay. I’m in the way. Sorry.”

  With an embarrassed smile, she pointed him in the right direction. As soon as he walked out, she took a deep breath, trying to ease some of the tension from the room. The man made her skittish. Of course, he always had, even when he was a teenager. Maybe his good looks were to blame. Or the quiet confidence. Or those intense eyes and the way he watched her. Maybe it was the intensity with which he did everything.

  Or maybe she just needed to get a grip.

  Once she had the food on the table, she went to the family room to gather everyone. All was quiet, so she peeked in.

  Mark sat in the chair with the twins squeezed in, Eric on one side, Emily on the other. Becca lounged at his feet. Though Tony sat across the room playing a handheld video game, she saw him glance in Mark’s direction several times.

  They were all blissfully unaware of Mark’s tension as he read them a story. Hannah could tell by the set of his shoulders how he seemed to shrink in on himself, trying to stay in his part of the seat.

  She smiled at his unease as Emily and Eric, totally relaxed, leaned on him. Before long, though, Mark warmed to the story, raising his voice to talk like a girl dragon, then lowering it to talk like the wise grandfather dragon. By the time he finished, he’d loosened up. Comfortable with two little ones hanging on him and Becca staring up with adoring eyes.

  The air seemed to freeze in her lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

  Seeing her children so happy with Mark, seeing how gentle he was with them and seeing how her life could be if she had a man in it set off an ache in her belly that darted to her heart.

  She stepped fully into the room. “Time to eat.” A forced smile accompanied the announcement. “Kids, go wash up.”

  Mark seemed…almost disappointed when they popped up off his lap. But as soon as the children washed their hands, they hurried to the kitchen.

  “I call sitting by Mr. Mark!” Becca pulled out the chair at the end of the table and tried to steer him into it.

  “I’d be honored,” he said as he pulled out Becca’s chair for her. “But ladies first.”

  She giggled as she sat and allowed him to push the chair in. He did the same for Emily.

  Then he pulled out the only chair left and waited, brows raised as he stared at Hannah. His crooked smile made her heart thud.

  She tried not to notice how good he smelled as she sat. Faintly like fresh, tangy cologne. Faintly like sunshine.

  When he finally took his seat, he ended up directly across from Hannah, the two of them at opposite ends of the rectangular table.

  “Let’s say a blessing. It’s Tony’s turn.” She waited until the kids folded their hands and bowed their heads. Tony said a quick prayer he’d learned years back during preschool.

  When he’d finished, Mark said, “Nice job.”

  Her oldest son beamed as they passed the food. Hannah noticed Becca wrinkling her nose when the chicken casserole reached her. “Becca, honey, go look in the microwave.”

  When she discovered the hotdog Hannah had prepared for her, she giggled and clapped her hands. “Thank you, Mom.”

  “Oh, I see. So you invited me over for chicken, but you’re having a hotdog.” Mark grinned at her as he scooped out chicken for himself. “What if I prefer hotdogs?”

  Becca’s eyes widened. Then she held out the hotdog, offering it to him.

  A hearty laugh burst out of him. “I’m just teasing. I wouldn’t dream of taking your hotdog. This chicken looks delicious. My mom used to make something similar.”

  “Probably so,” Hannah said. “It’s a recipe out of the old church cookbook.”

  “Maybe my mom’s recipe.” He didn’t look up after he said it. Instead, he forked food into his mouth.

  But she could tell speaking about his mother was painful.

  Becca chomped into the hotdog; then she grinned up at Mark. “Mmm.”

  The rest of the meal went like normal in the Hughes household. Eric and Emily got in a scuffle over the rolls. Tony picked anything that had color and was the least bit healthy out of his food—and offered it to Mark, who didn’t bat an eye but gracefully declined. Yet it was totally not normal. Having Mark at the table changed everything. Because it felt almost…natural.

  Once they’d finished, as Hannah cleared the dishes, she fought a huge sigh that wanted to escape. She had let her guard down. Dangerous business. She wanted to be wary, yet at the moment, she felt drawn to Mark, to his kindness, to his obvious need for companionship—a need she was starting to feel again herself as she slowly healed.

  She could tell he’d enjoyed the time at her table. Had enjoyed time with her children.

  That sigh slipped out.

  “Here. Let me help clean up.” He swiped the dishrag from her and took over washing the baking dish.

  Pausing, she observed his profile, the strong, square jaw, tanned face, areas of sun-lightened hair from time spent outdoors. Warmth crept through her, making her want to smile, to stand near him and chat about the day while they worked side by side.

  She shook the thought out of her head and busied herself putting away leftovers.

  How had eating a meal with Mark Ryker changed her perspective so much? As if dipping into the same casserole dish or sharing a plate of brownies made it impossible to see him as a villain. She suddenly saw him as…well, as a real person.

  How could she possibly hate Mark now that he’d bragged on her chicken casserole and had joked with Becca over the hotdog?

  How could she look at him as the bad guy now that he’d sat in a recliner with Emily and Eric crawling all over him?

  How could she resist that certain something that drew her to him now that he’d responded, without batting an eye, as Tony offered him each bit of celery he plucked from his casserole—with his fingers?

  The kids played in the next room, leaving Mark and her alone in the kitchen. The quiet drove her crazy, allowing her wild thoughts free rein.

  Enough. “My turn.” She tried to take back the dishcloth, but the attempt left her pressed up against Mark’s side, their hands tangling in the soapy water.

  He held firmly. “I’ve got it. You must be worn-out.”

  She yanked away from him and dried her hands. “I’m fine. Not much left to do.”

  He grabbed the scrubber sponge and attacked the last of the baked-on chicken. “I don’t see how you do it all.”

  When he finally handed her the clean casserole dish, she began to dry. “It was difficult in the beginning, but I’m getting used to it. I try to stick to a routine, but…well, life gets in the way.”

  “Do you ever get lonely?”

  She lifted smaller baking dishes out of the cabinet and nested them in the newly washed one. “Most of the time I’m too busy to think about it. But sometimes…like my birthday…or Valentine’s Day…” She put the stack back in the cabinet. Snapped the door shut. Glanced into his eyes. “I’ll admit this past Valentine’s I was whiney and felt sorry for myself.”

  H
e grabbed the dirty baking sheet she’d used to warm the rolls and plunged it in the water, encouraging her with a smile to tell more.

  She laughed as she shook her head. “All that day I wished for a knight in shining armor to whisk me away. To shower me with flowers and jewels.”

  He laughed, too. Still, she felt silly for admitting it. “Dumb, I know. But, hey, a girl can dream, can’t she?”

  His laughter died, but a smile remained. “Not dumb at all. I have a few crazy dreams myself.” He stared into her eyes for a moment before glancing away.

  “Such as…?”

  “Making my dad proud.” He said it quickly and passionately. Then he turned away and busied himself washing the baking sheet, color streaking across his cheeks.

  She focused her attention on putting the last plate into the dishwasher to give him a moment. “Yes, dreams are good. Most of the time, though, I live in my reality—single mom of four amazing kids.”

  “I think you’re pretty amazing.” He gave her a crooked grin. “For someone who used to be a pesky kid.”

  She swiped the damp dishcloth from his hand and smacked him on the arm with it. “I was never pesky. Skulking and nosy, yes. But never pesky,” she said with a laugh.

  The laugh faded. Awkwardness took over as they both remembered why they had been in each other’s company back then. Sydney.

  She washed the last serving bowl and pulled the plug from the bottom of the sink. Water rushed down the drain. If only she could rid her mind of the past so easily.

  “Are you a bookworm like you were in middle school?” he asked.

  “I wish I had time to read. But as you can see, Becca is following in my footsteps.”

  “She’s a cute kid. They all are.”

  Hannah dried her hands and hung up the dish towel. “Thanks. They’re wonderful. They’ve kept me going the last two years since my husband died.”

  He leaned against the counter and crossed his ankles, hands in his pockets, in that same relaxed, country-club pose she’d loathed the other day. Only this time, it looked good on him.

  “I’m really sorry about your husband. How did he die?”

  “Cancer.”

  Shaking his head, he looked at the floor, then up at her. “How are your children doing?”

  “As well as can be expected. The twins were very young. And though Becca is older, she’s handled it pretty well. But I worry about Tony. He’s the most sensitive of the four and really misses having a man around.” She darted a glance at him, wishing she hadn’t said the last comment. Hoping he didn’t think she was asking for anything from him. “Having your dad around seems to have helped. Tony is slowly warming up to him.”

  “I’m glad.” Mark pushed away from the counter. “I should go. Thanks for a delicious dinner.”

  Saying she’d enjoyed herself despite the fact she shouldn’t have didn’t seem prudent. “Thanks for supplying the chicken. I’m just relieved Blue didn’t take off with anything.”

  He laughed, then settled into a friendly smile, his golden eyes warm and sparkling. For a moment, she thought he was going to say something else, but then he headed out of the kitchen.

  She leaned against the door frame and listened as he said goodbye to the children. She could tell he made a point to find each one, going as far as to holler upstairs to locate Tony. Tony’s footsteps sounded along the hallway overhead, then he stopped at the top of the stairs to say goodbye.

  Then the front door opened and closed.

  No matter what Mark had done in the past, he was not a bad man. Yet she couldn’t wrap her head around it.

  One thing she could grasp, though, was that she better guard her heart. She had to think of the repercussions if she fell for him like Sydney had.

  “Oh, Hannah, honey, I’m sorry to hear that. Can I help?” Ann said into the phone as Mark was heading out the front door.

  The name Hannah stopped him. That and the fact that it must be bad news, from the tone of Ann’s voice.

  He’d risen early, planning to work at the house and be gone before his dad finished at the store. But first he had to find out what was going on.

  “I’ll be glad to. Will be there as soon as I can get out of these slippers and put on my shoes.”

  By the time she hung up, Mark stood beside her. “Is everything okay with Hannah and the kids?”

  “Yes. Donna has a bad migraine and can’t babysit. Hannah is already late for work. I’m going over as soon as I can get ready.”

  He wasn’t certain Ann had the energy to watch four kids all day long. “You were planning to attend your Bible study today. I was going over to work on the house anyway. Why don’t I watch them?”

  Her eyes brightened, but then an extra crease formed in her forehead. “I should probably call her back and check.”

  “If she prefers having you, I’ll let you know.”

  Once Ann had agreed and extracted a promise from him that he wouldn’t take his eyes off the kids for a second, he hurried to his dad’s house.

  Hannah raced out the door, but then stopped in her tracks when she spotted him. “Oh, I thought you were Ann.”

  “I am. Or, rather, I’m here in her place. I was walking out the door to come work on the house when you called, so I offered to watch the gang.”

  He’d never seen a person so still. She didn’t seem to breathe as she considered his declaration. “Have you ever babysat before?”

  “Well…no. But I’m sure I’m capable. I’ll let them help me on the house.”

  “Oh, they can’t help you work. Someone will get hurt.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of painting the fence. I loved to paint when I was a boy.”

  Obviously torn, she glanced at her watch and then squinted up at him with a pained expression on her face.

  “I’ll call if I need you.”

  “Do you promise to call Ann if you can’t handle them?”

  “Of course. We’ll be fine.”

  She opened her van door and started to climb in. Then she popped back out. “No macho-man stunts—like getting on the roof or up a ladder. No power tools. Or—”

  He laughed as he guided her back into the vehicle. “No testosterone-driven moves, I promise. Only kid-friendly activities.”

  She sat looking into his eyes, as if deciding whether she could trust him.

  After last night, he had hope. Hope they’d become friends. Or that they had at least built a little trust.

  He’d probably enjoyed himself too much. And looked forward too much to the opportunity to babysit. But beyond his own feelings, he was glad he was available to help when she needed it.

  The worry cleared from her eyes. “Okay.”

  After entering their cell-phone numbers into each other’s phones, she nodded. “Thank you.”

  Her tires crunched down the driveway as he approached the house. The door flew open, and the kids ran out.

  They slammed on their brakes when they saw him.

  “Are you watching us today?” Becca asked.

  Four expectant faces gave him pause. A wave of apprehension tightened his neck muscles. But what trouble could a handful of kids be? “I am. And I have a job for you.”

  Within a half hour, he had them happily painting the fence that ran along the right side of the house. Other than the fact that Becca preferred painting designs and flourishes, and the twins enjoyed painting each other, all went well. Conscientious Tony made sure every inch was covered, going behind his siblings to perfect their work.

  About eleven o’clock, they said they were hungry, so they went inside and made peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. Mark had a feeling Hannah would show up sooner or later to check on them, so he suggested they make her a
lunch, as well.

  They rushed through their meal, eager to paint some more. The four were back at it and happy as larks when Redd drove up at noon.

  “Hi, Mr. Redd,” Becca called.

  He lumbered over to inspect. “Helping Mark paint, huh? He used to do that when he was your age.”

  “Yep,” Tony said. “Look how good we’re doing.”

  “I’m impressed. You’re all doing a fine job.”

  Mark was waiting for his dad to tell him to get lost, to find something else to do with his time. Of course, he wouldn’t do that in front of the Hughes kids. “Donna is sick today,” he explained. “Ann was going to come, but I offered.”

  “Since you were going to be working on the house anyway?”

  Mark sensed the unvoiced finish to that sentence—even though I told you not to.

  “Dad, I really do want to help. I hope you’ll let me.”

  “Mr. Mark, look! I finished this whole section by myself.” Tony stood and pointed, eyes bright green like his mother’s, glowing with pride. “See? I didn’t miss a spot. And no drips.”

  Mark knelt down in front of the boy and inspected. Then he whistled. “Sure looks good.” He gave him a high five. “Nice job.”

  “Thanks.” Beaming, Tony moved on to the next section.

  “You got anything to feed them for lunch?” Redd asked, his voice gruff and irritated.

  “Already ate sandwiches.”

  He harrumphed. But then he stared at Tony, watching him dip the brush and apply the paint in long, even strokes. “That’s more words than I’ve heard the boy say in quite a while. Don’t see many of those smiles, either.” He glanced at Mark. Then his gaze darted off toward the house. “Guess I won’t stop you from doing some work around the place if you’re determined.”

  Mark didn’t know what to say. Before he could say anything, his dad stomped off toward the garage and went inside. A few minutes later he came out with a stack of file folders and drove off.

  Maybe they could gradually rebuild trust.

  He heard his dad honk at the green minivan pulling up the driveway. Hannah, coming to check on them. He didn’t fault her, though. Wouldn’t he do the same if he were her? “Kids, wave to your mom.”