Sweet on Peggy

by Stella MacLean

  “Why shouldn’t it be?” she asked, patting the huge horse before turning to him.

  The horse gave a snort and galloped off toward the other side of the enclosure. Rory felt his shoulders relax when the horse took off. He wasn’t comfortable around horses. With the horse gone, he’d be able to focus his entire attention on Peggy.

  He waited, hoping she’d tell him something. He suddenly felt silly and inappropriate for rushing out here without calling first. “I needed to see you.”

  That’s it. Blurt out your feelings.

  She smiled at him, but her eyes were wary. “That’s very kind of you. But I don’t need anyone here right now, if you don’t mind.”

  He stared at her, at the nervous way she rubbed her palms over the sides of her worn jeans, the way she wouldn’t look at him. Instead, she chewed on her lower lip. There was something going on here, and she wasn’t willing or able to say what it was.

  “Look, I didn’t mean to barge in like this. I went to the hospital, and they told me you were home. I was worried. I really enjoyed the dinner and dance the other night. I was hoping we might do something tomorrow. If you’re up to it, that is.”

  It was his turn to rub his palms over the sides of his jeans as he waited for her to say something. She didn’t utter a sound as her eyes searched the open field where the horse stood quietly now.

  “Look, I can see it was a mistake coming here. Why don’t I call you later, maybe? See if you’re all right...or you call me...or whatever?”

  * * *

  PEGGY COULDN’T RESIST the look of anguish in his eyes. When she saw his truck pull up in her yard, she’d been prepared to send him away. She didn’t need company right now, but she had to admit it was rather nice to have someone here with her. She’d had a long ride on Zeus and she smelled like it.

  Yet he didn’t seem to notice how she smelled. Or more likely Rory was simply being kind. “No, please. I had a good time the other night, as well. I was out for a ride to clear my thoughts.”

  The relief in his eyes drew her to him. He was genuinely anxious about her. And he really did want to see her. “If you don’t mind waiting, I need to have a shower and get cleaned up.”

  His face broke out in a broad grin. “Yeah. I can wait.” He offered his arm. “Let me escort you. I’ll wait wherever you tell me to wait.”

  She giggled. “I think the living room would be good.”

  “Or I can make a pot of coffee?” He looked down at her as they walked toward her back door.

  “Let me get cleaned up first. Maybe we can have coffee later.”

  She left him sitting in the living room. She hurried through a shower, being careful not to touch her right breast. Tomorrow would come soon enough. She put on clean jeans and a T-shirt before heading downstairs. When she reached the bottom step, she could see him peering at her bookshelves filled with books and horse magazines.

  “Those were my father’s. He was a chemical engineer, worked for an oil company that took him all over the world.”

  He studied her over the book he held open. “So, you’ve traveled all over the world with your family I assume.”

  “Yes. When I was in ninth grade, Mom and Dad talked about putting me in a boarding school, to offer me a more stable existence. I was so upset I wrote a long essay on the reasons why I should continue to travel with them, how I’d broaden my horizons, get to learn about the world outside the United States. But I think it was my final argument that won.”

  “And what was that?”

  “I’d run away if they tried to send me to boarding school. It was the last conversation I had with my father before he left for a business trip to Chile. He didn’t come back. The plane he was in crashed.”

  His expression was one of open concern as he put the book down, pulled her into his arms and held her in a way she hadn’t been held before by a man. It felt so perfect, so much like coming home, so safe, she nearly cried out.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair, making her feel cared for and protected.

  “Why don’t we sit down, and you can tell me all about your life. You mentioned Haiti,” she said, struggling to recover from the wonderful feelings sliding through her at the way he’d held her. I could get so hooked on this.

  He followed her to the sofa. “I thought we were going to talk about you,” he said.

  “We will.” She smoothed her hair from her face, her fingers trembling.

  “I didn’t make coffee,” he said, sitting down next to her. “Would you like me to?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  He looked at her for a few moments, as if he wanted to say something, and changed his mind. “Well, let’s see. I went to Haiti, part of a two-year contract. I’d been asked by a friend to join his team of carpenters going in to do repair work on some buildings damaged by the earthquake and to build new ones where we could.” He twined his fingers together and stared at them before going on. “It was easily one of the most difficult times of my life. And in many other ways it was the most surreal, rewarding, heartbreaking experience I’ve ever had. I can’t explain it. Many people in Haiti need so much, yet the ones I met have spirit and enthusiasm you don’t often find back here at home. We take our lives for granted. We’re so preoccupied with having everything we want. We worry so much about the future. Maybe it’s because their future is so uncertain that they have learned to live in the here and now.”

  She watched how he flexed his fingers, especially those on his injured arm. He was struggling not to break down, and she could so relate to that. She’d wanted to have a good cry ever since her visit to Dr. Brandon’s office. “I admire you for being able to do what you did. Many people couldn’t.”

  She’d never felt this close to a man before. And in telling her about Haiti, he’d helped her control her worry. Having him here had been a huge benefit, unexpected and wonderful.

  “I should have done more.” His jaw worked, he lowered his head and stared at his hands. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t left.”

  “Yet you did. You must have needed to come home for some reason. Was your mother in poor health?”

  “I’d gone to Haiti after she passed to get a better perspective. My sister wanted me to move to Texas to be near her. I couldn’t imagine myself in Texas.” He glanced at her, his expression one of sadness. “Then I remembered my mother’s stories about her summers in Eden Harbor, and that sort of made the decision for me.”

  “You make decisions so easily,” she mused. “I find it difficult to make a decision, especially one that could change my life. But I’m glad you decided to come here. And everyone is singing your praises, even Ned Tompkins. Pleasing Ned isn’t easy,” she said, teasing him just a little bit.

  “I do make decisions quickly. But they have mostly worked out...except maybe my year at a summer camp in northern Maine.” He gave a low chuckle. “Let’s not go there for now.” He leaned back and looked at her. “But I didn’t come to talk about me. I came here to talk about you. To see if you were all right.”

  “And I am.”

  “That’s it?”

  As close as she felt to him right now, she couldn’t tell him about her health issue. She had to believe it was simply a scare and would all be over in a matter of days. Besides, the men she’d known wouldn’t be around for long if there was a problem requiring them to do anything. She suspected that Rory wasn’t like that, but she wasn’t willing to take a chance when her life was so uncertain.

  For some reason she couldn’t identify, sitting beside him made her feel better about tomorrow morning. Whether it was his upbeat manner or the warmth in his eyes didn’t matter. What mattered was making it through the evening, something she’d rather not do alone. “Yeah, that’s all, unless you want to stick around and help me make dinner.”

  * * *

  RORY COULDN’T BELIEVE his good fortune. His impetuousness had paid off. “I can’t think of anything I’d like to do better. I’m starving and you must be, too.”


  “Then let’s go to the kitchen,” she said, getting up and heading across the room to the door leading to the kitchen.

  She got out some pots and pans, took several pieces of haddock from the refrigerator, removed the wrapping and rinsed the fish in the sink. He watched her easy movements. “You cook a lot, I take it,” he said.

  “I do. Mostly out of necessity. I’m a little way from town, the restaurants and fast-food places. So, I keep food on hand. I hope you like fish. I could make you a grilled cheese sandwich if you want,” she said, giving him a quick smile.

  “No. Fish is great. Can I peel potatoes, cook rice, make a salad?”

  “Yes. Rice and a salad would be perfect while you tell me more about Haiti.”

  He couldn’t tell her the real reason why he’d come home. He hadn’t told anyone other than a psychologist he’d seen for a short time after he got back. Until he knew Peggy better, he wouldn’t allow himself to confide in her. He didn’t want her to see him as a weak, indecisive man, someone who had allowed his experience in Haiti to determine how he felt about life here in Eden Harbor. He had a good life here, the respect of the locals and was presently sharing the kitchen with a woman who intrigued him. Yet he couldn’t ease the feelings of guilt, the sense that he’d abandoned people who relied on him.

  He had so many mixed-up feelings around his time in Haiti. Some good. Some not so good. Yet a part of him wanted to return and finish what he had started. Grant Williams, his team leader, had promised him that he could go back when he was ready. So tempting...until now.

  He took the bag of lettuce, the cucumber, celery and tomatoes she gave him and found a knife on the rack next to the stove. “The people I met in Haiti were the friendliest on the planet. So interesting, committed. The friends I made while living in that country will always be a part of my life.”

  “Wherever my parents and I lived, we always enjoyed learning about the local culture. It’s amazing how much we can learn from others, about how they live and work.”

  “That’s true.” Yet it was more than that for him. He’d been a part of the community. And that acceptance had resulted in him feeling needed and appreciated in ways he’d never experienced before.

  They worked alongside each other in silence for a few minutes, he washing vegetables and she working on the rest of the meal. He couldn’t help but notice how easily she battered the fish and put the frying pan on the stove in preparation for cooking the haddock.

  “I’d better get going. I don’t want you to have the fish ready before the rice is cooked.”

  “I’ll wait for you,” she said. Her glance swept over him, her lips pursed.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked.

  “You need an apron.” Pulling one from a hook on the side of the fridge, she then slipped it around his waist and tied the knot for him before putting on an apron herself.

  The way she moved to tie the knot, as if they’d been doing this for years, touched something in him. “Thank you,” he said.

  “Anytime.”

  “Next time it’s my turn.”

  “For what?”

  “For tying your apron.”

  She tucked her chin down in surprise. “I didn’t, did I?”

  “You did, and a fine job it was,” he said, thoroughly enjoying her discomfort. Yet he couldn’t help but wonder if she had shared her kitchen with another man, that tying a knot in an apron for a man was something she’d gotten in the habit of doing and not so much something she had done specifically for him.

  * * *

  SHE HADN’T FELT these feelings before. This sense of connection to someone, the feeling that he would understand should she decide to share her worries. Yet she wasn’t about to do that, especially when she had this deep-down feeling that she might have found a man who had serious potential. She couldn’t risk getting involved with him only to have him walk out on her if she had to face treatment.

  She didn’t want to spoil her first real chance in years to have a relationship that might turn into something a lot more. No. Sharing too much this early on about something that might turn out to be nothing at all was hardly the way to hold on to a man who had the potential to be just what she was looking for.

  Peggy had never found herself in such a perplexing situation. The men she’d dated had usually bombed out by the time the second date rolled around. Yet Rory’s presence in her life had turned out to be really fun. She was suddenly energized and pleased with everything.

  She put her best place mats on the table, and all the while she kept glancing at him, at the way he so skillfully put together the salad. He caught her looking at him and smiled. “Rice?”

  “In the long cupboard next to the fridge,” she said.

  Too late she realized she’d crammed that cupboard with boxes of cereal and parts of her grocery order she hadn’t found a place for yet. “Whoops!” She watched as cereal boxes tumbled out, landing at his feet. She rushed to scoop them up. “Sorry about that,” she said, gathering up the boxes. Standing close to him with nothing but a couple of flimsy boxes between them, she could feel his heat, see the awareness in his eyes and wanted to jump into his arms. Well, maybe not jump, but certainly get closer to him.

  “I’m not sorry,” he said, his voice a slow drawl that played along her spine, a thrill passing through her. She clutched the boxes in her hands as their eyes met. The deepest, bluest eyes she’d ever seen. There was just a hint of stubble on his jaw. She wanted to run her fingers through his sun-bleached hair.

  This man was simply too good to be true. There had to be a story here. Where were all the women in his life? No red-blooded woman could resist those eyes. Not a chance.

  She pointed to the top cupboard. “The rice would be just over your right shoulder,” she said, her voice sounding breathless in her ears. She put the cereal boxes on the counter and found the rice steamer in the bottom drawer next to the dishwasher, acutely aware that her rear end was sticking up in the air as she fished around the depths of the drawer.

  Feeling self-conscious, she rushed to set the table, putting out a bowl of pink peonies she’d cut earlier. By the time she was finished fixing and fretting, her pulse was racing.

  “The rice is nearly finished.”

  Darn! She’d forgotten to start the fish. “The fish will only take a few minutes,” she said, hurrying back to the kitchen.

  He’d already turned on the burner. “Butter?” he asked.

  Wordlessly, she pointed to the white butter dish resting near the back of the counter. The man filled her tiny kitchen with his presence, his easy way, his sexy body.

  “Now, all we need is music,” he said, maneuvering the frying pan over the hot burner to the sound of sizzling butter.

  “What do you like?” she asked.

  “When it comes to music, I’m old-fashioned. I was raised on ’60s music, thanks to my mother’s love of it.”

  “I like it, too.”

  He slid the fish into the frying pan. “Did you get that from your mother, as well?”

  “Not really. It’s just great music, the beginnings of today’s more modern, less appealing music.”

  “Couldn’t agree more.” He turned those blue eyes on her again and she felt her mouth go dry. “Plates?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She went to the cupboard and took out two plates. “I’ll take the salad to the table,” she said, feeling like a teenager suffering through her first crush.

  They ate their dinner together, laughed lots to the accompaniment of their favorite music. “I haven’t had this much fun since I came to Eden Harbor,” he said, holding his coffee cup in his hand, his attention on her.

  “Me neither.”

  He put his cup down and reached across the table, taking her hand in his. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For inviting me to dinner. I should have called first, but I was worried about you. Anyway, it’s all turned out for the best, at least for me.”

  �
�For me, too,” she said, suddenly remembering that she’d come home worried about her health, about what an illness might mean in her life, and ended up having a wonderful evening with a very sexy man.

  “Let’s get this cleaned up,” he said, breaking the moment.

  They carried the dishes to the kitchen, scraping them and putting them in the dishwasher. “I’ll wash the frying pan,” he offered.

  “No. That’s fine. I like to let it soak in soapy water for a while to get any fish odor out before I wash it.” She met his assessing glance. Was he waiting for something? Did he expect an invitation to stay the night?

  “Look, I know I’m prying when I ask this, but are you really okay?”

  “Why do you ask?” she hedged.

  “Because you’re different than the day we met. You’re anxious, and I wondered if I’d done something to upset you. Yet it’s so strange. I feel so close to you.”

  She shared that feeling of closeness, really understood what he was saying. Could she trust him with her problem? “I have a health issue I’m dealing with at the moment. Tomorrow, actually.”

  “And?”

  “And I’m worried.”

  He leaned closer, his scent enveloping her. “Can I help?”

  His expression was so sweet and caring, she couldn’t resist. “I’m going in for a biopsy tomorrow on a lump in my breast.”

  He pulled back, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “I’m sure it will be fine. Lots of people have biopsies done and it’s not cancer.”

  “How do you know?” she asked, annoyed by his dismissal. Even more annoyed with herself for confiding in him. Had she told him to have him show he cared? Did she want him to take over for her a little, offer her support, maybe take her to the clinic appointment even though Gayle had volunteered to drive her? Was she that desperate?

  “Look, why worry about it? You can’t change the outcome by worrying. I found that out when my mom was diagnosed. You have to live for now, for what today holds. Life is for living every moment.” He tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I want to be here for you. This will be over, and you’ll go on with your life. Don’t invite trouble.”