Either anger or embarrassment flushed her cheeks. Knowing Claire, probably a mix of both. He’d never known anyone so reluctant to accept help.
“Am I ever glad you heard me. I’ve been shouting for ages. Everyone else must be either out or indoors. And my cellphone’s in the other room so I couldn’t call anyone. I really thought I’d have to jump.”
Estimating the distance from the window to the ground, he shook his head. “Good thing you didn’t. It’s plenty far enough to break bones.”
Her lip curled. “Tell me something I don’t already know. I kinda figured that one out myself.”
“Gratitude!” Shaking his head again, he rolled his eyes right back. “So, what’s the problem? Or do you plan on letting down your hair and having me climb the side of the house?”
As expected, an eye roll met that comment. “I can’t get the door to open, so I’m stuck in here. I’ve been here hours. I really need to get out now.” Her pretty face scrunched up. “Like, really now.”
Somehow, he managed not to chuckle when he guessed what made the situation so urgent. “I’ll go get a ladder. But I’ll be a few minutes. It won’t go over the fence as easily as I did. I’ll need to take the long way around.”
“Please, hurry.”
He did.
As soon as he propped the extension ladder against the wall, she appeared at the window. The relief in her expression was almost comical. But she still had to get safely out of the window and down to the ground.
“I’ll hold the ladder steady for you. Take it slowly. Make sure you have a solid footing before you let go of the windowsill. Getting out an upstairs window is way harder than it looks in the movies.”
Claire clambered out feet first in an awkward maneuver, fumbling for the rungs while lying tummy down across the windowsill. He called directions up to her, silently praying as he did.
The thought of her lying on the ground, injured and in pain, racked him.
Once she had both feet on the ladder and slithered out of the window, he could breathe again.
As soon as she reached the ground, she dashed toward her kitchen door, throwing a hasty “Thank you,” as she went. Headed straight for the washroom, if his guess was correct.
“Mind if I go upstairs to see what the problem is?” he called after her.
“Do what you want. But forget getting in through the door. You’ll have to use the ladder, too.” Her usual defensiveness vanished as fast as she did.
While she did whatever she needed to do so urgently, he climbed the ladder and did his own awkward move, tumbling head first into the room. Being here gave him the chance to assess the issue with the door before Claire came back and told him she didn’t need or want his help and advice.
New oak floorboards. And a door that only opened a couple of inches before sticking.
Laughter or saying “told you so” would be unkind. Still, he truly did long to laugh. Or to say “told you so”.
A rattle on the ladder behind him alerted him of Claire’s return. He swung around to help her a little too late. She’d already nosedived through the open window, and then waved away the hand he reached out to get her back on her feet. “I can manage.”
Typical Claire.
“Nice flooring,” he said as she dusted herself off. “You did a good job, especially for a first-timer. Shame about the door. When you’re laying any flooring, it’s best not to forget it.” So he didn’t quite resist the “told you so”, after all.
Huffing, she glared. “I didn’t forget the door. I knew there could be problems because the new boards are thicker than what was here before. So I tested it with the board closest to the door before I started to put them down. The door swung right over it, no sign of sticking. I don’t know why there’s a problem.”
“It happens. You need to do it in a few places, not only at the doorsill. The floors and door jambs in older houses are rarely straight or level.” He pulled the door open as far as it would go again, careful not to force it and damage her new floorboards. “Nope. No way to get at the hinges now. That’s why it’s best to take the door off its hinges first then rehang it once the floor’s done. Doors often need a little taken off the lower edge.”
She loosed a long sigh. “Okay, I won’t argue with you. All I know about laying flooring is from the internet and the instruction leaflet that came with the wood.” Then, unexpectedly, she grinned. “As long as you realize I really do want to argue.”
He chuckled. By now, he should know to expect the unexpected with Claire. “Noted. Your self-control is truly admirable.”
“I wish.” One small but capable hand indicated the boards causing the trouble. “So, what now? Is the only way to fix it pulling up these boards so the door can be opened?”
“’Fraid so. I could try knocking out the pins holding the hinges together, but then you’ll need new hinges. If we lift the boards carefully, you’ll be able to reuse them once the door is adjusted.”
For a change, Claire didn’t argue his “we” and didn’t insist she could do it herself. Had to rank as a miracle. Or as first time for everything.
And he prayed it wouldn’t be the last time.
Claire didn’t know why she let Ryan stay. Far more sensible simply to thank him for the loan of his ladder and then insist he go back to his firewood while she sorted out the problem herself.
She’d been too distracted to stop and tell him no when he’d asked permission, but she didn’t have that excuse when she climbed back up the ladder to her spare room, like Rapunzel in reverse.
Instead, she let him fetch the tools he’d need. Let him lift the floorboards she’d so painstakingly cut and nailed down. Then picked at a hangnail while he unscrewed the door.
Standing by while someone else did work she wanted to be able to do for herself was not her style. So, what was she doing leaning against the wall, unable to drag her gaze from the play of muscles in his forearms as he rhythmically planed the excess timber from the door’s lower edge?
And she had to admit the truth. Fascinated by Ryan himself, not just a skilled carpenter at work. Good thing she had the wall to lean on because her knees were now more than a little wobbly.
Plaid shirts with rolled up sleeves should be illegal for guys with work-honed muscles like his. Especially when the muscles belonged to such a wonderful guy.
Whoa! Stop that thought right there!
This meant nothing. Just the killer combination of admiring his forearms, and misbehaving hormones that apparently hadn’t read the forget-having-babies memo. Her pesky biological clock reminded her far too often that she’d passed thirty and her time to have children was running out. Why couldn’t her body realize she’d already missed that particular boat?
Anyway this crazy tangle of emotions she didn’t want to feel for him couldn’t possibly mean more. No matter what it was, she fully intended to ignore it.
Even though Ryan Connor had to be the kindest, most levelheaded, most giving man she’d ever known. Everyone in Sunset Point loved Ryan, for good reason. He could be her Mr. Right, if only she wasn’t so completely his Ms. Wrong.
With an effort, she forced herself to ignore his forearms.
Ignore all his qualities, too.
And her unwanted thoughts.
No matter how many good reasons she had to admire him, anything more than some banter was not going to happen. No matter how deep down, she ached for the kind of care Ryan offered to give her. No matter how many times she’d longed just to sit quietly together, with his arms wrapped around her while they sipped hot chocolate and watched TV, the way she had with Karl.
Guilt twanged painfully at even admitting such disloyal thoughts. No one could replace Karl. Her marriage vows meant staying faithful to him for however long they both lived, and she had. Now he was gone, he wouldn’t mind her marrying someone else. She knew that.
Trouble was, knowing that didn’t make her the right woman for Ryan. Nothing could.
Instead of t
he way the muscles shifted under the tanned skin of his arms as he bent to his task, she focused on the wood shavings curling in front of the metal blade and the tang of cedar rising from the cut timber.
A chance to learn from a real craftsman. Focus on that, not on him.
Easy to see why he preferred working the slow way with traditional hand tools rather than power tools. More control.
Watching him work, she’d even consider getting rid of the noisy dust-producing modern devices she’d been so proud to teach herself to use. Maybe she should learn how to work wood the old-fashioned way. Ryan would probably gladly give her lessons if she asked him.
Her attempt at distracting herself hadn’t lasted long. Here she was, right back to thinking of him again.
And not just thinking. Fantasizing.
Wondering what it would be like to have him teach her how to use that plane, his arms around her, his strong hands on hers as he guided her in getting just the right touch to shape the cedar or oak how she wanted.
Her silly daydream still heated her cheeks when he set aside the plane, ran his fingertips along the edge he’d smoothed, looked up, and smiled.
His slow, sweet, heart-thumping smile should be illegal, too.
She rushed into speech. “Thank you. Enough gone to let it open over the new flooring now?”
“Should be. I’ll rehang the door. Then all that’s needed is simply to put your floorboards back in place to test it. All the floorboards, not just one. And without nailing them down.”
She rolled her eyes at his obvious statement. “I’d already figured that.”
Once the door was in place, she’d make sure he left. The only blessing here was that he couldn’t possibly guess what she’d been thinking.
She hoped.
Because once again her mind had filled with happy-ever-after dreams she shouldn’t dream about any man. And especially not Ryan. Not when she knew how much he longed for a loving wife and a houseful of kids.
Letting herself fall for him when she’d never be what he wanted made no sense. No good for her or for him. Unlike Rapunzel, this particular fairy tale had no chance of a happy ending.
And the sooner she forgot hoping for anything different the better.
Chapter 7
Arriving extra early at the schoolroom to set up for church on Sunday morning, Claire turned up the thermostat, pulled out her smartphone, and clicked through to the Sunset Point Facebook page to double check who she’d be working with today.
Her name on the volunteer roster, as expected.
With Ryan? When she checked a couple of weeks ago, surely it had been his mom, Jeannie, down to help?
Not Ryan, the last person she wanted to work alongside today, so soon after having to accept his help yesterday. Thankfully, no one was around to hear her groan.
This totally messed with her plan. It should have been perfect. Get here early, clear the path of snow, fix the room up, and then escape to the library. A space barely big enough to hold two adults and the Sunday school kids.
And now she’d be stuck in there with Ryan.
Shaking her head, Claire huffed. Everyone knew how much Jeannie wanted grandchildren. But if that prompted her to play at matchmaking, along with Brad and Maddie, she’d be disappointed.
Ridiculous as it seemed, Claire couldn’t help wondering if God was in on this crazy matchmaking thing, as well.
He hadn’t helped her last night, as she lay awake churning over this unwanted attraction to Ryan and all the reasons she shouldn’t hope he felt the same for her. Admitting that maybe, just maybe, what she felt might be more than out-of-control hormones. Praying her feelings for him would simply go away.
They hadn’t.
Lord, if You’re trying to push us together, too, I’m telling You now, it won’t work.
Will. Not. Happen.
So why mess me around this way? Please, wouldn’t just stopping me from falling for Ryan be so much easier?
No reply. Not surprising. She hadn’t really expected one.
Keeping on praying when all her prayers went unanswered felt more and more pointless. Just like her pesky hormones. Maybe she should simply stop, as if prayer was nothing more than a bad habit she needed to break.
Why keep bothering God, if He even listened at all? Save herself the disappointment.
She needed Jesus for her salvation, no denying it. But in the five years since the accident, five years of unanswered prayers, she should have learned that for everything else she’d do better managing on her own.
So she’d manage this on her own, too. Be polite, even cordial with Ryan in front of the kids. And keep well clear of anything liable to stir up other feelings.
Right. A new plan. Easy peasy. She could do this.
And seeing it was him and not his mom down to help, she'd let him shovel the snow from the path and salt the steps.
Time to get busy. She started stacking the kid-sized classroom chairs and pushing the desks up against the wall, to make room for the rows of bigger chairs.
Of course, Ryan was the next to arrive. And he looked better than ever in cord trousers and a soft denim-blue sweater. The warm glow brightening his eyes suggested he might have feelings for her, too. More than merely being his usual nice-guy self.
Just what she didn’t need.
Gritting her teeth, she fought down her instinctive surge of joy. This could be harder than she thought. If only she could close her eyes and click her heels together to make it all disappear.
“Hi, Claire. Mom suggested I should come help out today instead of her, seeing so much snow fell last night and there’s so much furniture to move.” His smile held a hint of mischief. “After all, I had that practice rearranging pint-sized chairs and tables with the tree.”
She rolled her eyes at that, pinned on a chirpy smile, and waved toward The Monster. “As you can see, it’s still here. Thanks for offering to help today.”
Saccharine sweet, the words left a bitter taste in her mouth. Who was she trying to kid? Ryan, God, or herself?
He grinned as he studied the tree. “The kids did a great job decorating it.”
His response suggested he had no idea how much she longed to avoid him. Good. She did not want him guessing how she felt. Or how much she struggled to stop feeling it.
“Yes, and they had so much of it to decorate.” Her usual snark colored her voice. Better not be too sticky sweet, or Ryan might wonder why.
That earned her a chuckle. “How’s your door? Still opening okay?”
“It’s fine, thanks.”
“Great.” He smiled, that gorgeous eye-crinkling smile that melted her every time. “If you find it starts sticking again, just let me know. Sometimes it happens after a bit. I’ll be happy to plane a bit more off it for you.”
She nodded. That wasn’t the same as lying, which she’d be doing if she said yes.
If the door stuck again, it would have to stay stuck.
“I hope you would let me know.” He raised one brow and eyed her.
So, her nod hadn’t fooled him.
“Uh-huh.” She rushed into falsely bright speech. “So, for the kids in Sunday school today, I’d planned rehearsals for the Nativity. Talk them through the original story again, make a few props to replace the ones that didn’t survive a year out with the spiders in my barn, and practice any parts they’re having problems with. I have a big red box with what we’ll need in the supply room, ready to go.”
“Sounds good.” He glanced around the room. “I’ll get on with the setting up. And just ask when you want me to carry that box to the library for you.”
She lifted her chin. “I can manage it on my own.”
Unoffendable as always, he simply nodded. “Yep, I’m sure you can. But why do it yourself when you don’t have to?”
Because letting him look after her would be nice, but another bad habit. One she needed to stop before it started. Not fair of her to encourage Ryan in any way.
Of c
ourse, she couldn’t tell him that. She shrugged and turned his question back at him. “Why let you do it for me when I can do it myself?”
“Because we’re both down on the list to set up this morning, that’s why. We could keep going around in circles like this all day. If you want to be stubborn and independent, it’s up to you. You almost deserve to be the one to go out in the cold to clear the path. But because I’m a nice guy, I’ll do it.” He laughed, and walked away.
That job would keep him out of the room for a while. And other folk would get here soon. Able to breathe again, she continued moving chairs. Ryan’s voice sounding from outside alerted her to the first arrival. Phew. No chance of time alone with him now.
Beaming, Jeannie hurried into the room and hugged her. “I’m so glad I caught you on your own, Claire, before anyone else got here. Perfect timing while Ryan is outside salting the steps.” A sparkle in the older woman’s eyes confirmed her suspicion.
Jeannie was in on the matchmaking, too. No wonder it felt like she was the one being set up, not the classroom.
Eyes scrunched shut, Claire returned the hug. She liked the older woman, really she did, despite what she, Brad, and Maddie were up to. They had no way to know the truth — she would never produce the grandbabies Jeannie made no secret of wanting. It wasn’t his mother’s fault she couldn’t possibly be the wife Ryan deserved.
“I want to ask you about Christmas.” Jeannie’s warm smile looked so much like Ryan’s it almost hurt. “Maddie told me you’re not going home to your family this year. I’d love for you to join us for lunch.”
Well, at least she wasn’t kept waiting long to discover what Jeannie had planned. But she wished Mrs. Parks hadn’t turned down Christmas lunch at her house, so she had a good excuse to refuse the invitation.
“It’s very kind of you to ask, but—”
“Please, do say yes. Ryan will take this first Christmas without his dad particularly hard, I know. I’m hoping having someone else with us will help us get through the holidays easier.” Jeannie lowered her voice for the last couple of sentences, clearly not wanting her son to walk back in the room and overhear.
Come to the Lake Page 29
