So self-sufficient, in fact, that she’d never revealed whatever trauma had brought her to the online support group in the first place. Not that he blamed her. He hadn’t been able to broach what had caused his PTSD, either. Without talking about the event and bringing his feelings into the open, his therapist had warned, Ethan couldn’t expect to improve. But he hadn’t found anyone he trusted well enough with whom to share his inner turmoil. He wouldn’t put his family or the guys at the firehouse through the ordeal of his soul-baring—they’d all suffered enough. He’d hoped his daily face-to-face meetings with Eileen, whom he’d already considered a friend, would give him the courage to open up and express his pain and find some release.
Because he’d closed himself off from his family and his firefighting buddies, Eileen had been his only remaining friend, his one hope for an objective confidante, and now she was gone. But she had been more than a prospective sounding board. He had respected and cared for the old woman, and she’d seemed too vivacious not to have many more years ahead of her. Her unexpected death left another gaping hole in his life.
Caroline sat beside him on the running board and placed her hand on his arm. Her consoling touch was warm, her fingers long and delicate, her nails pale pink. The kind of hand he’d like to lace his fingers through and hang on tight.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
“Yeah, me, too.” He cleared his throat of the emotion lodged there, rose to his feet, slapped his cap against his thigh, and placed it on his head. “Well, I guess that’s that.”
She stood and crossed her arms. Cocking her head at an angle, she gazed up with those amazing blue eyes that had captivated him the first day he met her. He stuck his hands in his back pockets to keep from brushing the smear of dirt from the curve of her cheek.
“What do you mean, that’s that?” Caroline said.
“I’m no attorney, so, with Eileen gone, I don’t know how valid my lease is, but I doubt her family will want me here. They’ll probably either move in themselves or put the property on the market.”
“She didn’t have any family.”
“No one?”
Caroline shook her head. A blue-and-white bandanna held her luxuriant blond hair away from her face. She wore cut-off jeans, sneakers green with grass stains, and a cropped top that was streaked with cobwebs and dirt.
“So what are you doing here?” he asked.
“Getting the place ready.” She grimaced. “Such as it is. Eileen left me Blackberry Farm, so I’m your new landlady. That is, if you still want the place, after seeing the shape it’s in.”
He didn’t tell her that Eileen had given him prior warning of the cottage’s derelict state. One of the conditions of his lease was that he make repairs both on it and the other small house on the property. In return for his renovations, Eileen had kept his rent ridiculously low and thrown in two meals a day, because she’d known he was on a tight budget. His disability checks only went so far.
For now, Ethan was enjoying his time with Caroline so much, he wanted to extend it as long as possible, so he kept his knowledge of the property’s dilapidated condition to himself. “How about showing me around so I can make up my mind?”
He swung open the gate in the rickety picket fence, made a mental note to oil the protesting hinges, and motioned Caroline ahead of him.
Luck seemed to be working in his favor for a change—and it was about time. He’d thought when he left Tuttle’s Bed and Breakfast that he’d never see Caroline again, because she’d seemed so certain about her plans to head west. As sorry as he was about Eileen’s death, he hoped the old woman’s generous bequest would keep Caroline in the valley.
“Watch this first step,” she warned as she climbed to the porch. “It’s loose.”
He added securing the step to his mental list and followed Caroline across the sagging porch and through the entry door. The front room was spacious and sunny with dust motes dancing in the slanting light from the western windows. Paint peeled from the walls, the hardwood floors were stained and scuffed, and several of the windowpanes were cracked, but a glass jar filled with flowers stood on a windowsill, a cheerful splash of color in the otherwise dismal space. Caroline’s touch, he decided, an appropriate gesture from a woman who lit up a room just by walking into it.
“Seen enough?” Caroline asked, as if expecting him to turn and run for the door.
He was staying at Orchard Cottage. He’d made up his mind as soon as Caroline had announced that she was his new landlady, and he wasn’t ready for her to leave. “Might as well see it all.”
Ethan followed her into the only other room on the first floor. The kitchen at the back of the house was as large as the front room with the same tall windows and lots of light. Cracked linoleum covered the floor, and an ancient porcelain sink with attached drainboard stood on spindly legs beneath a window that overlooked a gnarled apple tree in the backyard. The electric range and refrigerator were twice his age. Here, too, the paint was peeling, but someone, apparently Caroline, had scrubbed the kitchen clean. More flowers stood in a jar on the counter, a welcoming sign.
Caroline cast him a skeptical glance. “Is this what you were expecting?”
From Eileen’s description, he’d expected worse. But he looked forward to working on the cottage. Staying busy helped keep his demons at bay, and he had a legion of demons, so the more work, the better.
“I’ve seen worse. Are the stairs safe?”
Caroline looked at him as if he’d lost his mind for even considering the place, then nodded and mounted the narrow stairs that led to the second floor. Through the residual odors of cleansers and dust, her wisteria fragrance trailed behind her, compelling him to follow her.
The stairs opened directly into one large room with tall double windows in both gables and a sloping ceiling. The closet was small, but sufficient for his needs.
“Where’s the bathroom?” he asked. “And please don’t tell me it’s out back.”
Caroline grinned and shook her head. “It’s under the stairs. Like the rest of the place, it’s fairly primitive.”
“The house’s structure seems sound. Nothing some paint and elbow grease won’t fix.”
“You are an optimist, aren’t you?”
He used to be, until Jerry’s death had shattered his positive outlook. Since then, Ethan had concentrated on getting through one day at a time. Now a sense of anticipation at updating the old cottage overtook him, and he experienced a twinge of his former optimism. Maybe the peaceful setting of the valley influenced his mood, but he guessed his rising spirits had more to do with the pretty woman beside him.
A woman who apparently was leaving town soon, he reminded himself, recalling their conversation on the porch after supper night before last. She’d announced today she would be his landlady, but she could fill that capacity long distance. He might find himself living in Orchard Cottage in isolation after all.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
He’d never been good at poker. His expression always gave him away, so Caroline must have read the disappointment on his face.
“Everything’s fine.” He flicked a wall light switch that illuminated a bare bulb in the ceiling fixture of the bedroom. “At least I have electricity.”
“Rand had the power turned on, so you’d have lights and running water. I think the well pump and holding tank are in the barn.”
“Rand is the lawyer who handled the lease?”
At least there were neighbors close by. He wouldn’t be totally alone. “Let’s check out the barn.”
“I only had time to clean in the house, so I haven’t had a good look in the barn, except to find the scythe. I have no idea what shape it’s in.”
The barn’s condition didn’t matter. The worse it was, the more work he’d have. And he’d need work, especially if he was to face his struggle here alone, without Eileen’s friendship and support or the delightful company of the new owner of Blackberry Farm.
* * *
CAROLINE STEPPED onto the back porch and surveyed the rear yard of Orchard Cottage. She hadn’t had time to knock down the weeds, except for the path her sneakers had trampled between the porch and the barn. Near the porch, a mockingbird trilled in an apple tree, heavy with green fruit, and bumblebees buzzed in the thick clover. The deserted chicken coop, overrun with honeysuckle, leaned at a precarious angle, and the red paint of the ancient barn had long since faded to a dusty rose.
“Wow,” Ethan spoke beside her.
“Pretty bad, isn’t it?”
A part of her wanted him to wash his hands of the place and head back to Baltimore or wherever he’d come from. His departure would cancel one of her obligations to Eileen. But another part recognized how nice it was to be around Ethan Garrison. She was ultra aware of the breadth of his shoulders, his killer smile—and the pain that lurked in his hazel eyes.
“Bad?” He shook his head. “It’s beautiful. Like stepping back in time.”
“Is that a polite way of saying ‘older than dirt’?”
“No, I mean it. The place is beautiful. Peaceful. Exactly what I need.”
Great. He liked it.
She didn’t know whether to feel frustrated or pleased. Maybe the barn would be the deal-breaker. She tromped ahead, crushing the sweet clover with each step, and tugged open the barn door.
Barn swallows took flight in the hayloft, and the scurrying of tiny feet in dark corners indicated the presence of mice. Sunlight poured through the open doorway, illuminating dust, cobwebs, and tall mounds of rusting farm implements and other assorted, unrecognizable junk.
“No one has lived at Orchard Cottage for years,” she explained. “Eileen used to rent the place to a family who managed the orchards, but for the last fifteen years, the Mauneys—they own the dairy farm next door—have taken care of the trees and harvested the crops.”
She’d have to check with Joe Mauney to see if he’d continue that arrangement. He’d told her at the funeral that he’d already picked up Eileen’s cow and placed it with his herd. The cow had to be milked twice daily, and there had been no one at Eileen’s to do it. He’d offered to buy the cow, another detail to attend to before Caroline could leave the valley.
Ethan, illuminated by a sunbeam like an actor in a spotlight, stood in the middle of the floor, looking as impressed as if he’d stepped into a castle instead of a rickety barn. He cast her a satisfied grin. “This is perfect.”
“For what? A set for a horror movie?”
He shook his head and excitement lit his hazel eyes with green flecks. “There’s ample room for my equipment, and, with the hayloft doors open, plenty of good light.”
“With the hayloft doors open, you’ll freeze come winter.”
“I can bundle up. Or buy a portable propane heater. Yes, this is definitely perfect for my studio.”
“You paint?” Eileen had said her new tenant was an artist, and Caroline tried to visualize Ethan with a delicate brush in his big, scarred hands, dabbing oil paints on a canvas. Her imagination failed her.
His grin broadened, crinkling the skin around his eyes and, for an instant, chasing away the pain that had hovered there. “The only painting I’ll attempt is renovating the cottage, like I promised Eileen.”
“But she said you’re an artist.”
“I’m a sculptor.”
“I see.”
But she didn’t. She couldn’t imagine him chipping away at a block of marble or molding a statue from clay. But she could picture him in fireman’s gear, rushing into a burning building to rescue its occupants. He projected the strength and calm of a go-to guy in times of trouble. Better for her if he’d been an aesthetic type instead of this paragon of masculinity. She had trouble thinking straight in his presence.
“There’s lots of room for my welding equipment here.” He pointed to an empty horse stall, then stuck his head into the old tack room. “And I can store scrap materials there.”
“You sculpt in metal?”
“I’m a beginner, but I’m learning. Maybe someday I’ll even sell something.”
“So you’ve given up firefighting?”
His grin faded, and the pain returned to his eyes. “I’m taking a year off to try my hand as an artist. But I’m planning to return to the Baltimore City Fire Department when the year’s up.”
So Ethan didn’t intend to settle in the valley. She breathed a sigh of relief. His stay was only temporary, and if she could find someone—maybe Mrs. Mauney—whom she could pay to feed him twice a day, once Caroline had located a loving foster family for Hannah, she could leave town with her obligations to Eileen fulfilled.
One major hurdle remained: breaking the news of her leaving to her mother. Caroline had made no secret of her intention to move west as soon as she could afford it, but Agnes had always brushed away her plans as if they were of no more importance than a bothersome fly. Her mother had never been skilled at facing reality, and Caroline’s actual departure would come as a shock, probably precipitating another of her mother’s frequent and infamous “spells,” for which the doctors could find no cause. But Caroline refused to let her mother blackmail her with hypochondria. She’d make certain Agnes had the help she needed to run the bed-and-breakfast, but Caroline had more than fulfilled her obligations to her parent. She was leaving the valley, no matter how hard her mother might object.
Her mind whirled with the list of tasks she’d have to accomplish before her departure, the first dealing with the attractive man who was nosing through the barn, apparently unconcerned about spiders, snakes or random sharp objects. She hoped he’d had a tetanus booster.
When Ethan had arrived, he’d expected Eileen to fulfill her part of the lease and provide two meals a day, so, in the short run, Caroline felt an obligation at least to see that he was fed.
I know you’ll do the right thing, dear, Eileen’s voice echoed in her memory.
Caroline took a deep breath and called to him above the racket of his explorations. “You can have dinner with Mother and me and stay at our place tonight. I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow, so I haven’t made any arrangements for meals at the farmhouse.”
He deserted the junk he’d been sifting through and returned to her side. He seemed to sense her reluctance, which was no surprise, since her heart hadn’t been in the offer.
“My furniture doesn’t arrive until tomorrow, but I have a sleeping bag in the truck, and I bought a few groceries in town. I’ll be fine here, but thanks for the offer.”
She experienced a strange mix of disappointment and relief. She had found herself enjoying his company, but knew that her mother would pitch a fit tonight when Caroline revealed her plans. Better that the house was empty of guests when the curtain rose on that drama, one that promised to be filled with histrionics, wailing, accusations and tears.
She strode out of the barn, and Ethan followed.
“When will I see you again?” he asked.
Whether she stayed in the valley until Blackberry Farm was sold or headed west in the near future, she’d have to move out of her mother’s house. If her mother followed her usual pattern when she didn’t get her way, Agnes would alternate between sulks and hysterics, making Caroline’s remaining time at home miserable. She’d start packing tonight and move into Eileen’s house in the morning. She could launch her final move from there.
And fulfill her obligation to provide Ethan’s meals until she could make other arrangements. “Come to the farmhouse for lunch tomorrow,” she said, “but make it a late one. One o’clock?”
The killer smile bathed her in a warm glow. “It’s a date.”
“Not a date,” she snapped, irritated at her rush of pleasure generated by his smile. She had to get her feelings under control. “I’m honoring Eileen’s wishes.”
“Sure.”
Undeterred by her irritation, he fell in step with her, walked her to her car and opened the door. A perfect gentleman. Why couldn’t he be a resistible lout?
“Tomorrow at one,” he said.
Feeling childish, bitchy and ashamed of herself for her curtness, she climbed in, started the engine, and turned the car around on the narrow dirt road. When she glimpsed Ethan in the rearview mirror, watching her departure, hands on his lean hips, his hazel eyes narrowed under the bill of his cap, she fought the impulse to bang her head against the steering wheel.
Of course he hadn’t considered lunch an actual date, dimwit. It was just a figure of speech. What was the matter with her? Too much change happening too fast, that’s what. She needed to sit down, take several deep breaths, make a list and get organized. And keep her distance from the charming Mr. Garrison.
Within minutes, she reached the farmhouse, parked and went inside to inventory Eileen’s pantry and refrigerator. If she had to feed her tenant until she made other arrangements, she’d need to pick up groceries when she moved from town tomorrow.
Her Kind of Cowboy Page 5
