The Widow's Protector

by Rachel Lee

  She sighed, rubbing the chicken with olive oil and seasonings after rinsing it. Good thing she had a propane stove, because the power seemed to be out, too. She had better get out a couple of oil lamps before the day got any darker.

  They were in the pantry, and while she was in there getting them, she found a package of wild rice a friend had given her before they had moved out here, and she decided that now was as good a time as any to make it. Jeff hadn’t liked it, and she’d never felt right about making it just for herself.

  So Ryder provided an excuse to go all-out on a meal for the first time in a long while. Cooking for one and eating all by herself rarely inspired her to get fancy.

  A loud crack of thunder startled her and the baby kicked in response. “It’s all right,” she murmured, rubbing her belly gently. How she longed for the day she’d actually be able to hold her daughter in her arms.

  She lit the two lamps, heard the shower running upstairs and smiled at how suddenly and unexpectedly this place felt homey. While the elements raged outside, she was cozy in her house, saved by a total stranger, and she was going to have company for dinner.

  She decided that for tonight she wasn’t going to worry about how she would manage to fix her roof. Wasn’t going to worry about anything.

  As she had learned all too well, life brought contentment only rarely.

  * * *

  The power was out, the shower had been lukewarm at best, but Ryder felt considerably refreshed as he headed back downstairs in a fresh flannel shirt and dry jeans. His walking boots were sodden, so he’d switched to a pair of joggers, which made his feet feel suddenly light.

  He found Marti in the kitchen. The first sizzling of a roasting chicken filled the air with its aromas, and she was perking a pot of coffee on the stove top.

  “Thanks for the shower,” he said. “I needed it.”

  She turned from the stove. “Thanks for covering my roof. It needed it.” Then she smiled. The expression was unexpected, warm and genuine. In fact, it almost stole his breath. He felt a little icicle in his heart crack.

  “Um…” He had to hunt for words as he drank in that smile. “I need to check your attic for leaks. How do I get there?”

  “There’s a drop-down ladder in the hall at the end away from the guest room.” She paused to rummage in a drawer, then handed him a big flashlight. “You’ll need this. You probably noticed the electricity is out.”

  “I did. I’m afraid I used whatever was left of your hot water.”

  She shrugged. “That’s okay. As long as there’s lightning I wouldn’t get in the shower anyway. And without power, we’ll just be using cold water regardless.”

  “True.” He took the flashlight and smiled. “Whatever you’re making sure smells good. I shouldn’t be gone long unless I find a problem.”

  “Thank you so much for everything.”

  “My pleasure. It’s not like I’ve done all that much.”

  And he really didn’t feel as if he had, he thought as he climbed the stairs again. Putting up a few tarps had probably done him as much good as it had her.

  The springs on the attic stairs squealed their thirst for some oiling as he dropped them and locked them into place. Well, that would be easy enough to fix, he thought. A can of oil and about thirty seconds. He’d take care of that, too.

  The ladder was sturdy despite its age. He climbed up and then crawled out onto some plywood that had been laid over the rafters to protect the ceiling underneath. He crawled along until he ran out of plywood, seeing that nothing was wet, then reached the area were he had tarped the roof. Everything was damp, but he expected that. He didn’t see any fresh puddling, and a scan of the tarps overhead didn’t expose any water drips. He waited a few minutes, listening to the steady rain drum. It seemed to be okay, but he’d have to check again later. He’d be surprised if there wasn’t at least one leaky patch in tarps this old.

  But as usual, now that he was looking around, he saw other things that needed doing. There were places where the roof decking looked as if it was starting to pull loose as wood dried and stopped holding the nails. Screws and some glue would be better.

  Then he caught himself. Not his house, not his problem. So why the heck was he making a mental checklist?

  Maybe because he knew somewhere deep inside he was going to try to help this lady out. He had the time. He had the know-how. He even had the money.

  And the thought of leaving her in a tumbling down house in her state sorely troubled him.

  * * *

  When he rejoined her in the kitchen, the aromas were enough to make his stomach growl. Marti had a saucepan simmering on the stove now also, and she stood at the counter cutting fresh broccoli.

  She turned, wiping her hands on a bib apron. “Coffee?”

  “I’d love some. Just tell me where the cups are.”

  She pointed to a cabinet and let him serve himself as she resumed slicing the broccoli. “I hope you like wild rice and broccoli.”

  “I love both.”

  She flashed him a smile then went back to work as he sat at the table with his coffee. “How was it up there?”

  “Dry so far. Well, dry considering the rain that got in before I could put up the tarps. I’ll check again later for leaks.” He paused as another thought occurred to him. “I don’t know how things work out here. Do you get city water? Or are you on a well?”

  “On a well. There’s a backup generator for the pump, but that’s about all it runs. As long as it holds we won’t be without water. Why?”

  “Just curious. It struck me you might be on a well out here, but we still had running water.”

  “My in-laws did something right,” she remarked, leaving him to wonder how much they had done wrong. “I’m glad it kicked on, though. I don’t know much about it at all. We only needed it once before, and Jeff took care of it.”

  Jeff, he supposed, was her late husband. “I’ll check it out tonight, too. Make sure it’s not running out of gas.”

  “Thank you. I honestly don’t know. We have some five-gallon gasoline cans in the pump house, but I don’t even know where to fill the generator. I’m just glad it kicked on the way it’s supposed to.”

  A babe in the woods, he thought. Out here in the middle of nowhere, all by herself, and knowing next to nothing about this place. Maybe he could remedy a little of that before he left.

  “How long have you been here?” he asked.

  “Just six months. It was winter when we got here. I’d just found out I was pregnant.”

  “I’m sorry about your husband.”

  “This is going to sound terrible,” she said, turning her back as she gave her attention to her cooking, “but I’m not.”

  That left him utterly flat-footed. He hadn’t the least idea how to respond to that. He watched her stir a pot, seeking some appropriate response.

  With her butcher knife, she swept the broccoli from the cutting board into another saucepan, added a little water, then started washing her tools. The silence would have seemed deafening except for the endless spattering of rain against the darkening windows.

  Finally she joined him at the big old farm table with coffee of her own.

  “I told you it would sound awful,” she remarked, holding her mug in both hands. “I’m sorry he died, but I’m not sorry he’s gone, if you get the difference.”

  “I get it.” He did, but as his thoughts trailed back to Brandy, he realized that, although he didn’t miss the constant daily struggle with her depression, he still missed her. There was a difference, but he suspected the difference Marti was talking about wasn’t the same as his.

  “I don’t miss him,” she said. “I thought I would, but I don’t.”

  “What happened?”

  “When?” Her short laugh held
an edge. “He was an alcoholic. When he drank, especially when he drank, he was verbally abusive. Then he lost his job because of it and couldn’t get a good enough recommendation to find another. That’s when he decided we’d move out here. He’d inherited the house from his parents a couple of years ago, and he was sure we’d be fine. The land was leased every year and he figured we could live on those leases if we were careful. It also prevented him from having to find another job.”

  “Which was difficult.”

  “The times are hard. Being an alcoholic makes them harder.”

  “I imagine it would.”

  “So we came out here right about the time I realized I was pregnant. I hoped things would get better. I should have known they wouldn’t. Not having to sober up to get to work in the morning didn’t help. I thought maybe taking the pressure off him might make a difference, but it didn’t. If anything, he got worse. Then three months ago he was driving drunk on an icy road.” She shook her head. “I may be lonely, but somehow I don’t feel as lonely as I did when he was still around.”

  Before he could react, she seemed to catch herself, giving a quick shake of her head. “Sorry, you didn’t need to know all that. I guess it’s too easy to talk to a stranger.”

  “That’s okay.” He suspected she hadn’t talked to anyone about any of this in a long time, if ever. Sometimes you just needed to say things out loud, which was the whole reason he was headed west to see his brother-

  in-law. To tell Ben the whole story. To get it off his chest with someone else who was grieving. He gathered she didn’t have anyone close at all, so why not talk to a stranger? “You’ve had a rough time of it.”

  “Others have it worse. I’ve still got a roof, thanks to you. The rest I can deal with.”

  “Well, you don’t actually have a roof,” he reminded her. Then he asked, hesitantly, “Are you in any financial shape to have it repaired?”

  “No,” she admitted. “I’ll figure out something somehow. Right now, after looking at the hay fields, I’m wondering if the people we leased the land to will be able to pay up at the end of the season.”

  Implied in what she said was that she might be completely broke in a few months.

  “I can’t do anything about the fields,” he said slowly, as feelings warred within him. Part of him was demanding he at least put this woman on a safe footing before he left, and another part of him was demanding he get back on the road before he got tangled up in problems with a size he didn’t know. That could be a recipe for a mess for both of them.

  But then he made the offer anyway. “I can fix your roof.”

  “No! Oh no,” she said, looking horrified. “I couldn’t pay you. I can’t buy the materials. But thank you.”

  He shook his head, wondering if he were losing his mind. Then he remembered how good he’d felt only a few hours ago on her roof, working with his hands again.

  “Money isn’t an issue for me,” he said flatly. “I sold my construction business two months ago. I like working with my hands. In fact, right now I think I need to work with my hands. All I need is a few hot meals and a place to sleep, and I can take care of the roof and maybe a few other things.”

  “I couldn’t ask that.” She looked genuinely distressed.

  “You’re not asking, I’m offering. I’m telling you, Marti, it’s been a long time since I felt as good as I did pounding those nails today to put those tarps up. So humor me. Call it my therapy.”

  “What do you need therapy for?”

  “My wife killed herself eight months ago.” That was the first time he’d said it that bluntly, and he watched as Marti clapped a hand to her mouth, her blue eyes widening.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered behind her hand.

  “Me, too. She suffered from chronic depression. All the docs, all the meds, all the psychiatrists…” He paused. “She finally seemed to be getting better. I came home from work and there she was.”

  “I can’t imagine,” she said, her voice thin. She dropped her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  “So am I. I’ll probably spend the rest of my life wondering how the hell I failed her. But that’s neither here nor there. I have to live with it. But fixing your roof would make me feel better about something. Is that too much to ask?”

  She stared down at her coffee mug for a long time. He felt the endless minutes tick by.

  Finally she looked up at him, her blue eyes damp. “Who’s asking whom?” she asked.

  “Does it matter? We both have needs, and they seem to mesh. Your roof in exchange for a few days of labor that’ll make me feel better. Fair trade?”

  At last she nodded. “Fair enough.”

  Then he forced a smile. “Look out, lady. Construction is my business and my life. I’m going to take over.”

  At that a fragile smile appeared on her lips. “Have at it,” she said. “But only as much as makes you feel good.”

  * * *

  Dinner felt like a feast after the way she’d been cooking for herself, although it was nothing really special: roast chicken, seasoned wild rice and buttered broccoli.

  She insisted on doing the dishes by herself, even though leaning over the sink now made her back ache a little. Keeping active was getting harder and harder for her as her pregnancy progressed and she had so little she needed to do, living by herself. Yet she knew staying active was essential. She put two kettles on the stove to heat some water for washing and rinsing the dishes, then set to work.

  Ryder took the flashlight and headed up to the attic again.

  Night had closed in on them. Rain still rattled at the window over the sink, and sometimes she heard the house creak a bit as the wind gusted.

  Ryder was going to stay to fix her roof. Amazed that a stranger would make such an offer, her thoughts kept coming back to him. He was a good-looking man, with dark hair and gray eyes and a body that boasted of hard work.

  But that was not what impressed her the most. Picking him up to bring him to shelter from the tornado was a small thing, something she would have done for anyone. It cost her nothing but a few seconds of time.

  But what he was offering astonished her. To pay for materials and do all that labor in exchange for a bed and some meals? That told her more about him than anything he could have said.

  He saw someone in need and stepped up. Not everyone would do that. On the one hand she felt almost guilty for letting him, but on the other she had to admit she needed it, and she hadn’t even asked for it.

  Wouldn’t have dreamed of asking for it.

  She almost wanted to cry as she stood there doing dishes. His generosity made her acutely aware of how little generosity she had known since her marriage to Jeff. How little he had taken care of her or cared about her. It was as if Jeff’s failures had left an aching hole in her heart, one so big that the kindness of a stranger was almost painful.

  She blinked back an unwanted tear, sighed, and kept on washing and scrubbing. Life was what it was. She certainly ought to know that by now. She had plenty of experience of it not being what she wanted, after all.

  Except for the baby. Linda Marie was an unexpected blessing, one she looked forward to with the only joy she had felt in a long, long time. Jeff hadn’t been happy about it, but at least he hadn’t given her hell about being pregnant. Of course, that could have changed with time. She’d only just begun to start showing, really showing, about the time he died. For all she knew, he’d been in denial about the baby.

  Wouldn’t that have been just like him? He’d been in denial about everything. Every single thing from his drinking to the reasons he could no longer find work.

  Yes, she was sorry he was dead, but she didn’t really miss him at all.

  It was an ugly thought, but it was a truth that had burrowed deep into her heart and mind over the past few mont
hs. These days she couldn’t even remember if there had ever been any good times with Jeff. Maybe at the beginning. There must have been some back then.

  But she couldn’t remember them. They were layered over with five years of ugliness, and as far as she was concerned they could stay buried.

  She had a different future now, a future that included a new daughter. She needed to keep her attention on that, not the past.

  She was wiping the last plate with a towel when she thought of Ryder again. Imagine coming home to find your wife had killed herself. How could you live with that? His words about depression and doctors and medicines indicated that she’d had good care, but evidently it hadn’t been enough.

  Drying her hands, she thought about that and intuited that at some very deep level, no matter what you had done to try to care for someone, if they committed suicide then you were bound to feel you had failed in some essential way.

  No wonder he wanted to pound nails and work on her roof. With demons like that, what other outlet could there be?

  She heard him come down the stairs, then he appeared in the kitchen door. She noticed again how attractive he was but pushed the thought away. Now was not the time, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever want to become involved with a man again anyway.

  “One small, slow leak,” he said. “I’ll need the biggest pot or bucket you have to make sure it doesn’t do any ceiling damage overnight. Other than that, we should be good for now. I’ll check again at bedtime to be certain.”

  She gave him the five-gallon bucket she used for mopping and watched him disappear once again.

  The night yawned before her, and she wondered how they would spend the time. No TV, no power. They could talk, become a little better acquainted, but that prospect frightened her a bit.

  Did she really want to know him better? What if she started to really like him?

  Not that it would matter, she told herself. He’d be leaving as soon as he had fixed the roof. He had said so.

  He wouldn’t want to spend any more time in this godforsaken place than he had to. She wasn’t sure she would if she had a choice.