by Rachel Lee
She nodded. “From his parents. Well, his dad, actually. They were older when they had him, a very late baby. I guess over the last decade or so of their lives they couldn’t keep up with a lot of things. And it never occurred to Jeff to come out here and help them. He hated it out here.”
“He hated it but he moved here?”
“It was free.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. So the neglect is benign and he never tried to fix any of it.”
“Not a thing. As long as it worked at all, it was okay.”
“But his parents must have cared. I mean, there’s the generator, for one thing. A good generator. And the storm shelter. If tornadoes are so rare, why did they have one?”
“Jeff said it used to be a root cellar. Some years ago there was a tornado and his dad decided to convert it.”
“So he inherited the house but no money?”
Marti felt her heart stutter. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “But if he did…” She hesitated. “That does seem odd, doesn’t it? They must have been living on something.”
“Social Security might have been enough if they owned the place free and clear.”
“True,” she agreed. But when she thought about it, and thought of some other things, she wasn’t so sure. “Water under the bridge,” she said finally, deciding that trying to think about what Jeff might have concealed from her would only upset her.
“Good attitude,” he agreed. “I doubt there could have been a lot of money anyway. Given the shape of the barn roof and other things. Or maybe they just didn’t care, knowing Jeff never wanted to come back.”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you don’t. Sorry I brought it up. I’m just looking at things like this table here and thinking what I could do with a little wood glue and maybe some dowels. How much I could restore. My mind runs that way,” he added almost apologetically.
“That’s okay.”
He flashed a grin. “So do I have permission to putter freely?”
She waved a hand. “Help yourself. There’s not much I can do about it right now.”
“Thanks. Oh, by the way, I moved the food from the ice chest into the fridge. It’s cold enough now.”
Little acts of caring. They seemed so huge to her right now that she felt her throat tighten. “Thanks,” she managed, hearing the thickening of her own voice.
He astonished her by rising and coming to perch on the edge of her hassock. Reaching out, he took one of her hands and rubbed it gently. “You’ve been through a rough time,” he said.
“So have you,” she pointed out.
“True. But just let me do what I do best and we’ll both have less to worry about.”
But what did he do best? she wondered. Was he replacing Brandy with her? Taking care of another woman to ease his heart about the one he hadn’t been able to do enough for?
Maybe. She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, that she needed the help and he needed to give it. But truthfully, somewhere deep inside, she didn’t want to be some other woman’s replacement.
Just once in her life she wanted to feel good enough in and of herself. She wondered if she ever would.
* * *
Ryder sat there holding her hand, watching emotions flicker across her face, unreadable but suggesting some kind of sorrow. Well, yeah, he thought. This woman had her own bucketload of sorrows. He hoped he wasn’t adding to them.
She couldn’t possibly imagine how good it felt to him to have his efforts appreciated, even little ones like moving stuff from an ice chest to a refrigerator. For years now, most of that had zipped right past Brandy’s awareness, she had been so lost in her own pain.
He was itching to fix the wobbly table but knew he couldn’t do a decent job in the dim light and without some glue and dowels. At least it was stable enough to hold the oil lamp, but he found himself wondering about other places in the house. Oil lamps could be dangerous.
“Maybe we should use flashlights upstairs,” he said, squeezing her hand before releasing it. “If other things are as wobbly as that table over there, the lamps are dangerous.”
“I wouldn’t want to carry one upstairs anyway. I wouldn’t risk it, those stairs are so steep. One misstep could be ugly.”
He nodded agreement. “It sure could. I watched you come down them earlier, and frankly it worried me.”
“I’ve learned to be careful.”
He was sure she had. After all, she’d grown into her current state and it was obvious to him already that she very much wanted this baby.
“I hope I get to meet Linda Marie,” he said before he thought it through. He watched emotions race across her face faster than he could read and wondered if he’d said the wrong thing. But he left it alone because it was true: he wanted to meet this baby someday.
She smiled finally. “I think you already met her.”
“True. And she kicked me. Maybe she doesn’t want to meet me.”
At that she laughed, and he felt himself respond to that beautiful sound. He wondered at himself, wondered if that was because Brandy had so infrequently laughed that the sound of a woman’s laughter struck him as beautiful and rare, or if it was the sound of this woman’s laughter that touched him so.
“You have a beautiful laugh,” he said honestly. “Does my heart good to hear it.”
He wasn’t sure in the dim lighting from the oil lamps, but he thought her cheeks reddened. She looked down, pressing her hands to her bulging tummy. “I haven’t laughed enough in a long time. I think it’s good for her to hear it, too.”
“Well, let’s work on keeping it up,” he suggested. The thing was, that laugh did more than tug at some of his heartstrings. It also wakened desires he hadn’t felt in a long time simply because Brandy hadn’t been interested in sex. Of course she hadn’t, being so depressed. He understood and felt a flicker of guilt that such thoughts should even cross his mind.
It made him feel disloyal to Brandy, yet Brandy was gone and he had no reason to feel disloyal any longer. In addition, he wondered if there was something wrong with him, being attracted to a pregnant woman. Then he wondered why that should be wrong.
Damn, he was messed up, questioning his every feeling in terms of right and wrong. But Brandy had taught him that, he realized. Every thought, every feeling, had to be measured against how they would make Brandy feel, yet worrying constantly about Brandy in that way in the end hadn’t helped her one bit. There were times when he’d been absolutely certain that nothing he said or did could begin to penetrate that wall of depression.
So maybe he should stop weighing everything with some invisible scale and just let his feelings flow. They couldn’t hurt Brandy anymore, and as long as he didn’t do something stupid, they wouldn’t hurt anyone else.
He realized he was staring at Marti’s belly. He dragged his gaze upward and saw that she had noticed. Something in her expression suggested that it worried her.
“Don’t know if anybody’s told you,” he said frankly, “but pregnancy sure looks good on a woman.”
Her hand fluttered to her cheek and her eyes widened. Okay, that had been too much, he supposed. He’d barely met the woman.
But she surprised him. “I haven’t been feeling very pretty,” she admitted, her voice muted. “I’ve been feeling ugly and fat.”
“There’s nothing fat about a baby bump,” he pointed out. “It’s natural, and a woman shouldn’t feel ugly when she’s doing something so important to the survival of the species.”
Her eyes widened again and another laugh slipped from her. “If your name wasn’t Kelstrom, I’d wonder if you’d kissed the Blarney stone.”
He laughed, too. “Sorry, no blarney, just fact. Brandy never wanted kids. In all honesty, that was probably for the best. I don’t think she
could have handled the added stress.”
Her smile faded. “What about you?”
“I wanted a family, back when. Then I realized it wouldn’t be good for her.” He shrugged.
She seized his hand, taking him by surprise yet again, and pressed it to her firm belly. “See? Linda Marie liked what you just said. And honestly, Ryder, has it occurred to you that you might be just a little too self-sacrificing?”
Him? Self-sacrificing? The idea made him uncomfortable. “Nah,” he said quickly. “You just do what you have to do.”
Her smile was soft. “Maybe that’s what makes you special.”
“If we’re going in that direction, maybe I could say the same about you.”
Their eyes met and locked, and for Ryder there was no mistaking the sizzle of sexual electricity that snapped between them. No mistaking the darkening of her eyes or the way her breath suddenly quickened.
Linda Marie decided to get into the act, too, kicking hard at his hand. Part of him thought it might be smart to yank his hand back to safety, but another part of him didn’t want to lose the moment of magical contact.
It was almost magical, lifting him out of the lonely place he’d lived in for so long, to a place where hopes and dreams weren’t lost in a sea of loss, medicines and pain.
Oh, damn, he’d better watch his step.
But the warning went unheeded as they continued to sit on, his hand pressed to her belly, her hand covering his, their eyes locked in astonishment as if they had both either wakened from sleep or had fallen into a dream.
He wanted the moment never to end.
* * *
Marti thought she could fall right into Ryder’s steady gaze. She could feel the zap of sexual electricity between them, so surprising in her life now. Hell, surprising after years of feeling as if that part of her might have died.
She liked it, didn’t want to let go of it, even though she knew it could amount to nothing. He was a man on a mission and would be gone in a few days. But not even that thought could quell the hunger.
God, she needed to feel desirable, needed to feel pretty and attractive. Needed to feel as if she were more than a chef and maid and something to be kicked around.
That gulf in her life had been bigger than she had honestly realized until this man had showed up and proved that Jeff wasn’t the epitome of the male gender.
A man could be helpful and caring. A man could find her beautiful. A man could want her.
God, it was a heady feeling. And although she felt a flutter of fear about it, that flutter couldn’t suppress years of repressed longings.
How was it possible that after little more than a day, Ryder could remind her of all the hopes and dreams that had been sacrificed on the altar of Jeff’s problems? How could Ryder, with just a few words, looks and touches, awaken a woman she thought long dead, the younger Marti who had cherished what had eventually seemed like unrealistic dreams about marriage, husbands and families?
That younger self was stirring now, and trying to push her to places that she had long since learned could be dangerous.
Not good. The warning sounded loud in her mind. Such feelings couldn’t be real, certainly not after such a short time.
She closed her eyes, shutting him out, and finally made herself stir. “I’m tired,” she murmured. “It’s bedtime for me.”
He immediately moved to help her up from her chair and get her a flashlight. She said good-night then headed for the stairs, feeling his gaze on her back every step of the way.
She was running, she realized. Running from hopes and dreams that scared her because they were so fragile.
But she kept right on climbing.
Chapter 5
His third morning at Marti’s, Ryder found the chainsaw, oiled and gassed it, then headed out to turn her splintered trees into firewood. It would have plenty of time to age before winter, and he hadn’t failed to note the woodstove in a corner of her living room. He wondered if it could heat the whole house, then realized he’d never find out. Hell, she probably doesn’t even know, given the things she’d said about her husband.
It was still early, the day bright and clear and clinging to the last of the night’s chill. Marti was up and about, so he wasn’t worried about disturbing her as he yanked the cord and started the saw.
The felled trees still astonished him. He understood the tensile strength of wood to his very bones, but he was looking at some big old cottonwoods that had simply shattered under the force of that storm.
Looking at them, he could only be amazed that Marti’s house had taken no more damage than it had.
Tornadoes created odd damage patterns, he’d heard, but he hadn’t imagined anything this odd. Looking out across the fields, he was still shocked by that sharply cut path of destruction. When he compared it to the randomness of the destruction right around her house, it was enough to boggle the mind.
He glanced up at the roof and wondered how much longer it would be before they could get to town. He was itching like mad to patch the damn thing before another rain came through.
He cut the first tree into lengths that would fit in the firebox of her stove but left them where they were. Once he had all the trees cut up, he would have to split and stack the wood.
He paused, realizing he’d just undertaken a job that could tie him up for a week or more. Inevitably that dragged his thoughts back to Ben who had been becoming increasingly impatient for his arrival in Fresno. The questions about exactly where he was had been growing, even though most of the time his answer had been “somewhere between” a couple of cities. He’d never been all that interested in pinpointing his location because it didn’t seem important. It was enough that he was heading for Fresno. And now Ben couldn’t even reach him because he had no cell phone signal at Marti’s.
But maybe he’d better tell Ben he was going to be late. He couldn’t leave Marti with this mess only half fixed, and Ben had already been waiting for weeks. He’d understand.
He was about to start on another tree when he heard the sound of an approaching engine. Letting go of the starter rope, he turned to see Micah pulling up in his official vehicle.
“I hope you have some good news,” he called out.
“Actually I do.” Micah strode across the yard to join him. “That’s more wood than Marti should need for the winter. Maybe she can sell some of it.”
“Let’s see how it stacks up. I have no idea what it takes to heat this place. Maybe you can tell me what she can safely sell when I know how many cords I have.”
Micah nodded. “Well, the good news is you can get to town. Phones and electricity are back on in Conard City, but it’s going to take longer to get it out here.”
“Then I’d better get going if I want to get roofing supplies and more gas.” He set the saw down.
Micah nodded again. “Early is better. I did get the lumberyard to put a hold on roofing stuff for you. I don’t know how long they’ll sit on it, though. Lots of folks in need, but talking about a widow lady with no one to help her…well…” Micah smiled faintly. “I think I had them put away enough.”
“Thanks.” Ryder was impressed. And he was beginning to like the sense of community around here. He brushed his hands on his jeans. “I should find out if Marti wants to come along.”
“Never knew a lady who didn’t like to get to town once in a while,” Micah opined. “You’re a contractor, right? So you know how to do all of this?”
“Yeah.”
“Then when you get done here, there’s probably a ton of folks around who could use your help. Give it a thought, will you?”
Micah touched the brim of his hat and headed back to his car. Ryder stood a moment, surprise holding him still. Help others after he finished here? Ben flitted across his mind again, a promise he ne
eded to keep.
But if others needed help, was he just going to walk away?
Not likely, he realized. Not likely at all.
* * *
Marti looked out the window in time to see Micah driving away and ran out onto the porch. Ryder rounded the corner just as she got outside.
“Damn,” she said. “I wanted to send his wife’s pot back with him.”
“We can do that soon. The roads are clear. Get on your town duds, lady. We’re going shopping for roofing materials and whatever else you need.”
He stepped up onto the porch beside her, and she smelled the musky scent of man and the pleasant smell of sawdust and fresh-cut wood around him on the clear, crisp air.
He not only smelled good, but he looked good, too, in his work boots, flannel shirt and jeans. Good enough to eat. Her cheeks heated and she turned quickly away. “It’ll take me a few minutes,” she said, hoping her voice sounded normal. “I don’t dress as fast as I used to.”
“Take all the time you need.”
But she didn’t want to take her time. She wanted to hurry. Going to town would be pleasant, and going to town with Ryder even better. Unfortunately, much as she wanted to hurry, she found herself stymied by what to wear. She wanted to look pretty, something she didn’t usually worry about, but when she looked in her closet she saw the same three maternity outfits that had been there from the time she’d purchased them. Other than that, all she had were a couple of pairs of jeans with a stretch panel and a few baggy old sweatshirts.
That had been enough when she was alone, but things had changed. Dolling up had suddenly become important.
Sheesh. She told herself not to be silly. They were just going to a lumberyard. But her purchases had been practical ones, designed for maximum wear at minimum price. Because she would only wear them for a few months, she hadn’t wasted money on something just because it was pretty.
Finally she scolded herself into not overdoing it and settled on her maternity jeans and one of the nicer tops. Nothing extravagant, but better than that raggedy old sweatshirt.
