by Rachel Lee
In fact, it had gotten so bad that he hadn’t even been able to talk to her on the phone. Ryder had been the one who called him and told him what was going on. Ryder had always been the one to take his calls.
The more he had thought about it, the more he had begun to believe that Ryder had made his sister a virtual prisoner, cutting off all her contact with the outside world. He wasn’t even sure he believed all Ryder’s claims over the past couple of years that Brandy was getting proper treatment.
He could have just made that up. It still galled Ben that Ryder had so often said, “She doesn’t want to talk on the phone.” Why would Brandy not want to talk to her own brother?
That had given birth to his suspicions, and he sometimes got angry with himself for not having investigated. He felt stupid for believing that Brandy was just sick and Ryder was taking care of her.
But if he’d been caring for her, Brandy would still be alive. Her death had been her last cry for help, and he knew it was directed at him.
She might as well have pointed the finger at Ryder and said, “He’s the one who turned my life into hell.”
He just wished he could find a way to make Ryder bleed out as slowly as Brandy had.
* * *
With all the upstairs windows and doors open, Marti and Ryder judged the air circulation to be good enough that she wouldn’t breathe too many fumes. He planted a floor fan in the doorway of the nursery, making sure the air flowed out the open windows.
Marti pulled on her oldest sweatshirt, but because she didn’t want to ruin one of her only two pairs of pregnancy jeans, she left her legs bare. The sweatshirt came down far enough to be as modest as a bathing suit, and Ryder thought it was cute.
In fact, he stole a few minutes to hug and kiss her, running his hands over her bare legs and making outrageous promises about what he was going to do to those legs later when he washed them. He left her almost giddy with laughter and excitement.
She learned a lot as she helped him with a level and a plumb line. He seemed appreciative of how well the house was built. “After all these years, you’d expect the floors and the ceiling to be off-square, but they’re not by much. That makes life easy.”
“Why?”
“Because it would drive you seriously nuts to walk into a room where the chair rail looked as if it was at an angle to the ceiling or floor.”
“I hadn’t even thought of that!”
“Well, now you don’t have to. The place isn’t exactly level, but it’s so close it won’t bug you.”
That seemed to please him greatly, and she supposed it would because he was a builder.
She held the plumb line while he leveled it, and then he let her snap it. She grinned when she saw the line of blue dust marking the wall. “That’s a brilliant invention.”
“It’s a godsend.”
He set her up on an old chair with a roller and a paint pan. “Don’t worry about crossing the line here and there. If it happens to vanish, I’ll just put another one up so I can line up the wallpaper. Have fun.”
She did. She could see fine paint splatters of mint green paint begin to decorate her legs as she ran the roller on the wall, but she didn’t care. After all, she had promises for what Ryder was going to do about that, and she didn’t want to miss them.
“Ryder?” she asked as the pleasant rhythm of work began to made her feel relaxed and easy.
“Yeah?”
“How do you go into the cabinetry business? Does someone hire you?”
“I open my own shop. With any luck I’ll find some place to put a few things on consignment that’ll draw other people to my door.”
“Can people still afford stuff like that?”
“Depends on how wealthy I want to be.”
“Meaning?”
“If I don’t put a ridiculously high price on my labor, most things would be affordable. More expensive than that stuff you buy from factories and put together yourself, but the quality would make up for it. The wood isn’t so far out of sight that I couldn’t be reasonable. Why?”
“I was just wondering. I know I’d never be able to afford anything that’s handmade, but I guess other people are better off. But would that mean you have to live in a city?” She asked the question dreading the answer. Damn, she knew he was leaving, so what did it matter where he went? Obviously he couldn’t stay around here. There weren’t enough wealthy people to need two hands to count them.
“I can live anywhere I want,” he said after a moment. “As long as I can cart pieces around in a truck and find a place in reasonable distance to show off my stuff.”
“That would be nice.”
“I want to have my cake and eat it, too,” he said lightly. Then, “Marti? What have you been thinking about doing after the baby comes?”
“Like I said, I can’t seem to focus on it. I know I can keep on leasing the land every year, so it’s not like I need to make a bundle.” Although she was still worrying about whether the leases would pay out in the fall after the crop damage from the tornado. Nor would she blame a guy if he said his crop was ruined and he just couldn’t afford to pay up.
“What did you use to do?”
“Jeff didn’t want me to work.”
“Ah. Before that?”
“I was going to junior college. I still hadn’t figured out exactly what I wanted to do, but I was leaning toward some kind of medical technician. Medicine always fascinated me. I was thinking I could get a job as a technician, then maybe go for a nursing degree.”
“But you never got that far.”
“Obviously not.” She sighed and put the roller in the pan, reaching back to rub her lower back.
Almost instantly, Ryder took over the task. “You need to lie down?”
“No, it’s okay.” As his thumbs found a particularly tense spot, she gave a little groan. “Right there. That’s it.”
“I could give you a head-to-foot back massage later.”
All at once the piercing longing for him returned and she wished she wasn’t covered in paint, that she could just seize his hand and drag him toward her bed.
Not right then but definitely later, she promised herself. She was going to get that massage and a whole lot more.
She was still smiling when they finished the painting.
* * *
By the time they started to lose the outside light, Ryder had put up the last of the wallpaper. She stood in the middle of the room, turning around and admiring it.
“It’s perfect! Oh, Ryder, I love it.”
“I’m glad,” he answered simply as he watched her smile and clasp her hands together with pleasure. It had been years since he’d brought a look of that much happiness to Brandy’s face.
But pleasing Brandy had never been simple. Marti, however, was terribly easy to delight. He felt a tightness in his chest as he considered all the little things she had done without during her time with Jeff and since his death. The kinds of things most people enjoyed, from painting a room to fixing a meal together.
Of course, it was not as if he and Brandy had done such things together, at least not since their first apartment and the early days of their marriage. Then the depression had moved in with them, a third party in the midst of what should have been a private duet.
That depression had been like a living monster, never far away, always ready to attack. A diamond necklace wouldn’t have given Brandy the joy that a simple paint and paper job had given Marti. Not that it was Brandy’s fault. Hell, no. If he’d ever blamed Brandy for her illness, he’d have left.
But he couldn’t deny how good it made him feel to have made Marti so happy with so little.
He kept his promise about washing the paint off her. After days of icy showers, the hot water felt good, almost as good as her
satiny, soapy skin as he washed her. It would have been easy to give in to the passion she stoked in him, passion hotter than a coal fire, but even as she began to make little sounds that told him she was feeling the same, he kept his common sense.
“You’re pregnant.” He chuckled, a statement of the very obvious. “No fooling around in the shower. Too dangerous.”
She pouted, but only for an instant. Only when he had her standing on the bath mat and had dried her off—taking his good sweet time about it as he retraced the hills and hollows that so appealed to him—did he climb back in and wash himself down.
Damn, the ache between his legs was heavy and sweet. He could hardly wait for later.
While she made dinner, he closed up the windows then started some desperately needed laundry for both of them. When he joined her in the kitchen, the night sky beyond the window had grown almost black, with a beautiful purple edging around the mountains. The clouds had not yet fulfilled their promise of rain, but they did a little while later, unloading a torrent. At least there was no thunder and lightning to torment Marti.
“I’ll get to the chair rails tomorrow,” he said while they ate. “Then we should be able to put together the furniture.”
She was sitting there nibbling at fish and mixed vegetables with an almost dreamy smile on her face.
“Marti? What are you thinking?”
“How much picking up a stranger in a storm has changed my life.”
“Oh.” He looked quickly down, unsure if that was good or bad. He still had to get to Fresno, he still had to put pieces of himself back together. He hoped he wasn’t going to be leaving pain in his wake. But maybe after Fresno…
He caught himself, stifling the thought. He’d found a lonely widow and he’d done a few things for her, things that made him feel better about himself. He couldn’t think of it as anything more. Not yet. Maybe never. Caring about someone, as he’d learned the hard way, could carry the harshest of prices.
When he looked up again, he found Marti’s expression had become an odd mixture he couldn’t quite read. Sorrow? Happiness? What?
“I’m glad I ran across you,” she said. “You might as well know it. It’s only been a short time and I know you’ll be leaving soon, but you probably have no idea how much you’ve changed me.”
“How?”
She shrugged and hesitated. “It’s hard to explain. Before you came I was living in my little isolated outpost. I didn’t want friends, I didn’t want anything except Linda Marie. I’d pulled into a shell because of Jeff. I just hadn’t realized how far I’d withdrawn. Anyway, I don’t feel like I did the day before you arrived. I don’t feel alone, I know some of my neighbors, I feel as if—as if I have value. As if I matter.”
“You do matter.” God, his chest was tightening with a mix of feelings he didn’t even want to try to sort out.
“You helped me in more ways than you can possibly imagine, Ryder. When you leave, I’m going to build a life again. I’m not afraid of it anymore, just because you made me feel as if I’m not worthless. I’ll never be able to thank you for that.”
A smile began to stretch his face even as another icicle in his heart snapped and melted. “You helped me, too,” he said when he could find voice. “You reminded me that I can actually make someone feel good.”
“Oh, wow,” she said, then rose from her seat and came around the table. He shoved back so that she could perch on his lap and he could wrap his arms around her.
“I’m kinda glad there was a tornado,” he admitted before pressing his face to the warm, fragrant hollow between her neck and shoulder.
She lifted a hand to run her fingers through his hair. “Me, too. Just don’t let the neighbors know.”
He laughed and kissed her and suddenly wished like hell that he didn’t have to go to Fresno. He’d made a promise, though, and he didn’t break his promises. Besides, Ben was like a huge loose end hanging out there. Even if they never spoke again after his visit, it was important for both of them to clear the air. Brandy had loved her brother, and he owed it to her to give Ben as much peace of mind as he could.
But God, suicide was hard on the heart and mind. It created a whole extra layer of guilt and regret. Maybe less for Ben, because he hadn’t been able to do much from across a continent, but it had sure scarred Ryder.
Thinking of those scars caused him to ease Marti off his lap, though he would have loved to keep her there. He had little enough to offer anyone right now, and although the time with her had gone a long way to making him feel better about himself, it hadn’t cured the essential ill: Brandy was dead and now he could never answer the most basic question, had he done enough?
Maybe he would always wonder, but if so, he needed to find a way to make peace with that. Until he did, he had no business getting involved with another woman.
Even though he wanted to. Even though he was feeling an increasing desire to stay right here and try to put down some new roots. It wouldn’t be fair to Marti, or to anyone, if he didn’t get his head straightened out.
“Time to do the dishes,” he said, as if it were the reason he had let her go. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. What if he saw something there, something that said he was hurting her or might hurt her?
He couldn’t live with another victim on his soul.
The urge to clear out of here before he caused damage suddenly overwhelmed him. What the hell had he been thinking, making love to this woman and promising to do so again tonight?
He hadn’t been thinking, he decided. He’d been needy and responding to those needs. Justifying it by thinking how needy she was didn’t help much.
But then he remembered what she had said about how he’d helped change her self-image, making her feel more worthwhile, making her want to build a new life. She’d even mentioned his leaving.
So it was okay, he told himself, hoping he wasn’t indulging in a bout of self-delusion. She’d thanked him and seemed to take it as inevitable that he wasn’t going to stay.
Yes, it was okay. They were strangers helping each other through a stormy phase in their lives. Friendship, and certainly gratitude, might remain, but neither of those should cause either of them any grief.
As he dried dishes, he mentally ran through his list of the few things he was determined to finish before he left: the nursery, the last of the felled trees. A few days at most. Then he’d move on to Ben’s and hopefully take care of the last of his demons.
It was almost as if running into Marti was some part of a grand design to reassure him that he could make a woman laugh and smile, that he could make a woman feel good.
So now that he knew that, he could face Ben’s anger with more equanimity. More surety that he wasn’t responsible for what happened to Brandy, although the question would never be undeniably answered.
One thing was for sure—he had found some unexpected healing here.
He’d been thinking about going out to the barn to work on the chair rails now that they had electricity, but he decided against it as he listened to the rain fall. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to find an area large enough out there where water wouldn’t be dripping through the roof.
Maybe, he thought, on his way back from Fresno he’d return here and fix a few more things. If she didn’t mind.
But he didn’t bring the subject up because it might be taken as a promise, and he wasn’t at all sure how he was going to feel about things after his meeting with Ben.
Best not to leave any vague obligations behind him. It wouldn’t be fair.
Not that he had a great belief in life’s fairness, but he believed in it for himself.
Marti deserved better than that. A whole lot better.
Chapter 10
The rain had made a mess of the fields again. Disgusted, Ben spent the night in a town mile
s away from Conard City where he could at least stretch out on a bed. He found some businesses still open and bought an ugly brown dye for his sun-streaked hair, something that claimed he could do it himself at a sink. He also picked up some clothes that fit in better with the way people dressed around here. No cowboy boots, but he did buy the jeans and a checked Western shirt, even a cheap cowboy hat. He also finally ate a decent meal.
Okay, the endless hours of waiting had reinforced his decision not to kill the woman unless he had to. Knocking the karmic scales out of balance was seldom a smart thing. Unfortunately, he hadn’t seen Ryder come out of the house once all day.
The idea that Ryder might be taking advantage of another woman the way he’d taken advantage of Brandy began to grow in him. So it was Ben’s job to save the Chastain woman, unless she got in his way or could tell the authorities who he was.
He liked the idea of being the woman’s savior almost as much as he liked the idea of avenging Brandy. Well, if he could, he would, but vengeance was still on the top of his agenda.
However, he didn’t have to be too uncomfortable while he pursued Ryder. He sprang for a small plastic tablecloth to put between him and the soggy ground and grass when he got to the field, and he picked up a couple of insulated bottles and had a drive-through attendant at fast-food joint fill them with hot coffee. He’d been missing his coffee, and those damn trail bars he’d bought were wearing thin as a diet.
When he at last headed back to the Chastain place before dawn, he was feeling really good about things. He still had today and tomorrow before he had to think about getting back. With any luck, he’d find some way to hide himself in that barn tonight and be ready for tomorrow.
Tomorrow was the day, he decided. It just felt right. Tomorrow or tomorrow night, depending on opportunity, unless something jumped right into his hands today. He whistled as he drove. Soon Brandy would truly rest.
