Enchantment: A Christian Romance Novel (The Lewis Legacy Series Book 6)

by JoAnn Durgin

  “Ohhh…”

  That was all he needed to hear. The voice was female. After pulling the goggles over his head, he tugged off his work gloves and tossed them on the floor. Sounded like the sounds came from near the ladies room around the corner.

  “Ow. Ow ow. Ow ow ow.”

  Marta. And she was hurt. Not bad, but she was injured. “Marta? What’s going on?” Eliot stood outside the restroom, hands on his hips. “Are you hurt?” Dumb question.

  “I’m fine. Go away.”

  “Will not. I’m coming in.”

  “Eliot, stop—”

  Pushing the door, he stepped inside. Barged in was more like it. Marta leaned against one of the two sinks, hands anchored on either side of the basin. Gripping it pretty hard based on the whiteness of her knuckles. She winced. “You don’t listen very well, do you?”

  “Not when you’re obviously in pain. I don’t see any blood. What happened?” His gaze traveled to the hammer lying by her right foot. “Did you drop that on your foot?” Chalk that up to his second dumbest question in less than a minute. Whatever finesse he had must have been left behind in that Sunday school room.

  “No,” she said between clenched teeth.

  “Okay, then. Did it accidentally drop on your foot?”

  “Not the time for semantics, Marchand.”

  “Not the time to be stubborn, Holcomb.” Without another thought, he scooped her up in his arms. Then he glanced around the small room, wondering where he could take her. The hired workers were everywhere and he didn’t want an audience. Not knowing what else to do, Eliot marched into one of the bathroom stalls and used his knee to close the toilet lid. Lowering himself onto the seat, he kept Marta on his lap. He wasn’t about to allow her to wriggle away from him.

  She’d moved her hands around his neck as he’d carried her inside the stall but now she loosened her grip and appeared embarrassed. “I’m feeling pretty stupid, and I’m not sure this is appropriate behavior.”

  “Nonsense. This is a medical assessment. And don’t call yourself names.” Lifting her leg—a long, shapely leg—Eliot awkwardly tugged off the tennis shoe on her right foot. This wasn’t the time to admire her attributes, and he needed to focus. After pressing and gently kneading his fingers over the top of her foot, he then moved them to the bottom of her foot.

  Leaning her head against his chest, Marta moaned quietly. “Eliot?”

  “Shh,” he said, continuing his task which had become more like a light foot massage than determining the extent of her injury. That moan had gotten to him. Concentrate.

  “Before you kiss it and make it all better, it’s not my foot. It’s my knee. And it’s the left, not the right.”

  He stopped his manipulation of her foot. “Oh. Why didn’t you say so?”

  “I don’t know. It’s painful, but I’m enjoying this more than I should.” A hint of a grin curled the corners of her lovely mouth as Marta burrowed into his chest a bit more.

  “I know what you mean.” Man, did he ever. He never wanted to relinquish his hold on her. She fit perfectly in the curve of his arms. More than a physical attraction—although there certainly was that—she breathed new life into him every time their paths crossed.

  The idea of coming home every day to a woman like Marta prompted crazy ideas in his mind—things like how it might be time to ponder changing jobs for something closer to home. Whoa. Where had that come from? They’d been on the mission twenty-four hours and now he was contemplating leaving his job?

  “Everything okay in here? I thought I heard someone cry out.”

  Josh. The door opened and Eliot glimpsed the other man’s boot-covered feet as he walked inside. If his voice hadn’t tipped him off, the sight of Josh’s fluorescent green shoelaces did. Green was his son Luke’s request. Sam wore red shoelaces. Marc had vetoed Gracie’s choice of hot pink, but then he’d relented with bright orange. Burying his face in Marta’s great-smelling hair, Eliot fought off a laugh. Those guys would do anything for their kids. Rightly so.

  Marta cleared her throat. “Not a problem, Josh. Everything’s just peachy.” With her close against him, Eliot could feel her smile. Never was he more aware of a woman.

  Josh grunted. “Marta, what size shoe do you wear?”

  Eliot shook his head and Marta bit her lip.

  “Eight. Why?”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen you in work boots before. Or realized you have such big feet for a woman.”

  He should have known Josh couldn’t leave it alone. “Go away, Grant.”

  “Sure, Eliot. Sorry to interrupt. Just wanted to make sure everything’s under control.”

  “No worries. We’re fine,” Marta said. “I dropped a hammer and Eliot’s administering first aid.”

  “I’m sure he is. Carry on.” They both waited until they heard the door close behind Josh. Then they heard his laughter on the other side.

  “Well, that was fun.” Marta pulled away and stood up, running her hands over her rumpled T-shirt and shorts. “I hope you enjoyed it.”

  “I did. You did, too.”

  She snapped her gaze to his even as she pushed the stall door open and backed away from him. “I didn’t drop a hammer on my knee on purpose to have you charge in here like a bull and try to play the hero, you know.”

  “I like being your hero. How’d you manage to drop the hammer on your knee, anyway?”

  “There you go again. It slipped, okay?” As she raised her hands, a pretty pink flooded her cheeks. “It just happened and the head of the hammer bonked me on the knee on its way to the floor. At least I had the presence of mind or dexterity—whatever—to move out of the way or I really would be hobbling around.” With a frown, Marta glanced down at her knee. “I hope it doesn’t swell. That’s all I need.”

  Eliot resisted a grin as he rose to his feet. “Want me to check it for you?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Then I suggest you go back to the dining hall and get some ice. It’ll take down the swelling if there is any. Twenty minutes on and then twenty off. We could do it here but you should probably head back to the camp and keep off your feet and rest. If it still hurts or is swollen tomorrow, you can put moist heat on it. We can also wrap it, if you want, and you should keep it elevated.”

  “You’re a walking encyclopedia, aren’t you?” Running a hand over her hair, Marta frowned. “I didn’t mean to sound critical. I know about the R.I.C.E. treatment for swelling. I was a competitive swimmer for years, but I also ran track and suffered a few falls that necessitated ice.” She waved her hand. “I think I’ll survive dropping a hammer on my knee.”

  Eliot’s chest tightened when he glimpsed tears in her eyes. He hadn’t expected tears. Coming from this woman, they could be his undoing. And he’d suspected she was an athlete. Even now, whatever she did to keep in shape was working. A woman who looked like Marta didn’t have toned arms, thighs…everything else…without a serious commitment to fitness.

  Focus.

  “You must think I’m a real klutz.” Was her lower lip trembling? He wasn’t sure how to react, but it made her appear softer, more feminine than ever. Those soft, tousled curls were already doing a number on him. Combined with her gorgeous eyes—the intense natural color unlike any he’d ever seen—he was sinking fast into the irresistible allure of this woman. How she wasn’t engaged or married was incomprehensible.

  “Not true,” he said. “You’ve always been coordinated from what I know.”

  “I appreciate your coming to check on me. In the ladies room, of all places.”

  Splaying his fingers on the door, Eliot glanced at her over one shoulder as he held the door open. “I would have come to make sure you’re okay no matter where you were. For some reason, I seem in tune with you.”

  “Care to explain?” Her features revealed more curiosity than defiance, and she winced again.

  “I wasn’t the only one paying attention during our walk last night.” He paused for effect. “Was
I?”

  “No.” She glanced up at him with such a sweet vulnerability that it socked him straight in the gut.

  “Marta, I never want to see you hurt. In any way.”

  He heard her sharp intake of breath. “I see.”

  Did she understand? He meant it, but he wasn’t sure Marta was ready for him to mean it. He stirred out of his momentary musing. “The ladies room isn’t the best place for this conversation. Would you like me to escort you back to the campsite?”

  Shaking her head, Marta limped past him and out the door. “I should be fine, and I don’t want to take you away from your work here. It’s not that far.” Although she ducked her head, Eliot caught her biting her lower lip. He’d witnessed a lot of injured people, many in a precarious state of losing either life or limb, but the sight of Marta biting her lip brought out every protective instinct.

  “This could take all day. Allow me.” Scooping her into his arms, Eliot headed toward the nearest side door, being mindful as he navigated the doorway and exited the building.

  “You didn’t give me a choice.”

  “You gave me no choice. I can’t have you limping back to the camp and risking further injury.”

  “You seem to like carrying me around.”

  He chuckled. “You keep giving me valid reasons.” He did like carrying her, enjoyed the feeling of her next to him.

  “Again, not on purpose.”

  “I know that, but if you keep protesting, fair warning: I will call you a klutz.”

  Leaning her head on his chest, Marta breathed out a sigh. “By the way, I like that red bandana you’re wearing. It’s…jaunty. Strap on an eye patch and I’ll call you matey. And I’m glad you shaved off the scruff although it would work with the whole pirate image.”

  Eliot smiled all the way back to the camp. But maybe he’d ditch the bandana.

  Chapter 12

  ~~♥~~

  Dean wondered if he’d ever have time alone with Sheila. Maybe that was selfish thinking since it wasn’t his primary reason for being on this mission. Earlier in the day, Pastor Chevy and his wife, Lila, had warmly welcomed them and introduced the TeamWork volunteers to the members of his congregation.

  After Dean asked Sam if he could be assigned to work with Sheila, he was half afraid she’d change her mind, turn him down, and choose to work with Gayle in the nursery instead. How could he compete with Noah’s Ark? When she’d shown up in the elementary school room wearing that shy smile, he’d considered her presence a victory.

  A couple from the One Nation Church, Tahoma and Kai, helped them in the morning and told them some history about the Navajos. “The Navajo use the name Dine, a term meaning people,” Tahoma said. “The first Navajo Indians lived in the western part of Canada, part of an American Indian group called the Athapaskans. The traveled south and most of them settled along the Pacific Ocean. The Indians who settled in southern Arizona and New Mexico became different Apache tribes.”

  “They learned from the Pueblo Indians how to make their own clothes, blankets, and grow corn, beans, and squash,” Kai said in her sweet, gentle voice. “The men were the hunters and warriors, and the women were the farmers who tended the livestock, cooked, and took care of the children. Their homes were called hogans, made of wooden poles, tree bark, and mud.”

  The couple told them about the 300-mile walk, called “The Long Walk,” where more than 5,000 Navajo Indians were forced to walk to Fort Sumner in eastern New Mexico and the famous treaty of 1868 that gave them their own territory and freedom. “The Navajo reservation is the largest in the United States,” Tahoma told them, “and most of the tribes live in their traditional territory. Athabaskan is the most spoken Native American language, but most Navajo Indians speak English because the Navajo language is very difficult to learn.”

  They’d all worked together to put down drop cloths and used painter’s tape to protect the floors. The walls were textured, so they hadn’t needed to dust or vacuum the walls, and that saved a step. As a result, their work went quickly and they’d finished priming the walls before lunch.

  After eating the sack lunches provided by the TeamWork ladies, the couple apologized and told Dean they needed to leave. Secretly, he hoped no one else offered to help. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed hearing about the Navajo Indians. He liked history as much as the next guy. Maybe he needed an attitude adjustment, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted Sheila to himself.

  Painting the wall in the elementary Sunday school room after lunch, Dean tried to concentrate. Someone had left a portable radio in the room. To fill the void of conversation, he turned it on. The only station that came in clearly played country. Not his favorite, but Sheila seemed familiar with many of the songs, so he enjoyed the soft sounds of her humming as the two of them worked together. To his untrained ear, she was in perfect pitch. He wondered if she stuttered when she sang lyrics. Perhaps that’s why she hummed instead.

  After a while, he’d had enough of the radio. He needed to generate some conversation in order to get to know her better. It could be that Sheila didn’t say much because of the stuttering. He wanted to let her know that he accepted and valued her. He only hoped she wouldn’t think he was coming on too strong or being too invasive into her private life.

  “The outside of the church building looks great so far, don’t you think?” He glanced over at her. “They did a good job, and I hear they’re almost done.”

  “Y-y-yes.” Without stopping, Sheila ran the paint roller over the adjacent wall.

  “I know Sam wishes we could have come on this mission when he’d originally planned, but I guess it was hard to coordinate all of our schedules. And then Katrina hit and TeamWork had a big hand in the relief efforts there.” He was stumbling over his words.

  “S-st-ill a l-l-lot to d-do in-ins-side th-this ch-church. G-God al-al-w-ways kn-knows.”

  “Sure enough,” he said. “The hired contractors and landscapers know what they’re doing, and we’re better suited to the inside jobs we’ve been assigned. Even though I’ve built houses with TeamWork before, working on a church building is a whole different beast.” Poor choice of words. “Wait a second. That didn’t come out right.”

  “I kn-know wh-what y-you m-m-mean.” She darted a glance at him and giggled.

  “What?” Dean paused in his work.

  She gestured to his hair. “Y-you h-have y-y-yellow paint.”

  “Oh. Is it bad?”

  “N-n-no. G-gives y-you a l-look of so-soph-phis-ti-ti-ca-cation.” That last word was obviously more difficult for her, but her smile remained in place. He hoped he could make her smile a lot on this mission. For one irrational second, he wondered what it’d feel like if she’d put her hands on his hair, run her fingers through it. That was crazy.

  “Better than white, gray, or silver, huh? Then I guess I’ll leave it in for now.”

  Dean stole another glimpse of Sheila as she worked. Her medium-length dark hair was swept back in a high ponytail, making her look years younger. Sheila wasn’t tall but she was well-proportioned. Her deep brown eyes held a hint of sadness he wanted to help erase if it was within his power. Not to mention her lovely but elusive smile completely captivated him. From what he could tell, the shy widow had no clue he found her so intriguing.

  “D-did y-you go t-to N-New Or-Or-l-leans w-with T-TeamW-W-Work, Dean?”

  Again, she didn’t stutter when she said his name. Unfortunately, she’d asked him about something that had triggered deep feelings of guilt for the past month. More than anything, he’d wanted to join the guys to help in the Katrina aftermath. “No, unfortunately. Duty called and I couldn’t get away.”

  “Wh-what d-do y-you d-do?”

  “Have you heard of the stores called Leather?”

  She lowered her paint roller into the drip pan. “V-v-very ex-ex-pens-sive s-s-stores? B-boots, pur-purses, s-s-add-les, and th-things l-l-like th-that? Re-real orig-orig-i-n-nal n-na-name.”

  He chuckled. “I can vouch the
owner’s logical and practical, but you’re right. He’s not very creative.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I-I’m s-s-sorry. Y-you m-m-must kn-know th-the o-ow-ner w-w-well?”

  “You could say that, yes.” Maybe it wasn’t fair to prolong telling her, and he enjoyed seeing the color bloom in her cheeks. “Quite well, as a matter of fact.”

  Sheila’s eyes widened and she clamped a hand over her mouth. She pointed to him. “Y-you? Lea-lea-th-ther is y-y-our st-store, Dean?”

  After lowering his paint roller into the drip pan at his feet, Dean bowed before her. “At your service.” He straightened to his full height. At five-foot-nine, he was the runt of the TeamWork guys. Growing up, his mother had drilled the measure of a man speech—how height doesn’t matter to God—into him. Along with that, as a single mother for most of his growing up years, Mama Rose had taught him the value of a dollar and that he could achieve anything in life. For those reasons, he’d made her a silent partner in his business, and made sure she was financially comfortable.

  When he started to smooth down his hair, Sheila reached to stop him, putting her soft hand on his forearm. She pointed to the yellow paint and then motioned to his hair.

  He laughed and she laughed quietly with him. “Thanks. Guess I don’t need yellow sophistication streaked all over my hair.”

  “Ar-r-e y-y-your st-stores fr-franch-chis-ed?”

  “No current plans to franchise although I’ve had plenty of offers.” They both resumed their painting. He was pleased when she asked him a few more questions. He’d always enjoyed telling others about his store if they asked. “Grandpa Costas taught me to work with leather from the time I was a kid. I like working with my hands and find it relaxing. The business started out as a sideline hobby to make pocket money when I was in college. During my senior year, I employed a handful of people to work on my designs. They worked from their homes and then I’d sell them at flea markets, conventions, places like that. The Lord blessed my efforts and the business took off. So, when I graduated, I figured why not run my own business instead of working for someone else? Now I run the daily operations full-time.”