03_A Family To Call Her Own

by Irene Hannon

  Rebecca checked the consistency of the potato leek soup and, with a satisfied nod, turned off the blender. Now she just had to finish up a couple of special items for the shower and she’d be done.

  As she walked toward the refrigerator, a sudden knock on the back door startled her, and she stopped abruptly, glancing toward the door with a frown. Who in the world could be here at this hour?

  Leaving the chain firmly in place, she opened the door an inch or two and peered out into the rainy darkness, her eyes widening when she recognized the visitor. “Zach! What are you doing here?” she asked in astonishment.

  “I was driving by and thought I saw the light on back here. I just wanted to make sure everything was all right.”

  “Oh. Yes. I’m fine. Thanks. Just catching up on a few things.”

  He turned his collar up and dug his hands into the pockets of his coat, propping one shoulder against the door frame as he sniffed appreciatively. “It sure smells good in there.”

  Rebecca frowned. “Didn’t you have dinner?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been working. And I pitched in for a little while with the sandbagging. Can’t you tell?” he asked with a crooked grin, glancing down at his mud-splattered jeans. “Fortunately someone loaned me a slicker, or I’d look a whole lot worse than this.”

  Rebecca scanned his form in one swift glance. He looked cold and wet and—as her eyes came back to rest on his face—tired. There were lines at the corners of his eyes, furrows on his brow. And his mouth looked strained, as if he was in pain. She frowned and bit her lip. “Do you think you should be sandbagging, Zach? It’s been less than two weeks since you had the concussion. Didn’t the doctor tell you to take it easy for a while?”

  He dismissed her concern with a shrug. “I feel okay. At least I did until a little while ago, when I started to get a headache. I just need some rest and I’ll be fine. I’m just going to grab a bite somewhere and call it a night.” He straightened up and smiled. “Well, I’ll see you around.”

  “Zach…” She couldn’t just let him walk away. Not when he was cold and hungry and in pain. It wasn’t right. Besides, he’d gone out of his way for her two nights ago and spent this evening helping with the sandbagging. She could at least offer him some soup. It would be the kind thing to do—even if it wasn’t the smart thing, she acknowledged. Not when her heart went into overdrive every time she was in his presence. But her conscience prickled, telling her she was being self-centered. With a sigh of capitulation, she shut the door and slid the chain free, then swung the door open. “Would you like a bowl of soup?”

  He frowned and dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. “I wasn’t angling for a meal, Rebecca,” he said slowly. “I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

  “I know. And I appreciate that. I also appreciated the lift home the other night.”

  “I’m glad. I was afraid you’d think I was a little too heavy-handed.”

  She shrugged, smiling faintly. “I did,” she admitted. “But you were right. Anyway, I just made some soup, and you’re welcome to a bowl.”

  “Well…” He hesitated for another moment, then sniffed appreciatively. “Okay. I can’t resist that aroma.”

  She moved aside to allow him to pass, then shut the door and slid the chain back into place. She watched him shrug out of his jacket and hang it on a hook by the door, then rake his fingers through his wet hair. As he did so, she saw the angry red welt near his hairline. It was obvious that the stitches had only been recently removed.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he assured her with a smile.

  Her gaze dropped from the injured area to his eyes, and she flushed. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

  He shrugged. “That’s okay. I realize it’s not a pretty sight. So much for any hopes I might have had for a modeling career,” he joked good-naturedly.

  The scar didn’t mar his rugged appeal one iota as far as Rebecca was concerned, but she decided it was safer to make a quick comment and then move on. “It will fade in time. Why don’t you go ahead and sit down while I get the soup.”

  “I threw a spare pair of shoes in the car before I left the motel, so at least I won’t track mud on your floor,” he told her with a grin, strolling toward the center island. “But I’m starting to run out of dry clothes.”

  “Aren’t we all,” she empathized, heading for the stove. She ladled a generous serving of soup into a bowl, then added a couple of pieces of homemade bread and some butter. When she turned he was sitting on a stool at the counter, and he grinned disarmingly as she set the food in front of him.

  “Well, this is a first,” he noted.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Eating in the kitchen. I have to say, I prefer the atmosphere in the dining room, but the company’s better here.”

  Rebecca flushed and turned away to fiddle with a pot on the stove.

  “So what are you doing here at this hour, anyway?” he asked, attacking the soup with vigor.

  “I’m running a little behind,” she explained, reaching up nervously to secure another hairpin. “Frances has the flu, so I’m shorthanded. And I have a special party tomorrow—a bridal shower—which is extra work, too.” She was babbling, and she knew it.

  Zach paused and studied her with a frown. “Are you still sandbagging?”

  She turned to look at him in surprise. “Of course.”

  “That kind of work is too hard for you, Rebecca,” he said quietly.

  She shrugged dismissively, though she couldn’t so easily dismiss the tingle of pleasure that ran through her at his concern. “I can manage. Besides, every pair of hands helps.”

  “But do you really have to go every night, after putting in a full day here?”

  “These are my friends and neighbors, Zach,” she said with quiet sincerity. “This is how life is in a small town. We help each other. It’s the best way I know of to put The Golden Rule into practice.”

  Zach didn’t have a rebuttal for that comment. Rebecca clearly took her faith seriously and believed in living the principles, not just talking about them. He admired her for that. But she was pushing herself too hard. “Isn’t there some other way you could help that isn’t so physically taxing?” he persisted.

  “Sandbagging is where the hands are needed,” she replied lightly, still touched by his concern. “Besides, it’s good for the waistline.”

  His eyes dropped automatically to the referenced part of her anatomy, then quickly returned to hers. Even under a voluminous white apron, it was clear that her waistline was already in great shape. It was also clear that he wasn’t going to be able to convince her to cut back on her volunteer efforts. Nevertheless, he tried once more. “Rebecca, whether you realize it or not, you need more rest.”

  “I’ll be done here soon.”

  A flash of inspiration suddenly hit, and he smiled. “Well, you’ll be done even sooner if I help,” he said determinedly.

  “Help?” she parroted blankly.

  “Sure. I don’t mind. What do you want me to do?” He set his spoon down and loosened his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves to the elbows.

  “Really…you don’t have to do that,” she protested faintly.

  “Oh, give me a chance,” he cajoled, his eyes twinkling. “I’m not the world’s greatest cook, but I can do simple stuff. I promise I won’t poison any of your customers.”

  “It’s not that…”

  “Look, think about it while I finish the soup, okay? I’m sure you can find something for me to do.”

  “But you’re tired, too. And you haven’t fully recovered from the concussion. You admitted you have a headache. You need some rest, Zach.”

  “The headache’s much better now. I think the soup did the trick. Besides, if I help, you can get home a little bit sooner.”

  When he put it that way, the offer was tempting. And why not? she thought. He was already here, anyway. In sudden decision she walked over to the refrigerator and withdr
ew a bowl of crab salad and some Belgian endive.

  “Okay. I just need the endive leaves filled. Here, I’ll show you how,” she said, deftly demonstrating.

  He watched her for a moment, then nodded confidently. “I can handle that,” he assured her, taking the spoon out of her fingers. “You go ahead and do whatever else needs to be done.”

  Rebecca focused on chopping the green part of the leek for the soup garnish, stealing occasional glances at Zach as she worked. His brow was knit in concentration, but he was doing well, she thought, her gaze dropping to his hands—strong, capable, confident. She’d noticed his hands that night in the car, and she remembered her summation at the time—that they would be equally at home chopping wood…or caressing a woman.

  “So how am I doing?”

  Rebecca’s startled gaze flew to his, and she flushed guiltily, turning away quickly to hide the telltale blush. “Fine, great,” she mumbled, trying to quiet her rapid pulse. Change the subject, she told herself. Get your mind on something else. “I hear you’re going to lecture at the high school,” she remarked, striving futilely for a casual, conversational tone.

  If he noticed that her voice was slightly breathless, he made no comment. He just shook his head and grinned. “I’d say the grapevine is alive and active in St. Genevieve.”

  Rebecca smiled. “Word does travel fast in a small town. Mark lives on the same street as Phil Carr, who told him, and Mark told me. Being in a classroom will be quite a switch for you, won’t it?”

  “Mmm-hmm. But believe it or not, I almost became a teacher. In fact, I double majored in college. But when I graduated I was offered a newspaper job that was too good to pass up, so my teaching career ended before it began.”

  “You usually do investigative work, right?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “That must be pretty exciting.”

  He shrugged. “It used to be,” he replied, methodically working his way through the crab salad as he spoke. “But I was never in it for the excitement. I did it because I thought I could make a difference, change the world for the better. But as I’ve recently come to realize, that was a pretty naive attitude. The truth is I spent fifteen years tilting at windmills. Nothing I did made any difference,” he said, a trace of bitterness creeping into his voice. “I’m actually thinking of taking some time off to reevaluate whether I want to spend the rest of my life doing something that really doesn’t seem to matter.”

  Rebecca frowned. “I have a feeling you’re being too harsh on yourself, Zach. I think everything we do makes a difference, even if we don’t see the results right away. I really believe that good work is never lost.”

  Zach sent her a startled look, a strange expression on his face. “That’s odd,” he remarked softly.

  She tilted her head and looked at him quizzically. “What?”

  “What you just said. I have a friend who used almost those same words once.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh-huh. He’s a reporter, too. In Eastern Europe. Despite the chaos in his country, and the setbacks and lack of visible progress, he still believes his efforts are making a difference.”

  “He sounds like a man of faith,” Rebecca surmised.

  “Yeah,” Zach replied with a nod. “He is.”

  “Faith can be a great source of encouragement.”

  Zach gave her a skeptical look. “Maybe. But somewhere along the way mine evaporated. I guess I dealt with the seamy side of life for too long. There was very little evidence of God on my beat.”

  “I suppose working in that environment could put your faith to the test,” Rebecca conceded slowly. “But you know, that’s the beautiful thing about God. We may abandon Him, but He never abandons us.”

  Zach studied the woman across from him. He admired her faith. Even envied it a little. Much as he envied Josef’s. He wished he had their conviction, their certainty. But he didn’t, not anymore, and it was too late tonight to even think about it. He reached for a towel and wiped his hands, then stood up and rolled down his sleeves. “Well, are you about ready to call it a night?”

  Rebecca nodded. “I just need to turn out the lights.”

  He picked up the tray of endive. “Where do you want this?”

  She opened the refrigerator door. “In here. Top shelf.”

  As he slid the tray in, his glance fell on a decorated cake on the counter. Although several pieces were missing, enough of the greeting remained to indicate that it had contained a birthday message for Rebecca. “Is today your birthday?” he asked in surprise.

  She flushed. “Yes. Frances and Rose brought the cake in, which was very sweet. But to be honest, with everything going on I only had time for a quick sample. Would you like to take a piece with you?”

  “No, but thanks.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “So what did you do to celebrate?” he asked, knowing the answer even before she spoke.

  Other than a phone call from her father, and one from Brad and Sam who invited her up for a belated birthday dinner when things settled down with the new baby, it had been a day like any other. Special days didn’t mean a lot when you lived alone. But she’d successfully kept that thought at bay throughout the day, and she wasn’t going to start feeling sorry for herself now.

  She forced herself to smile brightly as she answered Zach. “I was way too busy,” she replied, striving for a careless, it-doesn’t-matter tone. She wasn’t sure if she fooled him, so before he could pursue the subject, she hung her apron on a hook and reached for her purse. “Listen, thanks a lot, Zach. I’ll just turn out the lights and lock up. Go on home and get some rest yourself.”

  “I’ll walk you to your car first.”

  Rebecca opened her mouth to protest, took one look at his determined face and closed it. She recognized that look from the other night. “Okay. Give me a minute.”

  It took less than that, and as she locked the door she nodded toward her older-model compact car parked a few feet away. “I’m right over here,” she told him. “And thank heavens it’s finally stopped raining!”

  “We could do with some dry weather,” he agreed.

  Rebecca was tinglingly aware of him close behind her as she walked to her car and fumbled with the key. When she at last fitted it into the lock and swung the door open, she breathed a sigh of relief. In a few moments she could drive away, escape from this man who always made her heart behave erratically.

  But instead of leaving, as she expected, Zach leaned on top of the door and looked at her, his face deeply shadowed and largely unreadable in the dim light. There was silence for a moment, and although he didn’t move, Rebecca intuitively knew that he’d like to touch her. Her nerve endings started to sizzle, and her breath lodged in her throat.

  “You know I’d still like to take you out,” he said at last, without preamble, his voice deep and husky.

  Rebecca dropped her gaze. “I don’t date, Zach,” she reminded him, her voice uneven. “I told you that.”

  “And I told you I was going to try and change your mind. You even gave me a yellow light. Remember?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “You do like me, don’t you, Rebecca?” he asked gently, his voice soft and coaxing.

  She nodded mutely.

  “Then why don’t you let me in on your secret?”

  Startled, her gaze snapped to his and she frowned. “What secret?”

  “About why I make you so nervous.”

  To deny it would be foolish, so she didn’t try. “It’s getting late,” she replied instead.

  He sighed heavily. “I guess that’s about the response I expected. But I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

  “Why don’t you just give up, Zach?” she asked with a dispirited sigh.

  He shook his head slowly. “That’s not my style.”

  Rebecca dropped her gaze and fidgeted with the door lock. She’d assumed as much. Zach was a man of determination and action, who clearly liked challenges. And that was probably all
she was to him, she thought bleakly. Which was one more reason not to get involved, she told herself firmly. Okay, so she’d promised herself on Valentine’s Day that if a man came along who seemed worth taking a chance on, she would risk opening herself to a relationship one more time. And Zach seemed like such a man. But circumstances were against them. First of all, she suspected their natures were quite different. She was slow, cautious and timid. He was fast, impetuous and brash. Patience was not a virtue she would ascribe to him. But it was a virtue that any man truly interested in her would have to possess. Besides, Zach would only be in town for a brief time—not a good omen for a long-term relationship. No, he was wrong for her, she thought resolutely. It was as simple as that.

  But his expression when she looked back at him to say good-night was anything but simple, and her words died in her throat. His eyes held hers with fierce intensity, reflecting a myriad of emotions. Hunger. Frustration. Passion. Tenderness. Confusion. And though the parking lot was only dimly lit, she could also tell from his faint frown that some sort of internal debate was taking place.

  Suddenly, with a jolt, she had a feeling she knew exactly what that debate was about. She swallowed convulsively and nervously licked her lips.

  Zach’s gaze dropped to their ripe fullness, and now it was his turn to swallow with difficulty. Actually, kissing Rebecca wasn’t something he’d seriously considered tonight. At least not until now. Sensing that she’d respond best to casual, nonthreatening behavior, he’d made an effort to keep things pretty lighthearted.

  But suddenly he decided to throw caution to the wind, to give her some concrete evidence of his attraction. Words were getting him nowhere. Maybe action was the answer. At least enough action to let her know in no uncertain terms that he was serious in his intentions to get to know her better.

  Slowly he moved out from behind the car door until he was standing directly in front of her. His eyes still locked on hers, he reached over and traced a gentle finger across her eyebrow and down her cheek. Then his hand dropped to the side of her neck, his thumb gently stroking the remnants of the bruise on her chin.