Sheltering Annie

by Lauren Giordano

  His mouth lifted at the nickname. "One what?"

  He lowered his voice. "One kid—and you've got yourself a friend. Or—at least someone to have lunch with."

  Tommy nodded. "I can do that." He appeared to think about it for several seconds. "What if there isn't any-"

  Worried eyes tugged his heart. "Then, I'd try to sit near some kids so you can hear what they're talking about," he suggested. "It's easier to join a conversation if you know what they're interested in."

  Tommy perked up. "Like baseball? Or ninjas?"

  Unable to resist, he ruffled his curly hair. "Yeah, like that."

  "Is it true, Mr. Hank?" He glanced over his shoulder. "Are you gonna be working in here? With us?"

  "Uh-huh. We're going to build some shelves and paint the walls and maybe build a closet."

  Tommy’s eyes widened. "I think—you should . . . let me help you. I’m great at building with blocks." His eager voice suggested he’d been thinking about the news. "Me 'an Hector have built cool stuff with Legos-"

  "What about Jason? Could he help, too?"

  A freckled nose wrinkled. "He doesn’t have any-" Serious, brown eyes stared into his. "What’s that word when someone doesn’t know how to do anythin’?"

  "Experience?"

  "Yeah—that. Jason doesn’t know how to do stuff."

  Hank resisted the urge to smile. "Don’t you think this would be a good time for us to teach him?"

  "So—you would do that? Show us how to hammer and stuff?"

  He nodded. "I can teach you how to do lots of different things. By the time we’re done, the daycare center will look amazing—and you guys . . ." He glanced beyond Tommy’s head to the red-haired sweetheart lurking behind a pile of blocks. "And girls," he added, "will be the ones who did all the work to make it look great." He smiled when she nodded. "How does that sound?"

  "It sounds really fun." Tommy leaned in, as though he didn’t want the handful of kids around him to hear. "Can I ask you something?"

  Surprised when he moved closer, he resisted the urge to smile when Tommy pressed his lips against his ear. "What is it?"

  "What if we . . . make a mistake?" The little boy pulled back a few inches to stare at him. "Will you need to . . . yell at us?"

  Hank swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. At the boy's sobering words, his mind began the slow slide to a place he'd never imagined venturing. A place where alarm ruffled the hair on his neck. Tommy’s question tightened his stomach. The matter-of-fact words of a six year old. The dread behind them. "This will be a fun project, buddy. Why would I yell at you for a mistake?"

  His gaze dropping, Tommy fidgeted next to him, a sneakered foot kicking an invisible scuff mark on the tile. His knees beginning to ache from squatting beside him, Hank didn’t dare move.

  "Cuz . . . you’re angry? Or . . . I didn’t pay attention." He nudged his gaze up a notch, level with his chest. Thick, tangled lashes blocked his worried expression. "Or I spilled somethin'? Maybe . . ." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Because I’m stupid."

  Anger surged through him, knotting his stomach. The twinge in his chest reminded him to be gentle. Nudging the little chin up to meet his gaze, Hank kept his voice low. "You're not stupid, Tommy. Don’t ever let anyone say that about you. Or your brother," he added. How he kept his voice neutral, he would never know. "We all know things we can share."

  The little guy’s head shot up. "Even me?" His eyes flickered with interest. "What can I teach you?"

  Knees killing him, Hank finally gave up. "Let’s sit on the mat for a minute, okay?" With no thought to his clothes, Tommy flopped down next to him. "You play video games, right?" When Tommy nodded, he smiled. "And you know how to do just about anything on a computer, right?"

  "Uh-huh. But—everyone knows that."

  "Well, I have video games at home, but sometimes—I can't hook them up to the television," he fibbed. "And half the time, I don’t know what most of the buttons do on my laptop." That one was the damned truth. "But, you do."

  The clouds cleared from his eyes. "I could teach you that. We could go to your house . . . and I’ll show you how to play."

  "See? We all have things we can share." When Tommy leaned in to hug him, the knot in his stomach eased slightly. His brain wanted to rebel against his increasing suspicion. Annie’s hesitance. Interest—before a flash of fear. When Annie wasn't skittish, she was a kind, compassionate, damned pretty woman he wanted to know better. But, when she startled—she reminded him of the deer who'd taken up residence in his overgrown orchard. A beautiful doe—sniffing the wind. Catching an elusive scent of danger. Trusting only her senses. Before instinctively bolting for cover. Like the beautiful, brown-eyed doe in his field, Hank suspected Annie might sprint for the trees before they ever had the chance to get started.

  Releasing a steadying breath, Hank didn’t like the picture he was beginning to build of Annie’s ex-husband. "I will never yell at you for making a mistake." At the lingering doubt in Tommy's eyes, his heart twisted. "How about I make you a promise?"

  Quizzical, chocolate eyes lifted to his face. "What kinda promise?"

  "If we make a mistake, we’ll figure out how to fix it. Together," he emphasized. "That’s how you learn to do it better the next time."

  "You'll promise?"

  Hank nodded. "I will."

  Tommy’s eyes brightened. "I don’t have any tools like you."

  "You’ve got hands, right? And eyes. And you can hear me when I explain what we’re gonna do?"

  The little boy’s smile was contagious. "I gots all those."

  "That’s all the tools you’ll need." Unable to resist the impulse, Hank gave him a quick squeeze, liking the sensation of a compact bundle of energy leaning against him. "I’ll bring everything else." He had the sudden urge to start the daycare project now. Today. To spend time with the sad-eyed little boy who was rapidly staking out a corner of his heart. He made a mental note to talk to Annie about Saturday. The sooner they started, the better. If he had anything to say about it—Hank was going to make sure he never witnessed the little boy’s fear again.

  "YOU CAN DO IT, MCKENNA." Annie peered over her shoulder, making sure no one would witness her pathetic attempt. Releasing a stabilizing breath, she leaned out the doorway. Eyes closed, the breeze brushed her face. Cooling the perspiration beading her forehead. Calming the terror thumping in her chest. You can do this. She could keep it at bay for five minutes.

  Spring. She was missing her favorite season. In her former life, she would've wanted to spend every minute outside. Hiking in the state park only thirty minutes away. Exploring the park near her house with the boys. Pushing them on the swings. Tearing after their shrieking, hurtling bodies as they ran—exploring the wooded paths. Puttering in the garden she used to have. She winced at the wistful memories. Of a beautiful, simple life. Before Phil. Of life . . . during the breaks—when he took off in a swirling tornado of rage. His distrust a vibrating thunder, hinting at the brewing storm. The daily cloudburst raining down on them. Paranoia—that she'd finally realized spoke more of his actions than hers. He would accuse. Rage. Disappear. For long, relief-filled weeks.

  Annie would take advantage of every single moment—knowing they wouldn't last. "If only-" If only she'd used one of those breaks to disappear. Take off with the boys and drive. Far, far away. Into the night. Until the hundreds of miles between them would allow her to breathe again. Without the hitch of fear. Without panic that he would find them. Putting so much distance between them he would eventually lose interest.

  "Okay—now you're just stalling." She forced her eyes open. And took a step. You're on the steps. Her fingers still gripped the doorframe, as though that alone would be enough to pretend she hadn't left the building. She shuffled another step, reminding her of the patients she used to treat. Hovering next to them as they shuffled down the hallway after surgery. One step. Drag the IV. Another step. Reach for the wall. Prying her fingers from the doorframe, she stumbled to the r
ailing. Lightheaded but determined, she clutched it and took another step. She had to do this. Had to move past her fear. If not for her—then for the boys. Annie couldn't take another disappointed glance from them. They'd talked of the site visit for days. Endless evenings of murmured, childish voices in their claustrophobic sleeping space. Playing with the trucks Hank had given them. Talk of shovels and backhoes and piles of dirt they would get to play in . . . Until sleep finally claimed them.

  She would tiptoe over to gently remove trucks from their grasp, setting them on the floor next to the twin bed they shared. Breathing in the comforting scent of baby shampoo. Their unruly curls still damp from a quick shower—in the communal bath they shared with nine other families. In the dim glow of a superhero nightlight, she would stare at them. Washed in soft light, her boys appeared peaceful. They slept—finally without nightmares. In those moments, she felt less like a failure. She'd stare at the nightlight . . . one of the few material possessions that had consistently made the journey from place to place . . . and experience a sense of comfort. Safety. For a moment.

  A tugging breeze raised the hair from her neck. If only she could risk letting the boys outside. The shelter was their sanctuary. And their prison. Aside from getting on and off the bus from school, Tommy and Jason never left the four walls of New Beginnings. She swallowed a sob of frustration and took another step. Sweat snaked down her spine. You've screwed up their lives. Tommy had attended three schools this year alone. Three first grades. Three times being the new kid. Three times leaving friends he'd finally made. Forced to run again. Teetering on the last step, Annie risked a glance over her shoulder. She blinked back the perspiration dripping into her eyes. The door was still cracked open. She'd made it eight feet. Her legs felt like wobbly sticks. Keep going, she warned. Jaw clenched so tight it ached, she took another determined step. "They will not miss out on Hank's gift," she muttered. She couldn't bear the thought of her sons' disappointment in her. Again.

  Her goal today was fifteen feet. For a person suffering from agoraphobia—the insignificant distance was as difficult as a mile. She glanced to the spot where she imagined the window would be. The window-seat window. Despite her nausea—despite her weak, pathetic heart crashing into the walls of her chest. Despite the voice in her head shrieking go back inside—she kept her gaze locked on the brick wall where she calculated the new window would reside. The nurse in Annie would not allow her to give in. Though her fear was real, the symptoms she experienced were ones she knew she could conquer. With work. With the therapy she received at New Beginnings. Phil had taken nearly everything from her. "He won't take this, too."

  The overgrown, patchy grass under her feet would be home to the walled sanctuary. In seven months time, the desolate, forgotten patch where she stood would become a beautiful, quiet, private rose garden. A fountain would trickle soothingly for the troubled women seeking solace there. Resting on a shaded bench as they planned a future. Breathing in the calming fragrance of roses and honeysuckle vines. They would practice yoga there—on a mat in the sun-warmed grass. Stretching taut muscles. Strengthening body and mind against the fear that took hold when you lived life on the run.

  Keeping her gaze averted from the rusting fence that separated New Beginnings from the run-down neighborhood beyond it, Annie didn't want to chicken out. Didn't want to imagine sighting Phil. Didn't want her heart icing over with terror while she tried to do this one, single exercise to help herself become stronger.

  "Hey—what are you doing out here?"

  When a shadow crossed her path, she startled, biting back a scream of panic. Her body in full flight mode, she lurched back a step. The only thing stopping her was the voice. The gravelly, sexy voice—of a friend. Swallowing against the terror rising in her throat, she offered him a shaky smile. "Just—taking a quick break."

  "Are you okay?" Hank's eyes widened, suddenly seeming to study her. "I didn't scare you, did I?"

  "I'm f-fine," she reassured, her voice still thin and shaky. Annie shook it off. She was likely pale. She was sweaty. "I got a little hot inside," she offered as explanation. Her eyes likely terror-filled. Nothing you can do about that.

  Hank's gaze was drawn to the side of the building. "Were you out here inspecting the potential window?"

  She jerked her head up, finally able to meet his gaze. "I was," she admitted. "How did you know?"

  He smiled. "I'm beginning to understand how you think." He nodded to the brick. "Let's take a look. Tell me where you think it should go."

  Annie hesitated, her gaze shooting to the back door. She'd be much farther away than she'd planned . . . "I shouldn't-"

  He checked his watch. "Your break is over?"

  Relieved by his assumption, she was surprised to hear regret in his voice. "No—no." The hell with it. No way would she miss an extra minute or two in his presence. "Of course, I want to take a look."

  They strolled together, the thirty feet taking far less time than she could have accomplished on her own. When he paused, she glanced up. Forgetting the freight train roar of her pulse in her ears, she measured the distance back to the door. "Is this it? Is this the right spot?"

  Hank unclipped the tape measure from his belt. "You tell me," he suggested. Twinkling eyes encouraged her. "Are we there yet?"

  Disregarding her pounding heart, she studied the brick wall. Measured the distance to the far corner. If she walked that far, she could peek around the corner and see the chaos of construction vehicles. Of flattened dirt. Of piles scooped from the foundation they would soon start. Too far, her brain shouted a warning. Ignoring the roiling in her stomach, she turned a half step to the trash-strewn lot that would become the garden. Conscious of Hank's lean, rangy body only feet from hers. She could reach out . . . and touch him. Startled, she realized that concentrating on him . . . made her panic subside.

  She could grab the callused hand. Squeeze it tight. What if she were to . . . slide her arms around the narrow waist? Swallowing around a sudden rush of heat, Annie took the fantasy further. What if she could . . . rest her head against that muscled chest? Would her panic attack—disappear? Would she find comfort? Heat—in his strength? Would it feel like coming home? To the sturdy dependability he seemed to exude from his skin. "I think it's-" She cleared the sudden hoarseness from her throat. Would he pull her in like a magnet? Now, her heart was racing for an entirely different reason. "A little . . . farther."

  "How far, darlin'?"

  Her breath caught at the endearment. The faint drawl that sent shimmery heat to the pit of her stomach. Cheeks warming with heat, she swallowed around the sudden burst of happiness. Before clamping down on it. How can you be so silly? When he was merely being friendly? Unable to risk glancing at him, she took another step. And another. A moment later, his fingers brushed hers. Emboldened, she touched his hand. Still not looking at him, she stopped.

  "Are we there yet?"

  His gruff voice washed over her, his question seeming to ask something entirely different. Her pulse rioting, she bit her lip to keep from smiling. God—I hope so. Summoning her courage, she lifted her gaze to his. "Almost," she whispered. Annie took one last step, his hand now holding hers. Fingers strong. Warm. Comforting. "Here?"

  Hank's gaze never left her face. "You're very close." Tucking the tape measure into his pocket, he lifted his free hand to nudge her two steps more. "Here." Still staring at her, he raised their joined hands to his lips.

  She sucked in a startled breath, reading the question in his eyes a moment before his free hand slid to the small of her back. A jolt of pleasure shot through her.

  "Are you cold, darlin'?"

  Her breath huffed out on a gasp. "No." Time stood still when he hesitated . . . as though waiting for a signal from her. Annie couldn't help her dazed smile—answering his. Before he lowered his head to hers. In the back of her mind, she questioned her sanity. Questioned how she could be acting as though she were a teenager. How she could possibly be so completely desperate for a
kiss-

  Until he kissed her. His mouth brushed over hers. Whispering a question. Tentative—until he received her answer. His hand gentle at her back—until her free hand slid up his chest. Reached to tug him down to her. Until her lips parted on a sigh of exquisite pleasure. Only then, did Hank deepen the kiss. His mouth slanted over hers. His tongue seeking the warmth of hers. His hand spread on her spine. The weight of each finger suggesting strength. Safety. Nudging her closer.

  When his lips finally left hers to graze her cheek, she felt the ragged strike of his breath on her face. "Annie-"

  His raspy voice sent a tug of long forgotten desire crackling through her, reawakening her slumbering body. When her eyes fluttered open, she was surprised to discover that somewhere in the last ninety seconds, she'd encircled his neck. Her breasts flattened against his pounding heart. Her hardened, aching nipples pressed to a hard-muscled chest. Finally meeting his gaze, she knew hers must be entirely bemused. His beautiful, blue eyes were bright with heat. Yet, also lit with warmth. Humor. Kindness.

  "Sweet—I hate to say this, but-"

  A fierce whistle interrupted him. Startled, she jumped back, remembering to unlock her arms from around his neck. "I'm—Henry, I'm . . . sorry." Heat flooded her face. At the realization they'd been seen. That she'd—kissed him. In the middle of a construction site.

  "I'm not." The hand at the small of her back tightened. "Not a chance," he added, his smile mesmerizing. "I've been wanting that-" His gaze dropped to her mouth. "Since the minute I laid eyes on you."

  His confession made her smile. "Me, too." She glanced back at the door. "I should . . ."

  "Me, too." His eyes were sapphire bright as he leaned in. "Since I'm not sure when I'll get this opportunity again," he muttered against her lips. "I'm seizing the moment." He kissed her again. Quick. Thorough. Frustratingly fast. With one last smile, he tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "See you later, sweet."