"I think they wore each other out." He smiled over her soft sigh of satisfaction when she located them—sprawled on a pile of rainbow-colored nap mats. Two boys and a slobbering dog. All of them passed out in a circle.
"Poor Bo. They're going to run him ragged." She tiptoed over to get a closer look, waving for him to follow.
"He's having the best day of his life." Heck—forget Bo. He was having the best day he'd had—in years. Since before Gayle got sick. Hank lowered his voice as he approached. "He won't want to go home." Tommy had face-planted on the mat next to his dog, his head resting on Bo's stomach. Jason had taken the other side, a short, baby-soft arm clutching the old lab's neck, his little body pressed to Bo's back. Hank swallowed around the sudden dryness in his throat. They'd missed a great deal, he realized. He and Gayle. Children they'd always wanted. He'd been away too much. For too long. Long buried guilt poked him hard in the chest.
"You're very lucky, Annie." His voice suddenly raspy, he absorbed the soft smile directed at her boys. The happy glow that seemed to surround her.
"I'm incredibly fortunate." Her sigh was peaceful. "No matter how bad our problems get-"
She stiffened imperceptibly, her glance darting to him, as though she'd inadvertently revealed a closely held secret. Hank waited, wondering whether she'd complete the unguarded thought.
"Are you ready for a coffee break? I could . . . run to the kitchen and get you a cup."
Problems. Plural. His brain veering in multiple directions, he wanted to analyze the possibilities of her statement. He wanted to press her. Ask her to confide in him. He wanted the opportunity to help. Instead, he cleared his throat. Nodded. "That would be great. We can take a break from hammering while they nap."
Her fingers brushed his as she turned to leave, sending a jolt of sensation up his arm. "Can you . . . watch them until I get back? You—you won't leave them?"
Hank met her gaze, determined. Now, more than ever, to make her realize she could trust him. She should trust him. Preferably sooner than later. "Take your time, sweet. I won't take my eyes off them."
Chapter 6
Annie sipped her coffee, a folded square of sand paper in the other hand. "I think I'm nearly finished out here." Stepping back, she examined the series of shelves Hank had quickly hung next to the closet. A last minute addition, once he realized there would be scraps of lumber left over after framing the closet. In the interest of time and to avoid the potential for a lingering smell if they'd tried to stain them, Hank had decided to leave the shelves unfinished.
"Once the walls are painted, we could have the kids paint the shelves all different colors."
Hank hoisted a sheet of drywall into place, his back muscles flexing under his shirt. Once he had it positioned, he swiveled to look at her. "That's a great idea. I was concerned about getting them hung so they wouldn't fall on anyone. But, I like your idea better."
At his praise, a flood of heat swept her. But—why would she be surprised? Hank seemed exactly like the type of man who would give a compliment. Accept another opinion. Admit there might be a better way. She'd spent too many years with a bully.
Not today, McKenna. "I'll mention it to Sharon so we can plan it. Make sure we have enough paint. Miss Robin can turn it into an after school project." Why was it still so hard to believe her ideas could have merit? Too many years of being told to keep her mouth shut. Years of being reminded she wasn't smart enough. She shoved the unpleasant memories aside. "Paint won't smell as bad as stain."
"Especially now," he acknowledged. "The paints available now are cleaner. Less toxic chemicals, so when we paint the walls, the smell shouldn't be too bad in here."
"Do these windows even open?"
"I'd be hesitant to try." His gaze shifted to the wall of casement windows. "They're so old, even if we managed to pry one open, we might have trouble getting it closed and locked again."
That wouldn't work, she acknowledged. Windows in this place needed to lock. Especially on the first floor. She held the drywall in place while he quickly secured it to the closet frame, his screw gun whirring softly in the quiet. "When will you putt in the new windows?"
Hank glanced over his shoulder. "That depends on the window sub. I'm asking for a favor, so it will have to be worked in when it's convenient for them." He ran his hand down the sheet of drywall, feeling for buckling. Occasionally popping in another screw. "I'm hoping sometime in the next month—before they get busy with the contracted work."
Annie glanced at the sleeping trio. "They've been out for over an hour. They'll be waking up soon."
"We'll probably need to stop by three," he suggested. "Clean up all the dust so it's ready for the kids to come back on Monday."
She examined the floor. "I may bring in the mop for all this dust. It will be faster."
"Can you come behind me on these last two shelves in here?" Leaving his new wall for a minute, Hank retraced his steps to the closet. "If you take care of this, I think I can get a coat of mud on the drywall before we finish today."
"Mud?" She wrinkled her nose. Perfect. Anything involving mud would be the task the boys most wanted to help with once they woke from their naps. Surprised by an overwhelming sense of wellbeing, she wondered at the source. Was it a day spent with a man who seemed to like her? A man who showed interest? Who asked her opinion and seemed to respect it when she offered one? Was it the pleasant sense of hominess?
"It's not as bad as it sounds."
She sent him a cautious glance. "It sounds like mud." Was this what life could be like with the right person? Stable? Loving? Kindness instead of caustic, belittling words? For too many years, she'd been distraught over her failing marriage. Traumatized by Phil's violent mood swings. Finally—divorce. Two years earlier, that piece of paper had brought tremendous relief. Annie had made the assumption she and the boys would survive fine on her income as a nurse. Pinching pennies, but stable. Happy.
Eyes glinting, he shrugged. "Okay—so it is as bad as it sounds."
She hadn't known Phil's plan had involved ruination. Destroying her ability to work. He'd never held steady employment. Within two years, he'd harassed four employers into dumping her. Always the new person, she'd never been able to prove her value before Phil showed up, making threats. Annie had become the 'problem' employee. Yet, she'd been unable to blame them. Why risk taking on an employee who could bring violence to the rest of them? The last two years had been lived on the run. Terrified and penniless.
Shoving aside the unpleasant memories, she refocused on today. In the middle of a noisy, crowded shelter—she felt at home. With Hank. As though they were working on a project in their house. A Saturday project they would have discussed in the evenings, after the boys were in bed. They would have shopped for materials, debating colors. A harmonious project they would have worked on together—planning the steps around their Saturday routine. After a leisurely breakfast together. After the kids romping outside with Bo. Planned around the boys' naps. A project they would wedge around their nap. Heat suddenly flushed her cheeks. While the boys slept down the hall . . . she would catch his sturdy hand in hers. Lead him down the hall to their bedroom. Their-
Hank's chuckle startled her as he emerged from the framed-in closet. One glance at her face and his eyes flared with heat. With—knowing. "Penny for your thoughts, darlin'?"
Embarrassed, she had trouble meeting his gaze. "H-how messy will that be? The . . . mud thing."
"You sure that's your question, sweet? Because it sorta looked like you were thinkin' something entirely different."
Lips twitching with the urge to smile, she avoided his gaze. Her face was likely an unattractive shade of fire engine red. Or actual flames. "Yes—mud." She swallowed, forcing her fluttering heart back down to her chest. "Anything messy—and the boys will want to do it."
"Let's just say I usually keep an old set of clothes in the garage for when I'm doing it."
In the last hour, he'd managed to measure and nail up drywa
ll to the front wall, wrapping from ceiling to floor around the doorway. Ten minutes earlier, he'd completed the side wall. No easy feat, since he'd had to go outside to make his cuts. He hadn't wanted the risk of any saws or drills near the boys.
"See those spots?" He pointed to the shelves lining the back wall of the new closet. "Those are the places I need sanded," he reminded, forcing her reluctant mind back to the project. "I want to be sure there's no chance for slivers when they're putting toys away."
Setting her cup down, she impulsively stepped into the shadowed closet. "Show me where." Heart thudding as he stepped in beside her, she inhaled his delicious scent. Today, it mingled with sawdust. His reassuring presence stirred her senses. Broad shoulders that seemed capable of just about anything. A chest she increasingly wanted to lay her head against.
Hank stilled. Slowly reaching for her hand, he ran her fingers lightly along the edge of each shelf. "There." His hand over hers, he rubbed gently against a rough spot.
"Uh-huh." Annie dragged in a ragged breath. "Got it."
He paused, absorbing her sudden shudder. "And here." Fingers locked, he raised his arm to the next shelf, forcing her up on tiptoes. "Several spots along this edge."
When she swayed into him, Hank caught her easily. Her breasts suddenly pressed to his hard chest, they felt aching and full.
Staring down at her, eyes shadowed, his smile spoke volumes. "There's a rough spot right here-"
When he brushed her mouth with his, Annie's heart did a swan dive to the pit of her stomach. "Show me where," she whispered against smiling lips.
"This might take a few minutes," he drawled, before covering her mouth with his. Soon, his hands rose to her face, callused thumbs stroking her cheeks as he deepened the kiss. As he swallowed her moan and pulled her closer.
His taste. Coffee and mint. Her dazed brain sifted random thoughts. His warm breath against her cheek before his mouth captured hers again. His tongue exploring the sensitive depths of her mouth. Taking his time. A journey of discovery. Easing into her before returning for more. His hand sliding to her waist to pull her closer. Dropping lower still, to the curve of her butt. A shuddering breath when his mouth moved to her throat. Annie breathed him in, the increasingly familiar scent of Henry Freeman. Sandalwood and citrus. Outdoors.
"Annie, love-"
"C'mon, Bo, wakey time."
Jason's sleepy voice made them jump. Annie recovered first. Took a quick step back. Unfazed, Hank followed her for a last, lingering kiss, her back pressed against a wall that hadn't been there an hour earlier. Before he gently released her. "To be continued later, I hope."
Stunned, she offered him a tremulous smile. "Count on it."
He winked before leaving her behind in the closet. "Don't forget to sand those spots I showed you."
Her fingers tingling as she remembered his hand guiding them, she heard him speaking to the boys, their sleepy voices expressing surprise over waking to a closet that hadn't been there when they'd fallen asleep.
"Your mom and I were like elves," he explained. "We tiptoed around so you wouldn't wake up."
"Like Santa's elves?" Jason's question was interrupted by a deep yawn. " 'Cept there's no toys."
Annie peeked around the closet door to better hear their conversation. She loved how he interacted with the boys. Hank was direct. Kind. Interested, yet not fawning over them.
"Sorry, bud. This time, it's a toy closet."
"Can you make toys, Mr. Hank?"
"He's not Santa. He doesn't have the beard." Tommy's authoritative voice joined the discussion.
Hank squatted next to the mat where the two boys were still seated, hair tousled from sleep. Bo sat between them, tail thumping, as though awaiting instructions. "I've never tried to make toys, but that doesn't mean we can't learn how."
Santa, indeed. What would it be like to have someone like Hank around every day? A happy smile on her lips, Annie picked up the square of sand paper and went to work on the shelves.
THREE HOURS LATER, mop in hand, Annie paused to review their progress. Progress she'd made. She'd survived the boys 'helping' Hank with mudding the drywall he'd hung. The first coat was now drying. Hank had been forced to swear an oath he wouldn't sand down the walls until Monday night after dinner—when they could help him smooth out their work and apply the final coat of mud. She'd learned more than she'd ever thought possible about joint compound and the importance of tape. She'd listened raptly as Tommy earnestly explained the necessity of corner beads. She smiled, remembering his pronunciation. Corner bees.
At least he was happy to talk with you. She nudged her mop bucket to the far corner of the room, planning to work her way back to the door. "You survived another trip outside." She'd managed her terror. Just barely. But—any step forward was better than none. Bo had needed a quick walk after being inside all day. Innocently, Hank had offered to take both boys with him. She'd hidden her flash of terror, first clutching the window sill watching for them. But, as her heart had seized with fear, as nausea had churned her stomach, she'd gulped in air through her strangling throat. Stumbling to the newly finished closet, she'd crumpled to the floor, head buried in her hands as she prayed to God that Phil wouldn't be out there. That he would not hurt her children. That he would not—could not go through with the threats he'd made against them.
By the time they'd returned—happy, laughing, overjoyed to be outside—Annie had managed to make it down the hall to the ladies room. There, she'd bumped into the new girl, Candace, the one no one seemed to know anything about. Though she'd been shocked to find Annie in a full-blown panic attack, Candace had held her hands. Talked her down. Reminded her to breathe in and out. The woman with wild, blonde ringlets and startling blue eyes had insisted on staying with her until she could gather herself. She'd helped her rinse her perspiring face, reminding her how strong she was. That she'd be okay. That the boys were safe with Hank. Candace had even walked down the hall to let Hank know she'd be a few more minutes. By the time Annie had left the bathroom, her game face had been safely back in place.
Now, her heart fluttering with a rare happiness, Annie was also tingling with nerves. Dinner Monday night with Hank would mean- Another dinner. More conversations—where she might inadvertently reveal their situation. Innocent questions that would lead to lies. Questions like 'where do you live?' would cause her to stammer. And blush. And look utterly foolish to the kind, handsome man she'd grown dangerously fond of. Questions about why 'she worked so much' or Hank's unasked questions—why were the boys stuck in a daycare center until all hours of the night? Lanced with guilt, she paused, her fingers clutching the mop.
"Because Hank stays to have dinner with us." She sighed. His staying for dinner forced the boys to spend a few more hours in the daycare center. Because she couldn't face telling him they lived upstairs. And she couldn't leave for the night while he was still there. Because then—he'd know.
What if the boys had already told him? She wouldn't ask them to lie. They were too young to understand. Though she was embarrassed by their circumstances, Annie wasn't ashamed of the shelter. New Beginnings had been her saving grace. "You're just ashamed of yourself."
She was edging closer to the day when she would need to confess. Instead of the strong, confident woman Hank hopefully believed her to be, he would learn . . . She released a painful sigh. The man she was stupidly, hopelessly falling for would learn they lived at New Beginnings. That she was one of them. An abuse survivor. Instead of a strong, proud, independent woman. Instead of a protective, loving mother—she'd essentially failed her boys. Though she'd come a long way . . . at thirty-seven, she still wasn't self-sufficient. The woman he maybe wanted to know better—was essentially a failure.
"Hey—are you almost done in here?"
Her back to him, she startled at Hank's voice—sloshing water on the floor. As though conjured from her thoughts, he stood at the door. "Probably five more minutes." His steps approached from behind.
"I n
eed to head out. Bo needs to go for a run and I've got a few chores stacking up that can't wait." He studied the area that still needed mopping. "If you'd like, I can wait and walk you guys to your car."
"Um-" She froze.
"How far away do you park," he quizzed. "I don't like the idea of you having to walk far with the boys in tow. It's not the safest neighborhood."
"Not—far," she lied. The nightmare she'd envisioned not ten minutes earlier . . . was starting. Distracted, she glanced beyond him. "Where are the boys?"
"Pete is sitting with them in the cafeteria. The cook brought them a dish of mac and cheese." He leaned in. "Apparently, that's a favorite around here."
She breathed in his scent. Wishing. His twinkling eyes made her heart sink. "It's one of mine, too." The thought of giving him up—the fantasy of him . . . tightened her chest. She couldn't continue a series of lies. It was too hard. Too distracting. She'd get too flustered. But, if you want to pursue him- She'd have to tell the truth. Confess.
And then—he'd lose interest.
"Are you sure I can't walk you to your car?"
"We'll be fine," she assured, her chest tightening with wistfulness. A man who wanted to walk her to her car—if she'd had one. Hers was hidden. Locked in storage, several blocks away. An asset she couldn't use. Because a man like Phil would be looking for it. More than once—he'd planted a tracker on her old Buick. As a method of control. Feeding his mistrust. Instilling fear.
Unlike Hank—a man concerned for her safety. "But, thank you for asking," she remembered to add, overwhelmed by the familiar, haunting sadness. The sting of failure. Bad timing. Of falling for a man she couldn't have. It would be one thing if she was on the verge of breaking out. Of leaving the shelter. Moving her boys into housing. If she had the hope of a job. If she was even close to being self-supporting.
Sheltering Annie Page 9
