Something just wasn’t quite right about Emma and Sean’s relationship. She’d felt it in the airport and the feeling had only grown stronger after living under the same roof with them for a few days.
At first she’d tried to excuse away Emma’s reaction to Sean’s touches as the embarrassment a well-raised young woman would feel about public displays of affection in front of one’s grandmother. But really, it was so obvious to her they hadn’t been dating for the last year, never mind living together, that she wondered if she should be offended by their drastic underestimation of her intelligence.
What she couldn’t wrap her head around was the why of it.
A banner advertising a going-out-of-business sale caught her eye and she stopped on the sidewalk. Walker Hardware had been selling household, gardening, animal and building supplies since Isaiah Walker first hung out the sign in 1879, and Russell Walker had been the guy behind the counter since 1983 when his father had passed away. Actually, he’d been behind the counter helping his dad since he was barely tall enough to see over it, and she couldn’t imagine how hard losing the store would be for him.
He’d lost his wife about six years before. Flo Walker had a heart attack hanging out the laundry and she’d lain in the grass until she didn’t show up for knitting club. A friend had called the house and then Russell. He’d called out the rescue squad, but he’d beat them there only to find she was already gone. Cat had only had a passing acquaintance with Flo, who was originally from Connecticut, but she’d gone to school with Russell. They’d never been chummy, but they’d known each other their entire lives.
She walked up the wooden steps and smiled as the familiar bell jangled to announce her entrance. No annoying buzzers for Walker Hardware.
Russell was behind the counter, studying a newspaper through reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, but he looked up when the bell sounded. He took the glasses off as a smile warmed his face, which was still handsome under a full head of silvery hair.
“Cat! I heard you were coming home for a visit.” He rose to his feet and closed the newspaper with a snap. “Florida obviously agrees with you.”
He’d always been a charmer, but at sixty-five she thought she’d have built up an immunity. She was wrong. “Thank you, Russell. How have you been?”
He shrugged, waving a hand at the nearly empty shelves bearing red going-out-of-business discount signs. “I still have my health.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Bound to happen. Can’t compete with the big-box stores. People tried, of course. If they just needed a roll of tape or a fuse or a pair of garden shears, they’d come here. But times are tough and I can’t begrudge them wanting to save what money they have. Glad now I didn’t fight too hard when my daughter wanted to go off and be a vet instead of taking over the place.”
“What will you do?”
“The building’s for sale to help pay off some debt, so I’m on the waiting list for an apartment in senior housing.” He paused, sorrow shadowing his features. “A hundred and thirty-some odd years my family’s kept this place going and a couple months from now, I won’t have a pot to piss in.”
She didn’t know what to say. There really wasn’t much she could say. “Let me take you out to lunch. We’ll have something full of fat and cholesterol and sodium because why the hell not?”
The invitation took him by surprise, but he recovered quickly enough. “I had to let my part-timer go last year. I can’t leave.”
“What are they going to do if you take an hour for lunch? Take their business elsewhere?”
His laugh was rich and echoed through the barren store. “I guess you’re right about that. And I sure could use a smiling face right now.”
“Then stick a sign in the door, lock up and let’s go.”
They walked down to a café at the end of the street, which happened to be the only one in town, and snagged a table in a relatively quiet corner. They both ordered coffee and Russell got the fried-chicken special while Cat ordered a hash-and-cheese omelet.
“How’s Emma doing? I haven’t seen her in a few weeks, but you must be happy she’s finally heading toward the altar.”
“She’s doing great. And Sean’s a very nice young man.” She took a sip of her coffee, considering. “Have you met him?”
Russell frowned for a few seconds, then shook his head. “No, I don’t think I have. I guess she keeps him pretty busy and when she shops, he usually heads down to the city so he can visit his family at the same time.”
“Have you heard of anybody meeting him?”
“That’s an odd question. You just said yourself he’s a nice young man, so he must exist.”
It did sound crazy, but she couldn’t let go of it. “Oh, he exists. But I don’t think he’s been dating my granddaughter for a year and a half, or living under the same roof for a year.”
He looked confused. “Why would they lie?”
“That’s the question I can’t answer.” She took another sip of her coffee. “But you can tell when two people are in love. And when they’ve…well, you know.”
His slow smile warmed his eyes, which were the same blue as his shirt. Funny how you could know a man sixty-odd years and never know what color his eyes were. “It’s been a while but, yes, I know.”
When Russell looked at her like that, she could remember so clearly how she’d felt during that headlong rush into love with her husband and how much she missed him. But sometimes she wondered if she was missing him so much as just missing having somebody, and she wondered if Russell ever felt the same way.
She smiled back at him, trying to think of something to say, but coming up empty. It had been a long time since she’d had a flirtatious conversation with a man.
That thought brought her up short. Was that what was going on? Was he flirting? Or was he simply being kind and she was latching on to it like it was the last lifeboat off her AARP-eligible sinking ship?
Thankfully, the waitress—who was a young woman Cat didn’t recognize—brought their meals and she was saved by digging into her forbidden feast.
“I don’t think I’ve had real fried chicken since I turned fifty and Flo dragged me in to have my cholesterol numbers checked,” Russell said.
“We’ve only got so many years left, so I intend to enjoy them. If I can’t have eggs and hash and cheese once in a while, I might as well lay down and start decomposing.”
“I like that about you.”
“But only once in a while,” she said again. “If you eat like this all the time, you won’t have enough life left to worry about it.”
Russell set down his fork to wipe his mouth, then took a sip of coffee. “I remember being at the store when I still needed a stool to reach the cash register, ringing up a customer. I knew from the time I could walk hardware would be my whole life and that, if Dani hadn’t been so stubborn, it would have been hers, too. But I’ve got to admit, there’s a little part of me that’s not sorry to see it go. And, sitting here with you smiling at me and a pile of fried chicken on my plate, I guess I’ve still got enough life left in me to try to enjoy myself.”
For the first time in her sixty-five years, Cat decided to be forward with a man. “You got enough life in you to take an old woman dancing?”
“Well, if I should come across any old women, I’ll have to give that some thought. But in the meantime, I’d like to dance with you.”
When she blushed like a schoolgirl, Cat supposed she should at least be grateful she didn’t giggle like one. “You’re a charmer, Russell Walker. I think I’ll have to keep an eye on you.”
He just grinned and bit into a big, greasy hunk of fried chicken.
Sean jogged past the mailbox, glancing at the daisies, and turned down Emma’s driveway. He’d have just enough time for a quick shower before Emma’s alarm went off and another day of crazy started.
When four in the morning rolled around and he’d spent more time tossing and turning than sleeping becaus
e his aching body was keeping him awake, he’d eased out of bed and snuck out of the house for a run. It worked in boot camp—crush disobedience and rebellion with grueling physical punishment. He wasn’t sure if the same principle would work on his dick, but it was worth a shot.
Slick with sweat and slightly winded, he crossed the porch and snuck back into the quiet house. After kicking his sneakers off, he went up the stairs—remembering just in time where the squeaky spot was— and let himself back into Emma’s room. Their room. She was still snoring, so he went into the bathroom and closed the door.
He ran the shower hot, washing the sweat away, and then slowly turned the dial toward cold until he was wide awake and his body was beaten into submission. Then he toweled as much of the water out of his hair as he could, dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist.
He had a mouthful of toothpaste when the door opened and Emma walked in, rubbing her face. She was carrying a bundle of clothes and squinting against the light—even though in her half-asleep state she still slapped her hand at the wall switch—and almost walked into him before she noticed his presence.
“Oh.” She stopped and blinked at him. “I thought you were still in bed.”
He spit out the toothpaste and grabbed the hand towel to wipe his mouth. “I usually make a bigger lump.”
“I don’t look because you throw the covers off and…” She broke off as her eyes drifted south to the towel, where bigger lump took on a whole new meaning. He’d thrown miles of punishment at his body for no reason. “Oh.”
Rather than dwell on deciphering the tone of that oh, he took her by the shoulders and guided her far enough to the left so he could get by her. Once he was free, he closed the door behind him and swore under his breath.
The only way that could have been more awkward was if his towel had slipped off in front of her.
After getting dressed in record time, he flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. This was the kind of story a woman would share with her best friend. And her best friend was married to his cousin. His cousin had a big mouth. It was only a matter of time before one of his brothers called, asking him what the hell was going on.
With a sigh, he pushed himself off the bed and headed downstairs. One, he wanted coffee. And, two, he didn’t want to be sprawled on the bed when Emma got around to leaving the bathroom. The only thing more awkward than being caught in a towel that didn’t do much to hide an erection was talking about it.
Cat was sitting at the table, sipping her tea, when he walked in. “You beat Emma down this morning.”
“It doesn’t happen often.” He poured two mugs of coffee and then froze. He had no clue what Emma took in her coffee. He knew she took some half-and-half, but he wasn’t sure about the sugar. Putting his back between Cat and the cups, he dumped two teaspoons in each cup.
“How do you like working with my granddaughter?”
Since he’d only worked with her for a day and a half, he couldn’t really say. “It’s not too bad. She works hard. Has a good head for business.”
“And she has excellent control skills,” Cat added.
He laughed, thinking of their trip to the grocery store. “That she does.”
“I guess you know her pretty well.”
She was watching him, so he concentrated on looking honest. Whatever that looked like. “She’s a complicated woman. I’m not sure anybody really knows her well. Except you, of course.”
She laughed as the complicated woman in question walked into the kitchen. “Morning, Gram. What’s so funny?”
“Just chatting with Sean and, now that you’re up, I’ll start some French toast.”
Sean watched Emma take the first sip of her coffee and, when she didn’t shudder or make faces, he figured he’d done okay. He also noticed, as Cat started hauling things out of the refrigerator, that Emma wasn’t making eye contact with him.
He shouldn’t have walked out because now the awkwardness was going to fester until she felt a need to talk about it. He could have laughed it off as a morning wood, making it clear it had nothing to do with her. It would have been a lie, of course. He’d been up for several hours and it most definitely had something to do with her. But she might have bought it and not had to talk about it.
The kitchen felt claustrophobic all of a sudden, what with the two women he barely knew and the elephant in the room, so he took his coffee and muttered about catching the morning news. He turned on the TV in the living room and sank onto the couch with a sigh of relief. It would take a few minutes to make the French toast, so he had a few minutes of normal.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” It was Emma, of course, and there went his normal.
He sighed and moved over on the couch. “Knock yourself out.”
She sat down, far enough away so none of their body parts touched. “I get the whole guy thing. Morning…you know, and I don’t want this to be weird.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Okay.” She took a sip of her coffee, then wrapped both hands around the mug. “We’ll probably have more moments like this if we’re going to live together for a month. Probably best to just laugh them off.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Actually, when a guy’s standing in front of you, fully hard and wearing nothing but a towel, laughing might not be the best way to handle it.”
“True.” Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink and she laughed softly. “If we were in a movie, the towel would have fallen off. Could’ve been worse.”
“With my luck, I’m surprised it didn’t.”
“Breakfast,” Cat called from the kitchen. They both stood and Sean hoped this would be the last time they had to discuss his erections.
“Make sure you fill up,” Emma told him as they went toward the kitchen. “We’ll be planting trees today and that’ll take the piss out of you.”
Physical exhaustion? He was looking forward to it. Desperately.
Chapter Eight
Emma didn’t want her grandmother to ever leave. Gram had cut some chicken breasts into pieces and rolled them in a bowl of some kind of spices, then skewered them with a stick. A few minutes on the grill and Emma was in heaven.
It couldn’t be too hard, she thought. Of course, the last time she’d tried to cook something as simple as burgers on the grill, flames had started shooting out the side and she’d ended up with blackened lumps with raw meat in the middle even her grandfather couldn’t choke down. But this was chicken on a stick. How hard could it be?
“This is delicious, Cat,” Sean said, licking spices off his fingers in a way that made Emma’s spine tingle. “Aunt Mary makes something like it, but the spices don’t pack quite as much of a punch.”
“I can’t wait to meet her on Saturday. From all that you’ve said, she’s quite a woman.”
Emma’s spine stopped tingling and she picked up another skewer of chicken. She didn’t even want to think about how stressful Saturday was going to be, what with everybody having to be careful and watch every single word they said. And, regardless of what Sean had told her, she wasn’t sure Mrs. Kowalski would back them up when the time finally came.
“She’s looking forward to meeting you, too,” he said. “And Emma’s been so busy they haven’t seen her in a while.”
No, she wasn’t looking forward to seeing them Saturday. Lisa, yes. But it was going to be hard to look Mrs. Kowalski in the eye, no matter how many times Sean told her it would be okay.
“I rented a movie while I was in town today,” Gram said. “Some action movie the girl said was very good.”
Emma was all for a relaxing movie. Something mindless that she could lose herself in and stop obsessing about her body language and every word she said. A mental break was just what she needed.
She felt differently about the movie plan an hour later when Gram sat in the armchair and set her knitting basket at her feet, leaving the couch for her and Sean.
Crap. They couldn’t very well
sit at opposite ends of the damn thing. A happy couple would snuggle, maybe sneaking a quick kiss here and there when they thought Gram wasn’t looking. Two hours of up close and personal with Sean Kowalski was about as far from relaxing as she could get.
He got there first, sitting in one corner and propping his feet on the coffee table. Putting in the DVD and getting it ready to play bought Emma a couple of minutes, but then she had to walk to the couch. He seemed to realize at the last second she wasn’t going to sit on the far end and, after glancing at Gram, he lifted his arm and rested it on the back of the couch.
Since her back was momentarily to the armchair, she gave Sean an apologetic whaddya-gonna-do smile and sat down in the curve of his arm. He dropped his hand onto her shoulder as she hit Play on the remote control.
She tried to pay attention to the movie. She watched as a woman dropped a cookie sheet of burnt cookies in the sink, and then a man walked into her kitchen. He had a gun and he told her he’d kidnapped her son. Emma followed along at first.
But Sean’s body was putting off enough heat to melt marshmallows and a whole lot of his body was touching her body. His arm around her shoulders. His thigh pressed to hers. Their feet sometimes brushing. It was distracting.
“You watch,” Gram said. “The man she has to deliver to the kidnappers is going to end up being the father of her son and I bet he doesn’t know.”
Emma managed to keep enough focus on the television to see that she was right but Sean was relaxing, which meant even more of his body was touching hers. And minute by minute she was becoming the marshmallow, melting against him. He smelled good and felt good and…she was in so much trouble. This wasn’t her man to lust after. Well, technically she could. She just couldn’t act on it.
Sean was temporary. There was no sense in getting used to having a man to snuggle on the couch with or to open stubborn jars or to do her heavy lifting because as soon as Gram was gone, so was he. And that’s the way she wanted it. It would probably be another five years before Landscaping by Emma was ready for her to do the husband-and-babies thing.
Yours To Keep Page 8
