Not on Her Own

by Cynthia Reese

  “Well, soap and hot water would be nice.”

  “C’mon.” She indicated the house with a jerk of her head and turned to hide her scarlet face. What was the matter with her? She, who’d painted and sculpted using nude, very well built male models, was acting like a schoolgirl. How could this man’s bare chest undo her?

  Inside, Theo wound around her ankles only to jerk back from the strange feet that clomped in behind her. “It’s okay, Theo. Everybody’s gone now except Brandon,” she reassured the Siamese, adding a scratch under his chin.

  “That cat doesn’t like me one whit.”

  “He just doesn’t know you. And men make him nervous. The last man he had any dealings with was the vet who, um, did the snip-snip deal on him.” Penelope straightened. “I have some of that ham Mee-Maw brought. Can I interest you in a sandwich?”

  “Oh, man, could you ever.” Brandon grinned. “I’m so hungry I could eat the hole out of a doughnut. But—” he looked down at himself, his T-shirt dusty and damp “—I’m not fit for the dinner table, I’m afraid.”

  “Neither am I. I’ve got some extralarge T-shirts that I keep for…” She trailed off, not wanting to share how she used men’s T-shirts for pajamas. “Why don’t you grab a shower, and I’ll get us something to eat?”

  “Nope. Ladies first. You shower, and then I’ll take you up on the hot water and the sandwich. I’ll wait.”

  HEARING THE SHOWER water drum relentlessly down the hall unsettled Brandon. All he could think about was Penelope’s small curvy frame naked under the spray of water, water droplets hugging those curves of hers.

  He was envious of every last drop.

  Gritting his teeth, he prowled around the small living room for anything to distract him.

  And there was plenty. Penelope had settled in and unpacked some of those boxes. Black-and-white photos of a rocky coast—maybe the Pacific—dominated one wall. Big sea lions sunning on rocks, and huge fir trees in the distance. Others captured a beach swathed in fog and mist, some with a definite but unidentifiable silhouette of a human figure in them.

  The prints all bore “Langston” and a number on them. Brandon was impressed by their quality.

  Other photos, these more candid and more like what he would take, graced the mantelpiece. In these, a woman with Penelope’s dark hair and smile, a man who had Penelope’s eyes. A younger man, slightly older than Penelope in the photos, had the cocky, self-confident look of an older brother.

  In every photo, Penelope’s smile looked forced, as though she was pretending to be at ease.

  The one thing he didn’t see was very much resemblance to Richard Murphy.

  The water stopped running in the bathroom, and now Brandon’s envy extended to the towel he knew she was using. He groaned. This he did not need.

  No, he could not afford to be distracted by a woman who possessed, at least temporarily, his uncle’s land.

  Maybe you’re afraid she’ll get too close and you’ll lose the will to fight her for this land if it comes down to that.

  Brandon shook off the thought. He could—and would—do anything it took to get this land back and see Murphy get handed the justice he deserved. But he had to keep his focus; who knew how much he could really trust Penelope? He’d seen her loyalty to Murphy.

  So focus, dammit. She might be using you, the same way you’re using her.

  Behind him, he heard Penelope clear her throat. He turned around and completely lost all his good intentions. Her curly hair was still damp from the shower, and some sort of flowery shampoo wafted in his direction. He wanted to sweep her in his arms and kiss her senseless.

  “All yours,” she said, and Brandon wished it were that simple.

  He did the only thing he thought would help: ran for the coldest shower imaginable. But her scent clung to the T-shirt she’d laid out for him, the towels she put out for him to use, the very steam that hung in the air.

  “Get a grip!” he ordered himself as he dried off and pulled the T-shirt over his head.

  In the kitchen, he found Penelope piling a mountain of ham, lettuce and tomatoes on a sandwich.

  “Feel better?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I do. That looks good.”

  “Can’t take credit for it. It’s all Mee-Maw. Those tomatoes are from her garden. When I was in New York, I would have killed for tomatoes like that in October.”

  Brandon shrugged and filched a piece of ham off the sandwich. She swatted at his hand but missed. “Welcome to South Georgia. Sometimes, if the weather’s warm, you can wind up with tomatoes at Christmas. Sometimes the first hard frost comes before Halloween. This is a warm year.”

  “The weather’s nice, that’s for sure.” She finished the sandwiches and set them on the dinette table. “Now you can eat. No nibbling.”

  “I’d like to see some rain. It’s awfully dry, and if we have another dry winter, we’re going to be that much more in the hole next spring.”

  Her chuckle was a warm little burble. “Farmers and the weather. You’re never satisfied, are you?”

  “Oh, we could be. If we could get rain on a subscription service, delivered just when we need it, that’d be great.”

  “A plus for sculpting is that it’s not usually weather-dependent.”

  “So, how is the sculpture? Have you been able to get any buyers?” The hope that she hadn’t, that she was still desperate for money, felt unnatural to him. It wasn’t like him to wish another person ill.

  She tensed, and for an instant he saw the girl in the photos. Brandon put up his hands. “None of my business, I know.”

  Penelope dropped the sandwich on her plate. She bit her lip and didn’t meet his eyes for a moment. “No, it’s not that. Only I’ve had no luck yet. It’s hard to sell an idea that’s not tailored to a business. This one—Love at Infinity—I came up with for the home office of an online dating firm. That’s how it works. A corporation decides it needs some culture, I do some interviews with the big dogs, and then I come up with an idea that will sum up their mission or corporate message.”

  “But you’re trying. It will happen.” Now Brandon did feel like a heel, hoping for the exact opposite. Why couldn’t she just pick up and move somewhere else so he could sincerely root for her?

  “I’m getting hits on my Web site every day. So sure, yeah, it will happen.”

  Was she trying to convince him or herself? Brandon had to admit she wasn’t hugely successful either way.

  “So what if someone wanted you to do something different? Would you?”

  “Sure. Of course. I’d put this one on the back burner.”

  They ate in silence for a few moments before Brandon switched the subject. “Those pictures in the living room? You took them? They’re good.”

  “Yeah. That’s Oregon, near where Lewis and Clark saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time. I’d like to pretend that’s how they saw it.”

  “It must be strange, to be so far from home.”

  She considered his comment and then shook her head. “No. I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere. My brother, Trent, now he’s the family’s pride and joy.”

  Penelope’s voice was absent of any malice or envy, just bemusement. She added, “They always want to know, ‘Why can’t you be more like your brother?’ He’s the one who followed them into real estate. I grew up in Portland, but about ten years ago, my parents saw the possibilities of the big land boom in Bend—you probably never heard of it. So they picked up and moved there, and they’re doing obscenely well.”

  “So you’re the artsy one?”

  She sighed. “Yeah. Definitely marching to the beat of a different drummer, that’s me. I’m twenty-eight, but my parents still treat me as thougth I’m their baby. My mom kept saying this commission was too good to be true.” She grimaced. “What about you? Brothers? Sisters?”

  “One kid brother.” Brandon didn’t feel like volunteering the story of his life. Come to think of it, he’d never had to tell any girl that h
e’d dated much about himself. They’d known. Life in a small town meant never having to talk about painful things if you didn’t want to, because people already knew your secrets. So if Penelope wanted to know more, she could ask her dear old granddad.

  But she didn’t let up. “So how about your parents? Do your mom and dad still live around here?”

  “Uh, no.” The referral to his long-absent father stung. Had Murphy already filled her in on Brandon’s dad deserting his mom with two little kids? He got up and took his plate to the sink. “My mom passed away a couple of years ago. Say, why’d your mom move so far away? I mean, she was from Georgia, right?”

  A long silence told him that Penelope wanted to talk about that about as much as he wanted to talk about his family. “My dad was from there. My mom moved away from Georgia when my grandmother divorced Grandpa Murphy. Mom and Dad met in college and moved back to Oregon to be near his family.”

  “So you were never around your grandfather that much? In Georgia, I mean.”

  “No, not much. My mom and Grandpa Murphy never got along that well, especially after my grandmother divorced him.”

  Score one for the mom’s smarts. Behind him, he heard Penelope’s chair scrape on the floor as she pushed it back. Still, he jumped when she brushed against him as she joined him at the sink.

  “I want to thank you,” she said. “For today. You and your uncle both. I know you don’t have much use for my grandfather. But, Brandon, he’s not…he’s not like you think he is.”

  She stopped short, shook her head. Brandon looked at her to see a droplet of water inch down her throat from one of the ringlets of her hair. He ached to reach over and capture it with a fingertip. But he’d be touching Richard Murphy’s granddaughter, and he just couldn’t do that.

  “Anyway. What I was saying.” Her voice was husky. “I think it’s great that you guys rose above your dislike of my grandfather and helped me out. The barn is wonderful, but more than that, the feeling of community was terrific. I can’t put it into words. And what your uncle said, about all this hate stopping here? He changed those men’s minds, Brandon, and he didn’t have to do that. I really appreciate it.”

  Brandon clutched the plate tighter and scrubbed the already clean surface. She was so close that the scent of her hair or her body or something that smelled damn good beat out the lemon scent of the dish detergent.

  He started to speak, to force out something meaningless, maybe, it was nothing or my pleasure.

  But then, without warning, she rose up on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

  And then she bolted out the screen door.

  CHAPTER TEN

  A RATTLE AGAINST the window’s miniblinds shook Penelope loose from her last remnants of sleep. She rolled over and groaned. Opening one eye, she confirmed that Theo was on her vanity table, pawing at the blinds.

  “Theo. Just this once, can you please, please, use the litter box? It’s clean. At least, I think it’s clean. Yeah. It’s clean. If you go out, I have to go and watch you. And I don’t care what time it is. It’s too early. I got no sleep last night.”

  Theo cast a baleful look her way and made a flying leap onto Penelope’s stomach. She grunted under the weight of his not-so-gentle landing. Obviously, the litter box plea was not working.

  And neither was Penelope’s attempt to forget her idiocy the previous night. She’d kissed him. She’d kissed Brandon Wilkes.

  Okay, not a full-on mouth kiss, but a kiss. On the cheek, her lips against his jaw.

  And damn if it hadn’t felt good. The memory of his five-o’clock shadow scraping against her lips, the fresh scent of him…

  “Aaargh!” Theo jumped back.

  Penelope reached up and gave him a reassuring pet. “Not you. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at me.”

  And she was. Somehow she’d managed to get caught up in her emotions and kiss the man who’d called her grandfather a what?

  A thief and an extortionist.

  She scrunched her fingers through her hair. Maybe if she pulled hard enough, she’d yank some brain cells loose.

  At least he’d had the decency to be gone when she’d returned to the house. Of course, she had paced behind her new barn—the barn that he’d built—long enough for him to get the message.

  She’d come back to find a note.

  Thanks for supper. Glad you like the barn. Will be back to see it when you have it all finished.

  He’d signed it with a scrawled BAW, leaving her choosing and discarding all the possible middle names he could have.

  She’d kissed him.

  Theo yowled, then reached over and gave her a nip on the hand she had clenched in the covers.

  “Ow! Cut that out. Why is it that Siamese think nipping is the way to—oh, why am I arguing with a cat? Come on. I’ll let you out.”

  She pushed Theo to one side and tossed the covers back. He wrapped himself in ecstatic figure eights around her ankles as she made her way to the back door.

  “Yes, yes, this is what all men like to do, leave first thing in the morning—”

  She was interrupted by the Ride of The Valkyries. Literally.

  Mom. On her cell phone.

  “Sorry, Theo. I dare not let it go to voice mail. Hold on. I’ll be back.”

  A dash and a bellyflop across her unmade bed netted her the phone before it made that ominous missed-call beep. “Mom? What time is it out there?”

  Penelope squinted at the clock, but the glare from the now-open miniblinds obscured the red LED numbers.

  “Six-thirty. I’m up to do my yoga. You didn’t return my calls yesterday.”

  “I was busy?” The attempt at a reply sounded lame even to her.

  Her mother tsked. “I called you three times yesterday. And you were so busy you couldn’t pick up the phone or call me once?”

  “I was. Mom. Honest. I was building a barn.”

  Her mother paused while she processed that information. “All by yourself?”

  “Well, no. Some neighbors were helping. But we didn’t finish until late and then I had dinner and…” Penelope thought about just who she’d had dinner with, and the kiss that followed it, and she couldn’t suppress a whimper. From what? Humiliation? Shame? Hunger for more kisses?

  “What is it? I know that sound. That’s your I-can’t-believe-I-did-that groan. Spill it.”

  “Mom. Believe it or not, there are some things in my life I do not wish to spill to you. No offense.”

  “None taken. Well, not much. But I worry, Penelope. You’re out there, all by yourself, alone in the middle of nowhere.”

  Penelope tried to interrupt the tidal wave of doubts, worries and maternal neuroses that was coming, but she’d waited too late to stop the onslaught. In the midst of the why-can’t-you-get-a-normal-job-and-live-in-a-normal-place-for-once-in-your-life speech, Theo stalked back in and took another nip on her toe.

  “Ow! Theo, honestly! Mom, I’ve got to let the cat out.”

  “I thought that’s what litter boxes were for.”

  “He’s picky and you know it.”

  “Well, don’t hang up. I’ll never get you back on the phone, so don’t let the cat be an excuse for you to say, ‘Mom, I’m really, terrifically busy and I’ve got to go now.’ How busy can you be?”

  Penelope stumbled out the bedroom door, trying her best not to trip on the cat as she headed down the hall and toward the kitchen. “Busy. Really, really busy.”

  “No. You can’t be busy. Because your grandfather called yesterday, completely out of the blue, and told me that you don’t have a sale for your sculpture. Is this true?”

  “Mom!” Penelope braced herself against the kitchen door. Theo stopped midstride, looked back over his shoulder and sat down in a huff.

  He could just wait. Right now, more than anything, Penelope wanted to bang her head against the wall. How could Grandpa Murphy do this to her? How could he?

  “I take
that to be a yes? Penelope, why didn’t you call us immediately? But no, I had to hear such news from my father, when you know I don’t like talking with the man. You need our help, Penelope. You have that loan, you’re going to be in default, your credit will never recover.”

  “Listen, please. I have a plan, okay? I have time. I don’t need rescuing.”

  “Obviously you do or else you wouldn’t have taken leave of your senses. Your grandfather wants you to sell the place to a solid-waste dump! Are you seriously considering that? You can’t. Think what it would do to the environment.”

  Theo was back to weaving figure eights around Penelope’s ankles, only this time also yowling passionately.

  “What is that sound? What are you doing to that cat?”

  “I told you. I’m trying to let the cat out. Only, I can’t because I just woke up but I’m not awake and I’m trying to tell you that I haven’t sold—oh, let me let the cat out.”

  Penelope marched over to the door. She threw it open to see Brandon on the back steps.

  “Omigod!” For a full second, all she could think about was the fact that she was wearing nothing but a camisole and a pair of thong panties she’d gotten on sale at Victoria’s Secret. Then her reflexes mercifully kicked in and she was able to slam the door shut. A nanosecond too late, she realized Theo was now on Brandon’s side of the door.

  “Penelope? Penelope?”

  She heard her mother’s screech through the phone. “I swear, Penelope, if you don’t answer me, I’m calling nine-one-one!”

  “Mom, I’m okay, no, I’ll never be okay again. I just flashed the next door neighbor.”

  “Is that all?” Her mother huffed. “I thought some rapist had broken in on you.”

  “No. Oh, God, how do I ever face him again?”

  “Well, I’m certain if he’s a grown man, he’s seen a naked woman before.”

  “Oh, but, Mom, I kissed him last—” Penelope stuffed her fingers into her mouth and bit down hard.

  “Mmm. You did?”

  Penelope pulled her fingers back out of her mouth. “Not now. I have to figure out how to get the cat back in without facing Brandon.”