by Stacey Wilk
Cash placed a hand on his shoulder, and Blaise turned. “Can I think about it?”
At least it wasn’t no.
Chapter Nineteen
Grace gave a final wipe to the toilet and sink in the master’s attached bath. Her legs ached, and she had a stitch in her back. She certainly didn’t hold up as well as she used to, and by tomorrow every muscle would ache, even the ones in her toes. But it would be a good ache from a hard day’s work.
A hot shower might do the trick, and then she would crawl onto her air mattress and get some sleep. Chloe had taken the second bedroom and shut herself behind the door right after they ate pizza on the front porch. Grace was thankful for the quiet. Tomorrow would be a long day too. Not only would they be starting the process to put the rooms back together, but she was going in search of Nancy Templeton. Someone had to know what happened to that woman.
She wiped the steam from the mirror and dried her hair with a towel. She didn’t think she had the energy to hold a blow dryer to it. Her hair would be a tangled mess in the morning if she went to bed with wet curls, but within five minutes she’d be covered in dust again. Did it really matter? She checked to make sure the front door and the sliding doors out to the backyard were locked. She almost sighed with the thought of pulling a blanket up around her shoulders and closing her eyes.
Someone banged on the front door. She jumped. At this hour? Did Beau forget something or have an order he needed to give? The lights in the front room had been torn out, and the one on the porch still didn’t work. She went for her flashlight in her purse, but the banging continued. Almost insistent. Urgent.
The top of a head appeared in the door’s window. That height and that much banging must be a male. She opened the door a crack, using it as a shield in case she had to slam it shut on the pounder.
“I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I need some help and I don’t know who else to ask.” Blaise stood in the darkness of her porch. He ran his hands through his hair. He wore a T-shirt and basketball shorts. He had nothing on his feet.
She came out from behind the door now that she could identify the person on her porch and be fairly certain it wasn’t a serial killer. “What’s the matter?” He honestly couldn’t find another person in this town willing to help him? Was this some creative come-on?
“Cash is throwing up, and he won’t stop. What do I do?” He turned back toward his house, as if he expected Cash to appear on the lawn.
“Take him to the emergency room? You do have one of those in this town, don’t you?”
“I thought of that. He refuses to go. And I already called my sister, but she’s not home and not answering her cell. She’s probably turned her phone off. I also can’t reach her husband. I really don’t want to think about what they might be doing at this hour.” He forced a half smile onto his face.
“How long has it been going on for?”
“Um, maybe an hour. He stops and starts.”
“I guess he doesn’t get sick often if you’re not sure what to do with him. Chloe used to throw up all the time. It might just be a bug or something he ate. If he’s still at in the morning, call the doctor.”
“He doesn’t have a doctor in town.”
“You mean the doctor in Heritage River doesn’t make house calls?” She pulled her mouth in an O and fanned her fingers in front of her face.
“What do you think this place is? Little House on the Prairie?”
“You watched that show?”
“My sister liked it. Can you help us, or do I have to watch my kid get sick all night?”
“I can’t make him stop, if that’s what you’re asking. But I can come over and try to make him more comfortable. If it’s a virus, it has to run its course. You just don’t want him to dehydrate.”
He raked his hands through his hair again. “How do I do that?”
“Are you new to this parenting thing?” Grace chuckled to show she was kidding, but Blaise stared back with a straight face. “Really?”
“He lives with his mother in California. He’s staying with me for the summer. I’ve never been with him when he got sick. My ex always took care of him. I don’t know what to do.”
She pressed her lips together. “Where is this mother of his?” Not that she didn’t want to help.
“The last thing I wanted was to admit to her I didn’t know what to do, but helping him is more important than my ego. I tried to reach her too, but no luck.”
“Let me just tell Chloe I’m leaving.” She returned as quickly as she could and followed him across the lawn.
The night air was thick. Sweat began to form on her neck before she got to Blaise’s porch. Lightning bugs chased each other around trees. Cicadas sang their lullabies.
He let her into his home.
The place smelled like pine and lemon. Clean. His house was similar to hers. They walked into a living room. He had leather sofas facing the fireplace and a large television hanging above it. The dining area sat behind it, filled with a table for six. She guessed the kitchen was to the left, whereas in her house, the kitchen was to the right.
“He’s this way.” Blaise led her down a long hallway.
She stopped short of the closed door. “I doubt your son wants a perfect stranger in his room at a time like this. Why don’t you check on him, and I’ll wait here?”
He raked his hand through his hair again. “Good point.” He slowly turned the knob and pushed the door open.
Grace leaned against the wall to wait. Pictures hung along the opposite wall, all black and whites framed in different sizes. Three children in various moments of their lives—running under a sprinkler, roasting marshmallows, and carving a pumpkin—smiled for the camera. Those same three were posed on the front porch of what looked like this very house. More pictures of a couple who looked at each other with love hung on the wall too. The man always seemed to have a violin in his hand. She took a step closer.
“Those are my parents.” Blaise closed the door with a click.
She stepped back. “These are lovely pictures. Whoever took them had a good eye.”
“Mostly, my father took them. I’m not completely sure who took the ones with him in them, though.”
He stood beside her, taking in the pictures too. He smelled of soap. Also clean. She could feel his heat against her arm, and she stepped away. “How is Cash doing?”
“He was asleep, so I didn’t want to bother him. Now what happens?”
The hallway felt tight with the two of them standing there. She turned toward the front of the house. “Maybe we should move so we don’t wake him.”
He followed. “Do you want to sit?” He pointed to the sofa with his bad hand. He never did tell her what happened to him.
“Uh, okay. The first thing I would do is make sure you have some ginger ale and crackers in the house. Besides keeping an eye on him to make sure he’s done, you know.”
“Yeah. I hope so.” Blaise plopped down on the opposite end of the sofa and tapped on his legs with his fingers.
“What if he isn’t done?”
“Really, Blaise, there isn’t much you can do for him. But if it’s still going on in the morning, I would call a doctor or take him to the ER. They can give him something to make it stop.”
He popped up. “Would you like something to drink? I’m sorry I didn’t offer before, but I could really use something.”
His sudden need to move surprised her. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“Do you drink tea? You look like a tea drinker,” he said over his shoulder on the way to the kitchen.
What was that supposed to mean? “What does a tea drinker look like?”
He returned with two glasses of iced tea and handed one to her. She searched for a coaster but didn’t see one. “Can I put this down on your table?”
“That’s what it’s there for.”
She held the glass, not wanting to leave a ring on his table. It looked as if it might’ve been made from a re
furbished barn door. He had good taste. She figured she’d find an old brown couch held together with duct tape, a table standing on three legs, and the place reeking of smoke and beer. Not that she had ever seen him smoking.
He plopped back down. “No offense about the tea-drinker thing. It’s just you don’t strike me as someone who throws back a scotch at the end of the day. You’re more of a ‘pour your beer in a glass’ gal.”
She made a face. “I don’t drink scotch.”
He laughed. “I told you.”
His laugh was full and filled the room. His eyes crinkled up, and the gray in them twinkled. He stretched out his long toned legs. His belly was flat behind that T-shirt, and his shoulders broad. His hands were muscular from all the years of playing the drums, though his fingers were calloused. She could see why women would fall for him. He was easy on the eyes, and the famous drummer thing was exciting.
“Okay, so if Cash keeps throwing up, I need to call the doctor or take him to the hospital?”
“Right.”
“And if he stops? Is he out of the woods?”
“The worst is over, then. That’s why I mentioned the ginger ale and crackers. That’s about all he can eat tomorrow. If he insists he’s hungry, then go to toast with jelly.”
“Toast with jelly?”
“A baked potato with no butter would be okay, but not the first thing he eats. If you don’t have ginger ale, I guess a Coke will do.”
“Maybe I should write this down.” He popped up again and ran back to the kitchen. She could hear him rummaging in drawers. He returned with a small piece of paper and a pencil and jotted down what she told him.
“I’m not sure if you thought of this, but you’ll want to clean the bathroom so you don’t catch whatever he has. If you have your own bathroom, it can wait until the morning, I guess.” Though if it were her house, she’d be in there scrubbing as soon as she could. “I’d toss his toothbrush too.”
“Toss his toothbrush?”
“Well, I like to be careful and don’t want to give the germs any reason to spread.” She looked into her drink. Larry always complained about her obsessive cleaning.
“If you say so, the toothbrush goes. You’re the expert.”
She looked back at him, and he was smiling at her. He wasn’t wrinkling up his face as if she’d asked him for one too many favors or rolling his eyes as if she didn’t know what she was talking about. He didn’t say she worried too much about things that didn’t matter, like throwing away a toothbrush.
Blaise tapped his fingers against his shin crossed over his thigh to a beat only he could hear. He glanced down the hallway and back at her, then back toward the hall again. His fingers never slowed.
“Do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“That.” She pointed to his hands, still playing a tune against his legs.
His eyes widened, as if seeing his hands for the first time, and he laughed. “Yes, ma’am, I always do.” He exaggerated his southern accent, and she wondered if he worked hard to keep it quiet. “I drove my teachers crazy.” He glanced down the hall again. “I never want to see my kid that sick again.”
“You feel helpless when your child isn’t well.” She ran her finger around the rim of the glass. This man wasn’t what she expected. He cared about his son in such an honest and open way. Larry always held his emotions for Chloe in check, as if it wasn’t manly to express that kind of love. Or any kind of love, for that matter.
“You haven’t touched your tea. Don’t worry. It’s low calorie. Not as low as that lettuce you like to eat, but close.” He winked.
“Salad is good for you. You should try it sometime.” She smiled at him. The conversation was easy, and she liked his innocent teasing.
He patted his stomach. “I like my meat and potatoes. Lettuce is rabbit food. Besides, I can’t eat a salad and go on stage. I need real food, or I’ll pass out. Low blood sugar, you know.” But he winked again.
Laughter bubbled inside her. She liked the feeling of its effervescence on her lips. Every conversation with Larry had been serious, a constant list of things to do. Blaise reminded her what fun could be. She shook her head. She didn’t want thoughts of Larry with her here. Here, at this late hour in a stranger’s house, she could try to be the new Grace. Maybe it was too soon?
She hesitated to put the glass down and ruin the table. “I really should be getting back.” She hitched her thumb over her shoulder. “He hasn’t come back out. Maybe he’s done.”
“Could you stay a little longer just to be sure? I hate to ask, it’s late and all, but if he starts up again…” He let his words drop off.
It was late, and her eyelids were growing heavy. The only thing she could do for Cash or Blaise was call an ambulance, but that didn’t seem necessary. Cash was in his room probably getting the much-needed sleep that comes from retching repeatedly. Blaise stared at her, his fingers still drumming on his legs. He hadn’t touched his tea either.
She leaned back against the cool leather sofa. “Okay, a little longer.”
“Thank you.” His voice was filled with a huskiness not there before.
He took his tea, and she decided to try it too. The sweet cold drink felt good against her now-dry throat.
“How are the renovations coming?” he asked.
“Dad.” Cash stood in the entryway. Dark circles threw shadows under his eyes, and his face was the color of dirty dishwater. His chest was bare, and his shorts a wrinkled mess.
Blaise jumped from his spot and ran to Cash. He placed a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”
“I think so. Can I have a drink?”
Blaise turned to Grace. His mouth formed an open circle. “I only have milk, iced tea, and water.”
She picked up Blaise’s glass. A tiny, wet ring left its mark on the pretty wood table. “Hang on a second.” She went into the kitchen to deposit the glasses on the counter. Dishes were piled in the sink, but other than that, things seemed in order.
“Grace is here?” Cash’s words were strangled.
“She’s here to help.”
She heard them talking and knew Cash was probably embarrassed by her presence. Chloe certainly would’ve been. She didn’t want to make it worse for him. Hoping to keep things quick, she returned to the bedroom. “Why don’t I run out to a supermarket or something that’s open twenty-four hours and get you what you need. How far out of town do I have to go?”
“Thanks, but I’ll do it. It’s easier. I know where to go.”
“You’re going to leave me alone? What if I start throwing up again?”
She shook her head, and her smile widened. No matter what age teens were and no matter how much they fought to be treated like adults, on the inside they were still young and needed their parents.
“Grace, will you stay?” Blaise said.
Cash glared at him, but Blaise didn’t notice. He didn’t realize his son didn’t want her around. Chloe would have barked like a rabid dog at the idea of Blaise hanging with her at a time like this.
“I’m happy to stay if Cash is okay with that, but it might be better if I run out. Really, Blaise. I don’t mind.”
Blaise turned to Cash. “What can I get for you?”
“Something to drink. Can I have water?”
Blaise turned to Grace and raised his eyebrows. “Do you have ice cubes? He can suck on those until I get back.”
Cash threw up his hands. “What’s the difference? They’re both water.” He stormed into his room and slammed the door.
“That’s a good sign. He’ll be fine. How far do I have to go?”
Blaise gave her directions to a twenty-four supermarket outside of town. She spent thirty minutes driving there because she took a wrong turn twice. Her knuckles were white by the time she pulled into the parking lot, but she’d made it. She wasn’t tired any longer.
“What kind of town doesn’t have a twenty-four-hour drugstore?” She pushed herself out of the car. “
People get sick in the middle of the night.”
She returned to Blaise’s faster than it took to get to the store—this time she only made one wrong turn—and with everything he’d need for Cash for the next day. She pulled in a deep, satisfied breath.
Blaise stood at the sink loading the dishwasher. That might be the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. She quickly shook the thought away. She wouldn’t entertain the idea of anything intimate with this man. He’d been with too many women. She’d never be able to get that idea out of her head.
She cleared her throat to let him know she was there and pulled crackers and soda from the bag. “I also bought waffles and syrup in case he gives you a huge fight about the toast and jelly. No butter.” She pointed a finger at him, and he laughed.
Heat filled her cheeks. “I hope you don’t mind, but I picked up some bleach cleaners and disinfectant wipes for the bathroom in case you didn’t have any.” She kept her gaze on the items as she pulled them from the bag. “Oh, and”—she held up a toothbrush—“you can never be too prepared.”
He took the toothbrush, and their fingers grazed. Her heart fluttered; heat ran down her neck. This man was trouble. So much trouble.
“Thank you.”
“You don’t mind about the cleaning supplies?” It was a presumptuous thing to do. What made her think he didn’t have things to clean his bathroom?
He smiled at her. “Why would I mind that?” He picked up the spray bottle of bleach cleaner, tossed it in the air, and caught it. “Thanks. It’s the best gift ever. Better than the first drum set I ever got. I paid for that myself, so I guess that wasn’t a gift, huh?”
“You’re going to drop that, and there will be a big mess. You don’t want to get bleach all over your wood floor.”
“Do you ever take time off?” He placed the bleach on the counter, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared at her.
She held his gaze, though she wanted to look away. “Time off from what?”
“From all the rules.”
“What rules?” She wasn’t following. Heat climbed back into her cheeks, but this time she was certain he was making fun of her. People told her over and over she had too many rules. Too stuffy. Be more flexible. She had forgotten how to let loose, to let go. Letting go was dangerous, or at the very least chaotic.
