by Leah Atwood
What Lyndsey didn’t know, was that he’d promised Mark to look after her, should anything ever happen to him. Miranda’s death from cancer at a young age made them all face their mortality. One evening, out on the lake fishing, a pensive Mark had posed the question. Neither could have guessed that within a year, a car crash would claim Mark’s life.
For two years, he’d done his best to keep an eye on Lyndsey. Doing so was a juggling game of protecting her feelings and providing help when he could. Most of his assistance came in the form of quotes for his services at a significantly reduced rate. He made them just high enough that she wouldn’t be suspicious.
No one but the pastor knew he’d been the one to suggest a lawn care ministry, from which Lyndsey benefitted. Nor was the alarm system he’d installed for her a promotional unit from the company. He’d purchased it specifically for Lyndsey’s home after a string of break-ins around town.
He wasn’t sure that was enough anymore. In light of her current situation, he’d have to finagle more information out of her, find out just how bad things were. Since she’d admitted she couldn’t afford a repair, it had to be dire. The problem was, how could he find out the severity of her problems in a tactful way?
Regardless, what else could he do? The fact remained, Lyndsey wouldn’t accept outright help, and there were lines of propriety to consider.
The emitted breath of a long sigh fogged his front window. He was overthinking the situation, getting ahead of himself. For all he knew, Lyndsey just didn’t have the money until payday and he’d created a problem out of nothing.
Unlikely.
Stopped at a red light, he checked his phone one more time. Call him gun shy, but after two nights of false cancellations, he didn’t believe she would carry through with plans. At least he hadn’t had to rearrange plans to fit Lyndsey into today’s schedule. If she backed out again, he might send one of his men in his place—a few of his employees were looking for extra work with the holidays approaching. He glanced in the mirror, caught his sarcastic smirk, and knew full well he wouldn’t let one of the men replace him.
He stared at the phone, tempted to call and confirm.
No, best not to give her any chance to back out again.
The light turned green, and Shep moved his foot from the brake to the gas pedal, accelerating through the intersection. He drove down a street lined with beech trees, the same trees his parents had helped plant as part of a town-wide beautification project years ago before he was born.
His roots ran deep in Maryville, the heart of Calding County. Generations of Patterson men and women had raised their families in the area, dating back to colonial times, and he couldn’t imagine a better place to live. While many of his friends had left after graduation to pursue college degrees and grander lives, Shep stayed local and went to vocational school. At nineteen, he married Miranda, his childhood sweetheart, and they’d settled into their adult life, never second guessing their paths.
When they were twenty-three, their life had mirrored an idyllic scenario. His handyman business was well established, and he was working toward the licenses to be a general contractor. Positioned and ready to start a family, he and Miranda had bought their first house, a fixer-upper. His wife had wanted nothing more than to fill their home with children, but year after year, they never conceived. Then came the cancer she fought valiantly for three years before losing the battle, five days after their ten-year anniversary.
There were still days he struggled to reconcile her death, four years later. Same with Mark. Two great people, taken away in their prime.
The memory of his friend quelled the irritation he’d felt toward Lyndsey over the cancelled appointments, replacing it with compassion and empathy. What was a missed concert when a friend was struggling and he could help?
He approached her driveway, and then pulled in, parked beside the modest ranch-style home. Green mildew darkened the tan vinyl siding, and he automatically began devising a plan to pressure wash the house for her. As far as he could see, it was only on the north side, the wall closest to the driveway. A few hours was all it would take to clean it up.
After grabbing his toolbox from the passenger seat, he stepped out of his work truck. Spicy aromas seeped from the house. Shep inhaled. Beef stew was his guess. A full flavor, hearty, stick-on-the-ribs meal that had simmered all day in the slow-cooker. His mouth watered. Although he could grill a mean steak and was an expert grilled cheese maker, he’d never gotten a handle on cooking. Maybe he could barter his services for some home-cooked meals he could throw in the freezer.
Genius. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Even Lyndsey would admit it wasn’t healthy for a man to eat microwaved dinners and fast food most nights and wouldn’t see it as a charity case. Not completely, because he’d gladly pay for meals cooked by her whether he did work on her house or not. It was all a matter of phrasing it in an inviting manner. A bounce entered his final step to the door.
He pressed the glowing doorbell and heard the chime inside.
“Be right there,” Lyndsey called and opened the door thirty seconds later. She shoved a hand in her pants pockets and rocked on her heels. “Hi.”
“Hi.” An awkward tension bounced between them. Why, he didn’t know.
“Come inside.” She waved him in as she turned around and walked toward the kitchen.
Familiar with the home’s layout, he closed the door behind himself and followed her. “Where’s Josh?”
“At Mark’s parents for the night.” Leaning against the counter farthest from the oven, she crossed her arms and sighed.
“You’re not happy about it?” He vaguely remembered Mark’s parents being overbearing.
“I’m glad they make the effort to spend time with him, really I am, but they showed up without warning and asked him before even consulting me.” Her shoulders rose then fell. “What was I supposed to do? Tell them ‘no, you wasted an hour’s drive for nothing’, and worse yet, disappoint Josh?” She wiped a hand over her mouth, her fingertips lingering at her jaw. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have unloaded that on you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Cognizant of her discomfort, he jumped to business matters. “What’s going on with the range?”
Lyndsey crossed the room and stood beside him by the oven. She pointed to the controls. “All the buttons seem to function and show the correct messages when pushed, but the cavity doesn’t heat up.”
“What about the stove? Do the coils heat?” He glanced at the burners.
“I’ve been afraid to turn them on and risk further breaking the unit.”
“If it’s what I think, it’s a common problem with this model and an easy fix.” With a hand on each side of the appliance, he shimmied it away from the wall. “Give me thirty minutes and I should have it up and running again.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.” She backed away, putting distance between them again. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to call my in-laws and make sure they got home safe with Josh.”
“Go ahead.” Turning his head, he gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
His belt loop caught on the counter when he slid between the oven and the counter sidewall.
He unhooked himself and kneeled on the tile floor, pleasantly surprised at the area’s cleanliness. Over the years, he’d seen some pretty horrendous filth behind appliances, an area many people overlooked in regular chores, himself included. The worst he had seen was a decomposed rodent. He shuddered at the memory then busied himself removing the back panel from the range.
Just as he thought, the thermostat was bad. He ran a few extra diagnostics to make sure there weren’t any additional problems. Once he was certain there was only one issue, he ran out to the truck. Thankfully, Lyndsey had a popular model and after he’d replaced five thermostats for others in town, he began keeping a few extra on hand.
When he returned, Lyndsey stood at a counter, lifting the lid to t
he slow cooker. “Did you figure it out?”
“Bad thermostat.” He held up the one in his hand. “Your oven will be good as new once I put this in.”
“How long do you think it will take?” Replacing the lid, she seemed to shrink within herself. “Should I get dinner ready?” Her voice hitched at the tail end of the question.
“Twenty-five minutes tops.”
“I’ll, um, set the table then.” When she brought plates down from a cabinet shelf, her hand visibly shook and rattled the dishes.
Realization struck him so abruptly, he almost dropped the thermostat. Pride wasn’t the only reason Lyndsey had cancelled. The unexplainable tension between them, the vocal signals, the trembling hands. She wasn’t comfortable partaking in a meal with him—not outside of a group setting.
Had she shared her table with a man since Mark’s death? He still remembered the first time he’d eaten with another woman after Miranda’s passing. It was innocent, a dinner between him and Miranda’s sister who’d come to help clear out her belongings. Until then, he’d never realized how personal meals were.
A time to unwind, to tell the day’s events. A time to grow closer, little by little, as bits of knowledge about the other are imparted and stored in the heart.
After that first dinner with Miranda’s sister, Shep had made a point of not eating alone with a female, not even on a date. The few times he’d gone out with someone, food wasn’t involved unless in a group setting.
He laid the thermostat on the counter beside the oven. “I won’t hold you to the meal. I’m sure you don’t get much time alone without Josh.”
“No, no. I promised you a meal and food you will get.” The timid smile stretching her lips didn’t reach her eyes. “There’s enough stew to feed an army, so you’re staying unless you want to offend me.”
His stomach answered for him with a loud growl. “If you’re sure.”
“Positive.” The muscles around her eyes relaxed.
“Good because it smells delicious, and I’d hate to miss out.” He put the exchange behind him and lowered his knees to the floor, grabbing the thermostat as he kneeled.
The routine repair didn’t take long to complete. When he finished, Shep stood and circled to the oven’s front. Before he reattached the back panel, he tested the appliance by setting the oven to preheat at three-hundred and seventy-five degrees.
Lyndsey popped into the kitchen for the third time. “Is it fixed?”
“Think so.” He pointed to the digital clock where the numbers increased by the second. “Testing it out now.”
“I can’t thank you enough.” She started to sigh, then seemingly cut it short.
“Glad to help.” The oven beeped, and he lowered the door. Took out his thermometer he used for assessment. Three hundred and seventy-five degrees. “Perfect. You’re all set.”
“The slow cooker will be glad for a break.” A soft laugh floated through the air.
Her eyes lit up when she laughed, sparkled like gemstones. He’d never noticed before, and it disturbed him that he did so now. Technically, there were no reasons why it was wrong to notice an attractive trait in Lyndsey, but he’d not noticed anything about any woman in a physical sense since Miranda’s death.
He brushed it off. You’re thinking too much again. “Try microwave dinners for a week straight. You’ll be thankful for anything else.”
Another laugh. “I don’t give it enough credit. To tell the truth, I use the slow cooker a lot, especially in winter.” She moved to the fridge and opened the door. “I have tea and water to drink. Orange juice, too, but it’s the more kid-friendly version since Josh is the only one that drinks it. Or I could brew a pot of coffee.”
“Tea’s fine.” Reaching out, he pressed the correct button to turn off the oven. “Give me five minutes to put it all back together and I’ll be done.”
“I’ll finish setting the table.” She gestured toward the dining room as though Shep didn’t know where it was located in the house.
Thirty-five minutes later, his stomach reached its max occupancy after he’d consumed two large bowls of the stew. Man, he missed home cooking. His idea from earlier resurfaced. Did he dare suggest a barter of services? Lyndsey had unwound considerably since he’d first arrived, and he didn’t want to set them back to an awkward place.
“Would you like some more?” Lyndsey discreetly craned her neck and looked at his bowl. “There’s plenty left.”
“I couldn’t force another bite if I tried.” He rubbed his stomach, giving his approval of the meal.
“That’s a shame because I made a lemon icebox pie earlier.”
His mouth salivated. “One of my favorites.”
“I remembered from when we used to have dinners together.” Her chin tucked against her chest, and she gazed at the table, as though embarrassed by the admission she’d stored that information.
It was no surprise to him. She’d always been a thoughtful and considerate host.
“In that case, I have to eat a slice.” His stomach groaned in disagreement with his mouth.
“I’ll brew some coffee to go with it, unless you’re in a hurry or need to leave.”
“No hurry. My night’s clear.” He saw her pale a shade, and he quickly backtracked to an excuse he’d used once already that night. “Not that I plan on staying long. I’m sure you don’t get much time by yourself to enjoy.”
“On the contrary, I was dreading the evening.” Raised brows gave her a pensive expression.
“Oh?”
“It’s true that I don’t get much time alone, but when I do, I hate it. It sounds good in theory, but in reality, it’s lonely and quiet.”
This open side of Lyndsey took him by surprise—an unnerving, but pleasant one. “I know what you mean. Grief is loudest in the silence.”
A moment of shared empathy shifted between them, altering the tone in the room. Coffee and dessert fell to the wayside.
“I almost cancelled again tonight.” Lyndsey’s gaze came back to him. “I’m glad I didn’t.”
His hand itched to reach out and pat her, let her know he understood, but instead, he wove his fingers together. “Me too.”
She cleared her throat. “The coffee…”
“Yes, the coffee.” He stood to an upright position and collected the dirty dishes. “Where do you want these?”
“The sink’s fine. I’ll run the dishwasher later.” After straightening the tablecloth, she stood as well and left the dining room.
Walking after her, Shep realized he hadn’t enjoyed a Saturday evening this much in years and the night was still young.
Chapter Three
The last remnants of an Indian summer kept the early November evening at a comfortable temperature. Lyndsey sat on an Adirondack chair on her back porch. Four feet away, Shep excused himself inside for another cup of coffee for each of them, insisting he get this round. She relaxed into her seat, staring at the hill that crested then dipped to the end of her property line.
Her discomfort from earlier in the day had eased into a comfortable camaraderie with Shep, but inviting him to stay after dinner was the last thing she’d expected to do. When she thought about it, she hadn’t actually issued the invitation, but it had happened naturally, which took off the pressure.
Pressure for what? She and Shep had been friends for a long time. Tonight’s dinner occurred merely to repay him for his generosity in repairing her oven. There was nothing more, nothing less. Keep telling yourself that. Did her initial anxiety tonight have a deeper meaning? Would she have reached the same level of nervousness if it was one of the girls coming over for dinner? No. That was an easy answer.
Then what did it mean? She didn’t have feelings for him beyond gratitude and friendship. Her heart remained broken from Mark’s death. The chance of falling in love again was zilch, the possibility of marrying again debatable.
She’d thought of it before—very minimally—but only for Josh’s sake. He deserved a fath
er, a male role model. Giving him that would prove tricky as she knew her heart would always belong to Mark. Few men would be willing to maintain a relationship or a marriage that was strictly for the benefit of her son. A relationship in which there’d be no intimacy, or love.
No expectations for something more. She didn’t have it to give.
Coming full circle on her thoughts, she decided the earlier apprehension arose from a fear of the unknown. Shep had been over since Mark’s death, but strictly for business purposes. He came, completed a task, left. Not to mention that she’d never cooked for any man except her husband. She’d been worried sharing dinner would resurrect painful memories. Maybe bittersweet would be a better word because although any memory of Mark hurt, the years they’d shared had been blessed with good times and great friends.
And while memories had surfaced, no grief accompanied them. Lyndsey could only credit that to Shep’s calming presence. Unlike many of her peers, Shep understood the experience of losing a spouse at a young age. She could talk about Mark openly and not disguise the sorrow she still felt.
She’d faced the unknown, and it had rewarded her with a pleasant evening.
The sliding door open, and she automatically turned her head, too used to acting in protective mom mode.
“Cream and sugar, right?” Shep handed her a ceramic cup with, coincidentally, his company’s logo on the side.
“Yes.” She took the beverage. “Thank you.”
With a tight grip on his mug, Shep settled into his chair. “There’s a cold front moving in next week. I’ll miss the warm weather.”
“It’s been nice while it lasted.” Cup raised, she sipped her coffee. “How low are the temps supposed to drop?”
“Mid-thirties.” His arm rested in a casual pose on the chair arm. “Probably will be the first time to use the heater since last winter.”
Drawing in a sigh that tried to escape, Lyndsey bit the inside of her cheek. The furnace needed oil, which cost money and lots of it. Please let there be enough left in there to last until I can get some extra money. She didn’t want to ask her in-laws for help, but if it came to it, she would. To keep Josh warm.
