by Lia London
“Okay, guys, that’s everything. Pizza is in the first unit at the end. Thanks so much for your help!” Maris removed her baseball cap and retied her ponytail as the scout troop filed eagerly out the door with their leaders to get their reward for unloading and stacking crates of blankets and cots into the two units that would be used for the sleeping dorms. Another group from a local church had helped her set up the soup kitchen area, complete with five fridges, two stoves and eleven crockpots.
She had dropped and broken the twelfth crockpot when Crawford called.
Now she wrangled with the plastic wrap binding one of the cots and finally set it free. Unfolding it, she let herself flop back with her arm shielding her eyes from the overhead lights. She just needed a ten-minute power nap, and then she could start unwrapping all the cots.
Seconds before she drifted off, she heard the whiffle of the front door opening again. “Last door down,” she called. “I got a bunch of different kinds, so hopefully there’s enough.”
The door swished shut, and Maris closed her eyes tighter, pinching the bridge of her nose. If she left the work for tomorrow, she’d save the muscles in her body, but her heart would ache with the loneliness of her apartment. She needed to push through.
A weight pressed on her, and she jerked her hand down to feel the thick, wooly blanket covering her body.
“Hi, Sleeping Beauty.”
Maris gawped at Crawford standing there with his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. He wore a gray t-shirt with a Mustang Man Cologne logo on it.
She sat up, leaning back on her hands. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say.” After three days of trying to pummel her heart into submission, it stubbornly beat faster at the sight of his deep blue eyes watching her.
“Tell me what to do,” he said softly.
Maris shook her head. This wasn’t happening. “Crawford, why are you here?”
“I want to help.” He held up a hand as if stopping himself. “No. I want to be more like you. Maybe helping here will teach me.”
Muddled thoughts swirled through her. The day had been too long. “I’m just taking a quick break and then I need to—Where are you going to stay tonight?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
She shook her head, tossing off the blanket. “Don’t think you can come up here and win me over by …” The words died on her lips. “Go home, Crawford.” If he stayed, she’d fall all over again, and she couldn’t have that. It would only mean he’d crush her heart afresh.
“Nope.”
“What do you mean, nope?”
“I mean I’m not leaving until you let me help.”
“Crawford, don’t be dumb. I—” She stopped when he flinched.
Hadn’t he repeatedly called himself stupid, and there she was feeding into that narrative out of tired confusion? “I’m sorry. I don’t mean that.”
Crawford only answered with a solemn shrug.
“Isn’t it kind of late to be starting work?” she insisted, rising to her feet.
He took a single step closer, his voice husky. “I haven’t slept very well since Skamania.”
She watched him swallow hard, as if he could feel the lump in her own throat.
“I … um.” She removed her cap and tossed it into the corner near the front windows where she had piled her belongings. “I was going to start unwrapping all these cots and lining them up, but they’re really hard to get open.”
“Got a box knife?”
She shook her head. “No, I didn’t even think about it. I’m the dumb one, huh?”
Crawford drew a breath and held it. “Please stop saying that about yourself, Maris. I don’t know who’s been tearing you down, but they don’t know what they’re talking about. You …” His voice cracked. “You know what matters. The rest is for us grunts to take care of.”
“Hey!” She raised a warning finger. “The same goes for you. No calling yourself a grunt, or a dumb jock, or anything else.”
A half-grin brightened his face. “Deal. We’re both geniuses.”
A soft spot bloomed in her chest. “Regular Einsteins.”
“And I even have a pocket knife in the car. Hang on. I’ll bring it in so we can tear up this town.”
He jogged out, and Maris followed in his wake as if tethered to him. When he returned to the door, she held it open for him, and their bodies pressed together in the tight space.
“Crawford.”
He stopped instantly, his eyes on hers. “Yeah?”
“This is really sweet of you. Knight-in-shining-armor stuff.”
Crawford knuckled her chin softly. “Anything to help a damsel in distress.” He strode in and grabbed up the first of the cots, slicing open the plastic wrap with a smooth flick of his wrist.
Crawford plugged his phone into the wall with his charger and cranked up the volume, blasting Top 40 hits. The music covered any awkward silences, and soon he and Maris fell into a rhythm. He sliced the wrap, unfolded each cot, and slid them across the slick concrete floor to Maris. She lined them up in neat rows, all the while avoiding eye contact with him.
Thinking of Axel’s counsel, Crawford discovered he loved the way Maris bent to a task, both physically and mentally. He stopped focusing on the pert shape of her body and just enjoyed the way it moved with energy and determination.
When she shoved the last cot into place and stood appraising the room with her fists on her hips, he couldn’t resist coming up behind her and placing his hands gently on her shoulders. “I’m calling you Maris the Machine from now on. That was sweet!”
She gave him a smile he couldn’t read but didn’t flinch away from his touch. He knew what she must have overheard and recognized how it would hurt her.
Crawford dropped his hands to his sides. “So Maris, I wanted to tell you about the other day when you called.”
She held up a hand, closing her eyes, and pushed past him. “No, I don’t think I want to know.”
“Please, Maris. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Of course not,” she said, stooping to retrieve a wad of clear plastic wrap. “You have multiple lady friends with no need to commit to just one.”
Crawford’s mouth dropped open. “Okay, first of all, that’s not true anymore, and second of all, you were the one saying to keep things slow. I thought you weren’t interested, so why are you acting all jealous?”
That was not the plan of attack he had envisioned, and he instantly regretted his words.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Crawford.” She bunched more plastic into her arms in angry, crinkling bursts. “Not every woman you know is going to tear off her clothes and throw herself at you.”
Crawford wavered between growling and laughing, settling at last for a half smile. “I can see that. You’re fully clothed.” Cautiously, he moved closer, joining her efforts to pick up all the fallen wrap. “And I’m not asking you to change for me.”
“Because I wouldn’t know what to do anyway.” Her petulant pout reminded him of a child.
“I doubt that.”
She stomped her foot. “I’m a vir—”
“Maris, your kisses turn me on so much, I could power North America for a month, but I’m not asking you for anything but to give me a chance to be a man. Not a model. Not some guy covered in bubbles.” He wilted as the last remnants of swagger left him. “A man who deserves the company of an angel. Please, Maris. That’s all I’m asking.”
Chapter 11 ~ New Developments
Maris licked her lips and stepped away before he could see the tears in her eyes. Her heart gave a battle cry, but she couldn’t understand the fight and didn’t know which side she was on.
“I need to go get some garbage bags to put this stuff in.” She dropped the wrap and darted out the door, running as she always did when she was scared. Or when she was happy. Maris didn’t know which.
Fumbling the key in the lock of the unit at the far end, she tried to make sense of his words. With
the slam of her palm on the bar, she forced the door open and stood shivering with emotion in the darkness, trying to remember why she’d come into this part of the Annex.
To escape Crawford’s eyes. His arms, his lips, the irresistible pull of his grin.
And yet the scream of her body’s longing made her tremble. How could she trust him? How could she trust herself?
She spun around, squinting through the shadows and found the table with the old pizza boxes on it. Underneath it, she located the large crate of cleaning supplies and pulled out a box of giant yard debris bags. What she couldn’t find was an excuse not to go back to the unit with the cots.
Reluctantly, she made her way back through the front door and locked up.
“Excuse me, ma’am? You work here?”
Maris narrowed her eyes at the silhouette of a woman, backlit by the street lamp behind her. “Um, yeah. Sort of. It isn’t open yet, though.”
“Please, I need some help.”
Maris patted down her pockets. “My wallet’s in the other unit if you—”
“No, not that kind—ow!”
Maris bounded forward. “Are you hurt?”
“I think my baby’s coming!”
A spike of adrenaline jolted Maris. “Baby?” She saw the bulge of the woman’s belly for the first time. “Oh my gosh. Need me to call 9-1-1?”
“Yes, please!”
“Can you make it down to the end there? I’ve got a cot where you can lie down and wait.”
“Yeah, I think so.” Leaning on Maris’ arm, the woman waddled awkwardly to the last unit.
As they reached the bright lights shining through the cot room, Maris caught a glimpse of the woman. Stringy pink and black hair framed a pale young face. She couldn’t be older than her late teens. From her disheveled appearance and stale scent, Maris knew she’d been on the streets for a while.
“Come on in. We’ll call for an ambulance.” Maris pushed open the door and signaled to the wide-eyed Crawford. “Can you call 9-1-1? She’s about to pop a baby.”
Crawford leapt into action, unplugging his phone from the wall. The music went silent, and he began tapping. “What’s your name?” he asked the girl.
“Megan.” She gasped and clutched her abdomen. “Tell them to hurry! I’m scared!”
“You’ll be okay, Megan,” promised Crawford, lifting the phone to his ear. “You’re in good hands here.” He began speaking to the dispatcher.
Meanwhile, Maris helped lower Megan onto a cot. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore.”
“How far apart are the contractions?”
“I don’t know.” Megan held her breath. “Close. Really close.”
Maris eased her back. “Hang in there. Help is coming. Let me grab you a pillow.”
Crawford joined Megan, kneeling beside her. Still holding the phone, he offered his free hand to her. “Go ahead and squeeze if it helps.”
Megan sighed at him with awe and grasped his hand, her knuckles whitening a moment later as she held her breath again.
“Keep breathing,” called Maris, dimming all but one bank of lights. “I’m not leaving you in the dark, but I figured you wouldn’t want the whole neighborhood to witness this.”
“How old are you, Megan?” asked Crawford.
“Seventeen.”
Crawford relayed this information to the dispatcher, then continued to utter soothing words to Megan.
Maris ran to the custodial storage room. Not sure of what to do, she ran the water over a few sheets of paper towel and brought the rest with her. Red lights flashed in the parking lot as she dabbed at Megan’s forehead.
“Go show them where to come, Maris,” urged Crawford, still holding Megan’s hand. “Let’s get your socks and shoes off, okay?”
By the time Maris reentered with the paramedics from the fire station, Crawford had helped Megan remove all clothes from the bottom half while keeping her covered with a blanket. The uniformed experts took over, abandoning the stretcher idea as soon as one of them announced the baby’s crown was already showing.
Ushered to the side, Maris sat on the edge of a cot chewing her thumb until Crawford came and curled his arm around her.
“Amazing, huh?” he said.
“You sure were.”
“No, I mean … this.” He indicated the commotion surrounding Megan. “We’re witnessing a birth.”
Maris nodded. “And a miracle.” Her hand gripped his knee. “Crawford, what would have happened to her if we hadn’t been here?”
“I don’t even want to think about it,” he answered in low tones. “Good thing we stayed late to work, huh?”
Maris made full eye contact for the first time all night. “Thank you, Crawford.”
His thumb brushed at a tear on her cheek. “Thank you, Maris. This is an adventure.”
“Never a dull moment, right?” She let out a breathy laugh, allowing herself to lean into his chest a little closer.
“Not with you around.”
An infant’s cry rang out, and Maris covered a sob of joy with both hands. “What is it?” she called out. “Boy or girl?”
The paramedic holding the baby remained focused on his work, passing the child to Megan after wiping everything clean.
His assistant winked at Maris. “A beautiful baby girl,” he said. “Got a full hairdo and everything.”
The energy in the room subsided with the relief of a successful, live birth, and Megan agreed to go in the ambulance back to the hospital to be checked over.
“She’ll sleep clean and comfortable tonight,” whispered Crawford.
As the last firefighter headed for the door, he paused. “Thanks for the call. That was crazy close.”
“It sure was,” said Crawford.
“Sorry about the mess.”
Maris shook her head. “No worries. We’ll get it.”
“What is this place, anyway?” asked the firefighter.
Crawford glanced at Maris before answering boldly. “Angel’s Rest. Come back and visit us any time.”
The door swung shut with a soft whiffle, and they were left in the cavernous, shadowy room alone.
Crawford reached for Maris’ hand, interlocking his fingers with hers. “What a perfect night, huh?”
A surprising wash of warmth flooded Maris’ heart. “Yeah.”
He gave her hand a quick squeeze before letting go. “Want me to mop up this mess while you put the blankets out?”
“Oh. Right. Sure.” She held up her bundle of keys. “It’s the one with the red sticker on it. Last door.” She told him where to find the cleaning supplies and watched him walk out into the night.
When her pulse settled to a more reasonable pace, she grabbed a stack of blankets and started placing them at the foot of each cot. She finished over fifty of them before Crawford finally came back.
“What happened? You get lost?” she teased.
“I was making a phone call.”
“Oh.” She grabbed more blankets, frowning.
“Were you going to be giving out hygiene kits and stuff?” he asked, following her with an armful of blankets through the rows of cots.
“That’s coming, after I make more phone calls for donations.” She hoped.
“Good. If the ladies don’t mind smelling like Lumberjack Lather, I think you’ll have enough to get you started for a few months.”
Maris stopped and spun around. “What?”
Crawford grinned, wagging his head. “I can make phone calls, too, you know.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Huh?”
He tossed blankets into place as he spoke. “I just finished the Lumberjack Lather gig, remember? They haven’t paid me yet, so I asked if they could pay me in product instead of cash.”
Maris stumbled backwards, landing hard on a cot. “You what?”
“They’re paying me in kind.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but his mischievous wink blew her mind. “I’m having them deliver it all here. Should be a
few hundred cases of the stuff.”
Her eyes widened as the air rushed out of her lungs.
“Maris?”
“You did not!”
He chuckled at her shocked reaction. “I fixed it through Bran. They should arrive in the next week.”
She spoke distinctly to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood. “You’re giving away your earnings to the homeless in the form of body wash?”
He bit his lip. “Uh-huh. Is that okay?”
In a single vault, Maris launched herself into his arms, wrapping herself around his torso as she had in the aerial park, but this time she kissed him with every ounce of gratitude in her being. Clinging to him, she ran her fingers through his hair, willing her lips to communicate how amazing she thought he was.
Crawford’s strong arms folded tightly around her, and he returned her kisses with a sweet fire that melted her into him. She had found the handsome prince her mother had promised, and she was not letting him go.
“Crawford, what a crazy move, but I swear, you can’t buy publicity like this,” Bran gushed the next morning. “I might have let slip what you did, and there’s a reporter who wants to cover the story. You need to come out to the studio now.”
“Bran, I can’t. I’m still up in Spokane.” He rolled on his side and watched Maris slumbering on the cot next to his. They’d worked until three in the morning, cleaning and making the place homier. A midnight run to the local Walmart meant there were some cozy bedside lamps on crates that would double for nightstands, a few nature posters decorated the walls, and curtains hung from dowels attached to the ceiling, providing a measure of privacy for the sleepers beyond the entrance area.
“Get down here!”
“I’ve had two hours of sleep, Bran.”
“I don’t want to hear about your escapades with women. This interview will shoot your stock through the clouds.”
“That’s nice. Tell them I’ll get there by three. Maybe four.”
“Crawdaddy!”
“Talk to you later, Bran.”
While a corner of his brain processed Bran’s announcement and its career implications, the rest of him focused on the way Maris’ hair lay in loose tangles across the pillow he bought her. Watching her sleep was better than yoga or meditation for clearing his mind of anything stressful.
