This was not good.
She couldn't be developing a crush on the man's voice. His voice!
It was insane, more so because she didn't particularly like him. At least she didn't think so. He was prickly and difficult and...
He had a great voice. And he was good with kids. Or at least with Lindsey, who'd been all smiles this afternoon as they'd made that pie together.
Noah went silent at a very crucial part of the story, a cliffhanger that must be the end of a chapter.
Jilly came to her senses and realized the afternoon had waned. The sun was going down. The boys had made good progress during their ninety minutes this afternoon. The spray paint wasn't completely covered—it would take another coat of primer for that—but it was something.
Casey glanced at the window but was too far away to see inside.
"Is that the end?" He asked the question almost angrily, as if he were embarrassed to admit he'd been listening.
"I don't know," she said. "Probably not. But we're done for the day."
PJ stood with his paintbrush at his side. He'd been silent and listening acutely the entire time. "But Mr. Noah didn't finish the story."
Casey shook his head, mouth pinched. He tossed his paintbrush in the paper grocery bag she'd brought to collect the used brushes in and stalked off toward the van.
Lindsey stirred on the blanket. She blinked sleepily and followed Casey to the van.
PJ was still stuck in place. "Will Mr. Noah read the rest tomorrow?"
"I don't know." She began folding up the picnic blanket. "He might finish up his recording tonight." She didn't know how long he worked every day. "Can you put your brush away?"
PJ shook his head. "How will we find out what happens?"
She laughed a little. "If Noah isn't recording the ending tomorrow, I guess we could go to the library and find a copy of the book to finish reading ourselves."
But PJ didn't seem to appreciate her solution. His left hand was wiggling with jittery energy, and his wide-eyed expression showed he was on his way to getting seriously upset.
"But what if the library doesn't have the right book?"
"Honey—"
"I want to have the book right now. Can't we borrow Mr. Noah's copy?"
She shook her head gently. "I think Noah's copy is on his computer. It's not a book you can pick up and take with you. Besides…"
She put her arm around his shoulders, wanting to offer comfort because she knew her words weren't going to do the trick.
But PJ dropped his paintbrush in the grass and pushed her, his hands surprisingly strong against her midsection. "No! I want to read it now!"
The words were shouted into her face, and he flailed out of her grasp.
"PJ. Peej."
But he was beyond being comforted. He let out a wordless scream and ran to the van, kicking the rear tire and then the bumper.
She was more worried about his foot than the car, which had seen better days.
She worked quickly to put away the picnic blanket and pick up the paintbrushes and close off the paint can. The faster they got out of there, the better.
She was aware of Lindsey leaning out of the open door of the van, cajoling PJ in a whisper.
Jilly saw him surreptitiously wipe his face. He stomped up the driveway, toward home.
Her insides felt crushed.
All it had taken were a few moments and her inability to find the right words to ruin a perfectly lovely afternoon.
What was she even doing?
* * *
Someone knocked at her back door.
Jilly turned off the faucet from where she'd been dealing with the crusted-on remains of supper. She'd left the pan after the meal, and the enchilada sauce had congealed. Ugh.
The kids were upstairs getting ready for bed. She could hear movement on the floorboards above her head and water running. She'd given them ten minutes to get ready, and then she'd go tuck them in.
She crossed the kitchen to the mudroom and back door. Who...? Iris would've arrived via the front door. There was only one person she could think of who would approach the house from the back.
And she couldn't think of any reason he would do so.
She opened the door.
Noah stood on the back porch, a long white cane in one hand. In his other hand he held a paperback book.
"Did you walk over here?" she asked.
He scowled.
Dumb question. What else would he have done?
She looked behind him, let her eyes roam. Past the swing set and abandoned soccer ball, the yard behind and the barn and the field she'd plowed, the fence and his driveway... She could barely see Noah's house. How...?
"I can get around just fine," he muttered. He wiggled the cane a little. "It's not for show."
She wanted to close her eyes and sigh. Now, she'd offended him. Today was not her day. "Sorry." Mama would've been appalled at the one-word apology. As it was, Jilly's energy was sapped. She had nothing left. "What do you want?"
In the porch light, he almost looked pained. It certainly wasn't the closed-off expression she'd come to associate with him. Even this afternoon, when Lindsey had brought him that stupid pie, he'd kept his expression a careful blank.
"I have a copy of that book." He held out the paperback, and even from here she could see the white lines down the back of the spine. Obviously a well-loved copy.
She didn't take it from him and he shook it at her, as if she'd frustrated him. "Here. Take it."
"Aren't you going to finish the story tomorrow?" Because if he wasn't, that would be cruel. And Noah might be grumpy and standoffish, but he wasn't cruel.
"Yeah, but..." He ducked his head. "I didn't realize... I wanted to… I didn't know that was going to happen. With PJ."
Of course he'd overheard the entire thing. She'd hoped in vain that he'd been in some other part of the house.
"Neither did I."
He looked so lost that her mouth got ahead of her brain. "Do you want to come in and have a cup of coffee?"
"I—no. No, I can't."
Of course he couldn't. He was probably violating all of his no trespassing rules just by being there.
Noah shoved the book toward her again.
She still didn't take it. "It wasn't about the book, okay? It was kind of you to bring that over, but he needs to hear the rest of the story tomorrow."
She saw from the tiny shake of his head and the crunch of his brows that he didn't understand.
"Sometimes, when kids get moved out of a foster house, it's sudden. They don't get to say good-bye to friends. They don't get to pick up the book they left in their desk at school. Maybe they miss the next episode of the cartoon they've been watching every morning."
She saw understanding dawn on his features.
"If you give him the book,” he said, “he'll be able to finish the story no matter what."
Noah was right. But... "PJ—and Lindsey and Casey—need to learn for themselves that my home is a safe place for them. Even if they don't get to read the end of the book, or a friend stops talking to them, or… whatever. Because I can't fix everything for them."
Healing took time. It was going to be a long road, for all of them.
Noah shook his head, like he still didn't agree with her. But this was her decision. The boys would hear the rest of the story tomorrow. They all would.
"It was really nice of you to come over." So unexpectedly nice. Like a surprise Christmas gift that a parent unveiled after all the other gifts were open. Noah cared. He had to, or he wouldn't have brought the book.
But her words instantly shut him down. He turned and left without a good-bye.
And she was okay with that.
She still didn't know why he chose to live alone, why he didn't want contact with anyone. He could obviously get around just fine, and he could care about people.
She'd seen the real Noah tonight, and she had more questions than ever.
8
> "Let's wrap up for the day," Jilly told Casey and PJ. It had only been forty-five minutes, but a cold front had moved through as she'd picked up the kids from school, and she was shivering in the breeze.
The boys groaned their appreciation, and she pointed toward the can of paint they'd cracked open earlier.
"Dump your unused paint back in the can. Brushes can go in here." She passed a paper grocery bag to Casey. "We'll wash them out back at the house."
The boys hurried to follow her instructions. They must be as frozen as she felt. Their noses were red, skin chapped from the wind. She wasn't faring any better.
"I'm going to go get Lindsey. Make sure the paint can is closed and put everything in the trunk. Then, wait in the car."
At least Lindsey was warm.
They'd only been out in the elements for maybe two minutes when Noah had opened the front door and barked at her to send Lindsey inside.
Two minutes had been plenty long enough for Jilly to wonder if she'd made a mistake coming out here at all today. It was that cold.
But Lindsey had scurried out from under the picnic blanket she'd wrapped herself in and disappeared inside with Noah. Jilly had peeked through the living room window several times to check on the girl. Lindsey had been settled at the coffee table with markers spread around her and paper strewn across the surface. At some point, a mug of what had to be hot chocolate had appeared.
Noah had continued recording books that interested Casey and PJ, finishing the first book the day after his surprise appearance at her back door. He'd started another by the same author the day after.
She glanced over her shoulder as she trudged up the step to the front door. The boys were packing up as she'd instructed.
She tapped on the door and then turned the knob, letting herself into the blessed heat.
"Knock knock!" she called out.
Lindsey looked up from the table, hand freezing mid-stroke as she drew.
Noah was nowhere to be seen.
"It's time for the kitty to come home."
"Aw." Lindsey protested half-heartedly.
Jilly grimaced when she noticed the markers were scattered across the floor.
"Can you start picking up?" she asked the girl. "I'm going to tell Noah we're leaving early."
Lindsey reached for the closest markers.
Noah wasn't in the kitchen, which left Jilly feeling miffed. She was ready to get home and make a pot of soup so she could warm up.
She headed back through the living room, toward the hall. "Noah?"
There was movement from one of the rooms off the hall. Maybe his bedroom. The light was off. She wasn't going to barge in and find out.
"We're taking a short day because of the weather," she called out.
"Okay."
She registered it in slow motion, couldn't stop it from happening and couldn't look away as his shadow… no, he walked misjudged the opening. His head collided with the edge of the solid-wood door hard enough to rattle a picture on the wall.
For a moment, she stood frozen. And then her muscles unlocked. "Noah!"
He'd edged back into the room.
She went to him, taking his arm and pulling him into the hallway. He went still under her touch. His expression showed a vulnerability that hit her somewhere deep inside. His lips were thinned in pain, but it was more than that. His eyes were wide, as if he was trying to figure out what had happened but it just wouldn't compute.
He shook his head slightly.
"I'm fine." He tried to shake her off, but she held onto him like a bulldog.
"You're not fine. Your eye is already starting to swell up." There was a scrape where his cheek met the corner of his eye, but it was the swelling that concerned her most.
And then Lindsey was at her side, tugging at her shirt. "Mr. Noah?" the girl whispered.
Noah froze, Jilly with him. Lindsey had spoken something other than meow.
He reached out, and Jilly let her hands fall away. He plopped his hand on top of the girl's head. "I'm fine," he said again. "I got plenty of black eyes playing football and rough-housing with my friends when I was younger. And this isn't the first time I've walked into a door."
Lindsey inhaled a shaky breath and then, to Jilly's surprise, she stepped forward and threw her arms around Noah's waist.
His expression showed the same shock Jilly felt, but he didn't flinch, not like when Jilly had touched him. His arm came around her bony shoulders, and he patted her gently, and maybe a little awkwardly.
"C'mon," she said gently. "Let's finish cleaning up."
Lindsey clung to Noah for a moment longer and then let go.
"You're gonna need an ice pack," she said.
"I'll handle it." Noah's voice was rough. She felt his walls go up.
* * *
Noah should've known Jilly wouldn't just leave.
He was in the kitchen, filling a plastic baggie with ice, when he heard the front door open and shut.
"I'm back," she called out. Footsteps approached, but he kept his back to her.
His humiliation made his voice sharp. "I don't need any help."
Her response wasn't laced with softness as it had been when she'd spoken to Lindsey earlier. "You already made that clear. I'm here anyway."
Why did she have to push? His movements were jerky as he pulled open the drawer where he kept dish towels. He whipped one out of the drawer and wound it around the baggie.
"Take the kids home. I know they're hungry and tired." She must've left them waiting in the car. She hadn't been gone long enough to take them home.
She ignored him. Awareness of her prickled up the back of his neck as she neared. "You could have a concussion."
He snorted. "I don't have a concussion."
"How did you know?" She stopped close enough that he could feel the waves of heat emanating off her body. She didn't touch him. "Sit down."
He sighed. "I don't have a concussion.” He knew the basics. If his headache got worse or if he vomited, he should to head to the ER.
He’d already admitted that today wasn’t the first time he’d walked into a door. He vaguely remembered Lindsey following him into his bedroom until he’d shooed her away. She must’ve left the door at an angle. It’d happened once before during a visit from his mom.
"I'm still not leaving until I get a good look at you."
Jilly was so stubborn. Did the headache count as worsening if it was Jilly causing his temples to pound?
He jerked a chair out from the table and plunked down in it. Fine. Let her have her look and be done with it.
Tomorrow, he'd have Aiden call a locksmith and maybe a fence guy. Yeah, a ten-foot plank fence around his property would be ideal.
It would also be expensive.
His random thoughts were helping him cope with his discomfort under her scrutiny, and because he was lost in them, he was shocked when she stepped close, her knees bumping his, and then bent even closer, her palms cupping his jaw on both sides.
The touch was too intimate, and he jerked away from it, turning his head to dislodge her hands. His motion sent the chair sliding back several inches.
"Whoa. Hey, it's okay." Her soft tone made him feel like maybe she’d used the same one on the kids. Did they take comfort in it? Because, while part of him found it soothing, another part of him rebelled against her words. He was not okay.
Her hands came to rest on his face again and, whether he was expecting it this time or craving the feel her softness, he didn't break away.
He did close his eyes.
"I know you don't like it when I touch you." Her words were a breath against his cheek. Just how close was she?
Her fingertip brushed his temple, and he started howling on the inside.
"It's okay, you know. Scars don't bother me." She laughed a little, almost self-consciously. "Your scars don't bother me," she corrected herself. "Mine do."
She had to be talking about her cancer.
"This doesn't ac
tually look too bad. You promise to ice it?"
He had to clear his throat in order to answer her. "I told you, I'm fine. Bruise'll be gone in a few days."
She started to lift her hands away and must've realized it at the exact moment he did that he was leaning into her touch.
Her voice filled with amazement. "You... don't dislike my touch." She paused, as if the realization was a slow drip, like misty rain off the edge of a roof. "You like it too much," she whispered.
Something hot roared through him, and he stood up. He intended to set her back, to make some space between them, but she hadn't budged, which meant they were face to face. Or face to chest, if he wanted to be exact. She'd been half a head shorter than he in high school, and now he could feel the breaths she was panting at the base of his neck.
He wanted to touch her. He didn't want to want it.
"It's my turn." His words emerged rough, like the sandpaper she and the boys had been using to scrub the paint layers from his house.
He reached up, half expecting her to pull away, run all the way out of his house.
But she stood frozen as he cupped her face in both hands. Her skin was as soft as the finest silk he'd ever touched. Softer.
Until his thumb brush a rough patch at the edge of her jaw. "What's this?" His voice was thick.
She turned her face slightly so that her nose pressed into the base of his thumb. "Primer, probably. I haven't looked in the mirror."
"How did it get there?"
"Have you ever painted with two preteens?"
His fingers brushed the hair at her nape. "Aiden said your hair was short. It used to be long."
Heat spread across her skin beneath the pads of his fingers.
"Are you blushing?"
"Maybe. Noah—"
Maybe the heat was coming from him. Because he realized that, somehow, he'd inched closer. Her words were a bit of breath on his lips.
And he was burning up, a spark igniting deep inside him.
He closed the scant inches between them and kissed her.
The first touch of her lips was like a shockwave, like getting clocked with a full-body tackle from behind.
He forgotten this. The sweep of a woman's lips.
Cowgirl Next Door (Sutter's Hollow Book 3) Page 6
