by Mae Nunn
“That’s our boy all right.” Her tone was a curious mixture of sarcasm and fondness. “He has this all-consuming savior complex, which explains why there’s been a constant stream of women through his life. It’s always been Guy to the rescue! The helpful hardware man making things right. He’s bailed so many females out of their problems that it’s second nature to him now. It’s what makes him happy.”
So there it was. Saving the day was how he got his kicks. It wasn’t personal at all; it was his addiction. Casey was looking at her, waiting for a response. Abby’s tongue went dry, like she’d just inhaled a mouthful of dust.
“Well, he seems like a wonderful man so I’m not surprised he’s had his share of relationships.” She forced the comment to sound casual when the truth was her ribs ached from the verbal sucker punch. Then things got worse.
“Relationships? Ha!” Casey threw her head back, whooped over what was obviously some inside joke. “That man has the attention span of a gnat when it comes to relationships. And no matter what he puts the ladies through, they give him the benefit of the doubt. I don’t know what he says to charm them, but women always overlook his faults. At first, anyway.”
“Faults?”
Casey arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow in that same skeptical way Guy did when Dillon offered up a bite of soggy cookie.
“Are you kidding? He relocates every nine months, works seven days a week, openly admits he has no intention of marrying, absolutely refuses to bring a woman home to meet our family and works on his art projects at crazy hours of the night.
“After a few months they get fed up with him, but sooner or later the poor fools show back up on his doorstep willing to compromise in case he’s changed his mind about marriage.” She stopped to swipe fingertips against the corners of her eyes where tears of hilarity gleamed. Then she let out a relieved sigh. “Honestly, Abby, I just had to come see for myself that you weren’t one more in a long string of hopefuls.”
Abby held both palms out, as if blocking the very idea. “Rest assured there’s no chance of that. The two men in my life have my heart all filled up and there’s no time for romance even if I was ready for it.”
“Good, because even though he does it unconsciously at this point, Guy has turned pleasing females into an art form. And I’ll be the first to admit it’s the gaggle’s fault. We’re his training ground. He honed his charms with us and he is nothing if not subtle.” She reached up and touched the small piece of colored glass suspended from the ceiling fan. “See, he’s already left his mark on you, and my guess is this isn’t the only piece of his work in your house.” She gave the chain a pull and the blades overhead began a slow turn.
“Is it?” Casey’s eyebrows rose as she waited for a response.
Abby shook her head, remembering the comforting glow of the night-light in Dillon’s room, the stained-glass sun catcher that had materialized in the window of the family area and the charming robin red breast that hung from a suction cup in her laundry room.
She didn’t even want to think about the lovely amethyst-filled geode that had appeared on her night table.
“Guy was always a silent shadow in the corner of the room, sitting so still we’d forget he was there. He listened to us talk about men, picked up all the right things we wanted to see and hear. And today he’s a an expert with women. Ever the champion fisherman. He sets the hook and settles back. He lets the catch run out of line, struggle with the circumstances and inevitably give up. Then he cuts and releases. And it’s not the trophy he’s setting free either. Oh, no, it’s Guy Hardy who’s getting off the hook.”
Abby tilted her head, studied this woman who was full of information on the man who’d inserted himself into their lives and seemed determined to take charge in so many ways.
“Lord knows I love him,” Casey continued, “but he’s completely self-absorbed and for all of his thirty-eight years he’s been adamant about never having a family of his own. I used to think that was all talk but the older he gets the more I believe he’s made the right choice. Guy is not cut out to be a one-woman man and the Hardy women accept full responsibility for that.”
Abby smiled to cover the confusion and the hairline fracture that split her spirit. No sophisticated X-ray technology could detect it, but the damage was done. She knew the pain of deep loss firsthand and suddenly sensed the potential for more looming in her future. So, there was a long string of this in his past, huh? It was easy to believe. Guy exuded an unusual charm. Oh, he was handsome in his snug jeans and fancy boots but his looks weren’t the main attraction at all. He was educated and smart but in a practical sense so it wasn’t like he threw off executive vibes that drew the power groupies.
The money might be an important element to certain women. It seemed he had plenty of that to meet all his needs and then some, but Abby had never been around wealth and had no expectations of doing so in the future. That definitely wasn’t the draw. Not for her, anyway.
No, there was something special about Guy that she hadn’t been able to identify. And now it came to her.
He was… He was…
Endearing.
A quality that a number of women before her had evidently seen, admired, and tried to claim but failed miserably. And sooner or later they’d all wanted to come home, hoping he’d changed his mind about marriage. Was that how Casey had put it? Abby wanted to barf. She was on her way to being one more on the stringer after all.
Well, wake up girlfriend. Not anymore. You have a son to raise and parents who need you. There’s only one Savior in your life, and He has a plan for you. So lean not on your own understanding. Which clearly is faulty!
She ached inside but had to admit it was entirely self-inflicted. Guy hadn’t made any inappropriate overtures, not even the slightest hint now that she thought about it. If anything, he’d probably treated her as another sister.
Ick.
And like an idiot she’d been the one to caution him against giving anybody the impression there was more than friendship between them? And here she was letting herself wax otherwise. Definitely time for a reality check.
And as if God sent confirmation, Dillon howled.
“Oh, can I see him, please? If he looks anything like he sounds, he’s a bruiser.”
The interest in Casey’s eyes was sincere.
“As long as you’re not grossed out by a stinky diaper, I don’t know why not.” There was nothing to do but accept what she’d just learned and move on. Sadly Abby was adept in that area.
In Dillon’s doorway she paused to give her son a chance to notice the newcomer. Standing in his crib, chubby fingers gripping the side rail, he stopped mid-wail. As usual there were no tears, just noise enough to call the cows home and produce a face the color of a boiled crayfish. Pleased with the results of his efforts, Dillon’s pink lips curved and he ducked his head playing his “shy baby” game.
“May I?” Casey was considerate to ask permission. “I’ve just gotta cuddle him.”
“Oh sure. He’ll go right to you. The stinker can’t resist a pretty woman who needs a hug.”
Casey grinned. “Just like Guy!”
Something was up. Guy felt it the minute he helped Shorty into the house. Abby said the usual things, welcomed her dad home, asked after her mother, thanked Guy for his help, but there was a change in her. All business, no warmth. Not toward him anyway. Strangely, that was consistent with Shorty’s behavior since he’d come rolling out of his wife’s room.
Guy had lots of experience in the area of getting women past that claiming-nothing’s-wrong pouting period into the here’s-what-I’m-really-upset-about phase.
Shorty was a different story altogether.
He’d grumbled good-night and wheeled his chair down the darkened passage past Dillon’s door where all was quiet.
“I’ll be there to check on you in a few minutes,” she called.
“Don’t bother. Nobody wants to give me credit for it, but I can still pull my
pants off and drag myself into the bed under my own steam,” he snapped, obviously in a funk and spoiling for a fight.
“Daddy, wait.”
Abby quirked a brow toward Guy in question before she abandoned the pile of papers she was sorting at the kitchen counter and made a beeline for her father. As she passed the light switch, she brushed her hand over the toggle, sending a slash of warm yellow light across the scarred wooden floor, illuminating the hallway. Shorty stopped his forward motion, sat with his back to them. Abby trailed her hand across his shoulders, crossed in front of him and squatted so she could look up into his eyes.
“What’s wrong? Is it Mama?” she questioned, her voice soft.
Shorty glanced over his shoulder, acknowledging Guy was still present. They needed privacy.
“I’ll see myself out,” he offered.
“Wait for me on the back deck. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
It was a statement, not a question. She hadn’t even said please. He was obviously expected to comply. This was new territory with Abby. Yep, something was definitely up.
The full moon hung high above the tall Texas pines and cast a circle of light over the small backyard that smelled of treated lumber and honeysuckle vines. Guy’s boots clunked across the solid deck laid under Shorty’s watchful eye as he’d sipped coffee and rattled off instructions between nonstop stories of life back in the day. Before MS. The poor man was at the end of his patience with longing for his wife and there were still a couple more weeks to go before she transitioned home. Why else would he have imagined something was brewing between Guy and Abby?
But Casey had made the same assumption, with some help from big mouth Andrea. And when they’d spoken on the phone two nights ago even Meg, the oldest and most hands-off sister, had quizzed him about what was holding him up in Austin. There was certainly a common theme here, but was there a message? Great Grandpa Hardy always said if it brayed like a mule and kicked like a mule, it must be a mule.
And would it be so bad if they were all correct?
Would it be wrong if he and Abby did feel an attraction?
There hadn’t been anybody special in his life in months, so maybe that was all there was to it. Guy needed to find some quiet time to be still and listen for guidance. So far God hadn’t led Guy to the right woman, though it was probably unfair to blame his considerable list of short romances on the good Lord. Guy was open to the idea of a relationship, just not a long-term one. And certainly not a permanent one that involved a family.
Some work with his hands would help. He needed to immerse himself in a glass project. Sketching, soldering and creating meaningful beauty from jagged pieces of broken glass always reminded him that God took broken lives and made them whole and valued again. It was that certainty that had gotten Guy through the debacle in Nashville and it would get him through this, too. Trouble was that for the first time he wasn’t one hundred percent certain what he wanted the outcome to be.
“Guy.” Abby’s voice preceded the thwack of the screen door closing behind her. She moved into the warm glow of the outdoor lights he’d installed. Her face was serious, no hint of a smile or other indication she was happy to see him.
“We need to talk.”
Oh great. That really meant she had something to say and he needed to listen up. Those words never boded well for the male on the receiving end of the “talk.”
“So, what’s up?”
She crossed to the wooden picnic table, raised a dollar-store flip-flop to the edge of the bench seat and stepped up to sit on the tabletop. She motioned for him to join her. She was comfortably dressed in what she’d once pointed out were her favorite pair of cutoff jean shorts, creatively patched with a rainbow bull’s eye on the tush. She also wore a T-shirt covered in small colorful handprints, a child’s classic summer-camp art project. He couldn’t help admiring the shapely thighs and muscles in her calves as he crossed the deck and took a seat on the bench opposite the end where she rested her feet.
“I’ll park my ancient bones down here.” He tried to keep things light, knowing that was probably a waste of time. When she didn’t acknowledge his effort at age-difference humor, he got to the serious stuff. “Is something troubling Shorty?”
She slid a folded sheet of white paper from her hip pocket. “The social worker in charge of Mama’s case at the rehab center came to see her today and he brought her this.” Abby unfolded the paper and held it out for Guy.
He felt his eyes widen. It was a statement from the hospital.
For a lot of money.
“This is the portion of the bill that won’t be covered by your insurance.”
“Then that’s the part I’ll pay.” Guy reached for the paper.
“You?” she quizzed, pulling the page to her chest. “Personally?”
“If necessary.” He waited, but she still didn’t hand over the itemized statement.
“Guy, it’s one thing for insurance to cover expenses, and it’s another entirely for you to give my parents a handout. I can tell you right now they won’t accept anything they’re not entitled to. Besides, they’re accustomed to juggling medical bills.”
“But that one doesn’t need to add to their worries.”
She shook her head, a sad realization curving her enticing rose petal pink mouth.
“When there’s no hope of paying off the ones you have, one more really won’t matter. Like our lawyer says, ‘You can’t wring blood out of a turnip.’”
The words caught him off guard. Echoed, bouncing around in his mind. So similar to the statement he’d heard from their own corporate attorneys once the arbitration proceedings with the Grossmans had concluded.
So, the Reagans had sought legal counsel after all. Guy’s heart dropped. Had he been wrong to trust them? This family was honorable, he was certain of it. But Abby herself had just admitted they’d spoken with a lawyer. If he’d used the investigation service, he might have discovered that sooner. Wouldn’t Casey have a field day with that piece of information when she found out? And it was always a matter of when, never if.
He had to put this right in a hurry. Prevent this situation from spiraling out of control. He couldn’t lose again, let the family down. He had to do something to protect his folks.
And he’d do just about anything for Abby if it would put a smile back on her lips.
Lips he was now certain he wanted to kiss.
Chapter Ten
“You might as well hand that over to save me some effort and grief when I contact our insurance company in the morning.”
She stared at the page, seemed unsure what to do. The worry on her adorable face caused him to shrink inside. A clamp closed around his heart, squeezed it painfully.
“You’re wasting your time, Guy. I’ve spent countless hours on the phone chasing down stuff like this for my folks just to recover a few double-billed dollars. It’s like dealing with the IRS. You haven’t done anything wrong and you give it your best shot but you know the odds are against you. That person on the other end of the line holds all the power and you’re nothing but a faceless interruption to their day. You feel helpless and pathetic.”
“Hon, it’s a shame that at your young age you already have so much negative experience in that area.” He kept his voice low and soft, appealing to her as he would a frightened child. Which is exactly what she looked like at the moment. “But I’m in a much different position. Remember, Hearth and Home is the insured party and I have the ability to cancel a significant contract with this provider if I’m not satisfied with the outcome of this settlement. So how about letting me throw my executive weight around and see if I can get them to reevaluate these expenses that don’t appear to be covered?”
He extended his hand, took the edge of the paper between thumb and forefinger and tugged.
She held tight.
“Please, Abby? You don’t have to fight this one alone.”
Her fingers relaxed but the set of her jaw told him reluctanc
e was still holding her hostage. He slid the page gently from her grasp. She resisted for a moment then let it slip free. Without another glance at the offending document, he folded it and stood to tuck it into his hip pocket.
Her head hung, she stared at empty hands. What was she thinking? He stepped in front of where she sat, touched two fingers beneath her chin and tilted her head upward. The overhead lights cast shadows from her wayward curls across her face. It was difficult to tell whether the gleam in her eyes was from the threat of tears or surprise at his gentle touch.
He was a grown man, experienced in every way, but in an instant he was that high-school sophomore again. He’d never longed to kiss a woman so much in his life and had no idea how to address the feeling.
The timing was completely wrong. If she was offended, he’d blow what might be his only chance to show her his heart. If she kissed him back, he’d never know if it was because she returned his feelings of if it was just gratitude. The last thing he wanted was attention from another woman just because he’d bailed her out of a jam. Lord knew he’d had enough of that in his life.
No, this was infinitely different. There was an unfamiliar tingling in his chest. His knees felt unsteady, wobbly. But it was a good wobbly, replete with chills that were out of place on this warm Texas night.
The gleam in her eyes intensified. Shadows didn’t hide the fat tear that leaked from the corner of her left eye, trailed down her cheek and clung to her stubborn jaw.
He slid his hand upward, tenderly smoothed away the tear then took the liberty of sinking his fingers into her silky curls. He leaned from the waist, ducked his head and, though he was nearly desperate to touch his lips to hers, instead he placed a chaste kiss on the crown of her head.
Abby wanted to shrivel up and die right there on top of her cedar picnic table. She’d been so sure he was about to kiss her she’d almost closed her eyes and puckered up. Thank goodness she’d been too chicken to do that or she’d really seem like a love-struck kid right now.
