by Barbara Lohr
She just couldn't deal with it. Not now.
Chapter 5
Phoebe still kept a key under the flowerpot. Ryder unlocked the back door. The house had that familiar, closed-up smell to it. When he inhaled, the kitchen brought back so many memories. But today he didn’t have time for them. Phoebe thumped her way to the french doors. She’d always had trouble opening them after a rain because they swelled shut. Putting one hand flat on the door, she bent her head.
“Here, let me.” In two shakes, Ryder had the doors open. The breeze felt great and Phoebe swung herself onto the porch like it was no big deal.
Ryder studied the rattan chairs. “Remember when we bought these?”
“Yeah. My lucky day, right?”
She’d called Ryder from the antique store, all excited. He told her to go ahead and buy the set. After work he stopped at the shop with his pickup. Now she lowered herself onto the futon, and he took one of the chairs.
“So do you have these bowls out here all the time?” he asked. The porch was a mess. The paint wasn’t the only thing that had to be addressed. All around them, dripping water hit the metal bowls. The rain may have stopped but water still drained from the roof.
“Yeah, I like the look.” Phoebe’s chin came out and he felt warned.
Glancing up, Ryder studied the tongue and groove ceiling. “That roof should be replaced. The water is going to ruin the wood.” He’d put that ceiling in himself, and it killed him to see water seeping through his neatly turned joinings.
Grabbing one of the throw pillows, she jammed it beneath her head and lay back. “I'll get to it, Ryder.”
Ryder rested an ankle on the other knee. “I've been thinking.”
“About what?” Phoebe’s face flushed. The slightest comment seemed to set her off.
Shifting in the chair, he cleared his throat. “You’re going to need help. And that was before you did...this.” He waved a hand toward the cast.
She heaved up on one elbow. “I didn’t do this on purpose, Ryder.” Phoebe’s eyes turned from hazel to green when she was mad. Right now? Grass green.
“Oh, I know you didn’t mean to fall off the ladder, Sweet Ch-...Phoebe. Anyway, your folks are way up in Escanaba.”
“And I don’t want them down here, fussing over me.” She glanced around, clearly exhausted. “Besides, what needs to be done here is more than they can handle.”
He looked up at the ceiling again. The water was still dripping. “The place does need a lot of work, more than you can ever give it. Why don’t you let me line up the guys?”
Phoebe reared up. “Over my dead body. Somehow I will do this, Ryder. Once I'm rested? I’ll hire people…”
This was ludicrous. Phoebe could hardly get the words out and fell back on the cushion. She couldn’t do it, and unless her business had picked up considerably, she wouldn’t be able to fund all the repairs he now knew were needed.
“You’re not being reasonable. Let me do it. When the Chicago people start streaming into Gull Harbor, they’ll sign up all the contractors like this.” He snapped his fingers. “I can pull some strings. You think you can call and crews will come running? I don’t think so.”
Phoebe’s face reddened. Then right before his eyes, she folded. Just melted onto the futon as if all the spunk had been drained right out of her.
“Fine, Ryder,” she said softly. “If that's what you want, that's the way it’ll be.”
Who was this woman? He was getting concerned. Somewhere a chainsaw rattled and she jumped. Ryder waited until she settled.
“It's not just what I want,” he finally said slowly. “It’s what I'll do…for you.”
Tenting a hand over her eyes, she blocked him from her vision. “Fine. Please close the back door on your way out.”
That just about did it. He’d spent the entire day taking care of things after she’d practically killed herself, and now she wanted no part of him? The cushion squeaked when he jumped up. With two strides he was back in the kitchen.
She’d never been a great housekeeper, and he never faulted her for it. But he wasn’t leaving the place like this. He emptied the dishwasher, put everything in the cupboard and then wiped down the counter.
“See you later,” he called out right before he slammed the door.
When Ryder got back to the shop, he parked in back and stormed inside. All the way up the Red Arrow Highway, he’d been madder than hell. Took some turns faster than he should have and slowed down only after he narrowly missed hitting a deer. Anger throbbed in his head.
And he was mad at himself. If it weren't for him and a stupid mistake he made, she wouldn't be in this jam now. He wouldn’t have to sit there and watch Phoebe suffer. Oh, she may be proud. That was one thing. He’d always admired that in her. But that house needed him. Hell, she needed him.
At least, he hoped she did. He sure as hell needed her.
“So how's everything at the hospital?” Stanley asked when Ryder slammed into the inner office. “How’s our girl?”
“Fine, I guess.” He hated to fill in the blanks. “She’s at home now.”
Stanley’s stormy look told Ryder this was all his fault. Phoebe was his father’s favorite. He'd taken the divorce almost as hard as Ryder. Leaning against the glass counter, Ryder stared out at the traffic on Red Arrow.
“She always was stubborn.” The satisfaction in Stanley's voice irritated Ryder no end.
He glared at the man who’d started him in this shop. Where would he be without his father? Heck, Stanley had supported this expansion he’d embarked on. For years his dad told him how proud he was. “You’re taking this business to the next level, son. I’m proud of you.” Usually a shoulder clap had accompanied those words. Not anymore.
His father hadn’t approved of him since Phoebe kicked him out. Now instead of a compliment, his father was more apt to say, “I’m glad your mother isn’t here to see this.”
Well, damn. So was he. His mother would have read him the riot act. “Phoebe didn’t want to accept my help with the cottage. I told her I could line people up to do the work that needs to be done. She’s giving me a hard time.”
The dry chuckle came from Stanley's gut. “Oh, that's not what steams you the most, Ryder. You'd like to give her a heck of a lot more than help.” His father heaved out that last word with suggestive intent.
When Ryder kicked the corner of the counter with his boot, it hurt like hell. He should know that by now. Lately he was all aches and pains. This being over-thirty stuff sucked. The contentment had vanished from his life. Success meant nothing to him anymore. “I'm going to hire the right guys and stop by to supervise. The day after, and the day after that. Somehow I’ll get her to accept my help.” His eyes swerved to Stanley, who wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I'm counting on you to hold the fort.”
His father looked skeptical. “What’s your plan?”
“I’m going to hire contractors to do the work. There’s a difference.”
“There sure is.” Stanley was not looking happy. Ryder stomped upstairs to his apartment before his father could say anything else.
~.~
And to think that she’d done this to herself. As Phoebe sat at the kitchen table the next morning, nothing seemed right. She hated the red plaid wallpaper she’d once thought was so cute. That was so yesterday. But what could she do about those walls now?
Shifting around to face the porch took too much effort. This cast was a killer. Maybe she’d pour herself some orange juice. The refrigerator looked big, harvest gold and far away. Every step in this tiny kitchen felt like a mile. Her growling stomach reminded her that she hadn’t had breakfast yet. What she’d give to have her old morning routine back, the one without a cast on her leg. And she’d hardly slept a wink.
What was she going to do about her salon? Time to make a call. Phoebe’s Place opened at ten. Jen and Carly should be there by now. They both knew how to open up.
Jen answered on the second ring. “Hey,
stuck in traffic?” That was their favorite joke. They all loved living in Gull Harbor because there was no traffic, unlike the snarls along the Dan Ryan in Chicago.
“Not exactly. But I’m not coming in today.” As quickly as she could, Phoebe filled Jen in. “I’m sorry to drop all this on you, Jen.”
“Don’t even think about it. We’ll be fine. Do you need me to come over?”
“No, of course not. It’s just my leg.” Oh, she sounded so confident. That was her. The person who took care of others, like Diana when she suffered those burns from hot oil. Phoebe had been right there to help with her hair and a lot of other stuff.
But Phoebe wasn’t good at taking help. She just liked to give it. Jen and Carly would have their hands full running the shop. In the background she could hear Jen rifling through the pages of her schedule. “Let me see. I’ll call all your customers and reassign them to Carly and me.”
“Will that be all right? I hate to load you down. After all, it’s summer.” The time of year when they usually took off early and headed for the beach.
“Don’t be silly. It’ll be fine.” Jen almost sounded insulted. “Everybody knows us. We’ll just tell them what happened. You’ll probably get a slew of cards. Why were you up on that ladder anyway?”
“Painting my house.” Propped up on a kitchen chair, her leg hurt like the devil.
“What? Look, there are plenty of guys around here who would paint for you,” Jen scolded. “You’re not a painter, you’re a hairstylist.”
“Point taken.” Phoebe studied her chipped manicure. Not even ten o’clock and already her day was going downhill. “Do you think Clancy's will send out some groceries if I call?”
“If they won't, I'll be glad to pick them up for you. But I won't paint the house. That’s where I draw the line.” The implication was clear. What Jen really meant was, that’s where you should have drawn the line.
“Oh, Ryder’s going to take care of that.”
Silence rang over the phone. “Have you seen Ryder?”
“I most certainly did. He found me after I fell.”
“Wow. What luck. The hottest man rumbling down Red Arrow Highway,” Jen murmured.
A shooting pain zipped up Phoebe’s leg and went straight to her heart. “What did you just say?”
“Ah, the most rotten man along Red Arrow Highway. So he...” Jen waited. She wanted details.
“He took me to the hospital and helped me. Really, he was great.”
“I’ll just bet.” Jen let the pause play out. Phoebe could only guess what her employee was thinking. Of course both Jen and Carly sided with Phoebe, but there was no denying that all women found her ex irresistible.
“It’s not like that. He’s going to line up the contractors to do the work.”
“Oh. Well.” The sly enthusiasm had left Jen’s voice.
Frustration bubbled inside Phoebe. The rumble of a Harley cut into the conversation. “Gotta run, Jen. Talk to you later. Let me know if any problems come up.” Phoebe ended the call.
Well, hells bells. Why hadn’t she gotten dressed? Here she was in her pink flamingo sleep shirt without time to even splash water on her face. Would he have the list of contractors all lined up? Her head ached from hunger, but she was determined to get her mind around this house project. She picked at some of the pink paint dots still on her arm. Maybe painting wasn’t her thing.
What did she care? Ryder had seen her looking a lot worse. But she had her pride and this wasn't her finest hour. Her house was falling down around her, and she was totally helpless to pull it back together. But she was not going to let Ryder see that, no way, no how. Somehow she was going to clean up, do her hair and change into something so sexy, he’d eat his heart out.
But that would be later. Right now, he was here and she was a mess.
A rap came on the door.
“Door’s open.”
“Hey, good morning.” Ryder stepped inside, a paper bag in one hand. She sniffed. A scone from the Whistle Stop Cafe?
“Morning, Ryder.” If only he didn't look so fine, freshly scrubbed and smelling so darn good. All soap and all man, his hair still damp from the shower.
“How are you feeling?” He said it as if he really cared.
But never would she be taken in again. “Fine. I guess.”
He handed her the bag. She peeked inside. Yep. Whistle Stop. Phoebe melted. “Gee, thanks, Ryder.”
“Don’t mention it.” Ryder’s eyes swept the area. “Have you had coffee?”
“Not yet. But I will.” Lurching to her feet, she grabbed her crutch and headed for the counter.
“Are you in much pain?” He came close, too close. The scent of his tangy aftershave teased her nostrils.
“A little.” Removing the water tank from the coffee machine wasn’t easy. Finally she got it off, set it under the spout and turned on the water.
Ryder regarded her with cautious eyes. “Did you have any trouble sleeping?”
“Kind of.”
“Have you taken your pain pills, like Dr. Swanson said?”
“Not yet. Why all the questions?” Who made you the boss?
Staring down at her, he took her upper arms gently in his hands. Even though spidery feelings were dancing up her skin, she would not look up. She just wouldn’t. “You have to rest and you can’t if you’re in pain. Are you worrying?”
Sure. Worrying about this tingling in my arms. Lost in thoughts she should not be having, she wrenched out of his grasp and grabbed the first thing she saw. What a shame that it happened to be the full plastic container. With a crash, it hit the floor and water shot everywhere.
Ryder knifed a hand through his hair. “Darlin’, let me help you, okay?”
Her eyes filled. “I’m not your darlin’. And I'm fine.” The water had drenched her night shirt.
“Right.” One glance at the wet flamingo on her chest and Ryder looked away. His jaw clenched. He must be mad as all get out. Picking up the container, Ryder refilled it. Thank goodness it didn’t break. She needed coffee so bad. While he got the machine going and wiped up all the water, she sat and nibbled on the scone. Never had this flaky delight tasted better. The chocolate chips folded into the pastry exploded in her mouth. Chocolate should definitely be included in the food pyramid.
“Where are your pain pills?”
“I left them in the bathroom,” she managed over a full mouthful. Yep, crumbs spewing from her lips, she was a hot mess.
By the time Ryder returned, the blue light on the coffee machine was winking. With ease born of familiarity, Ryder slotted a container of Hawaiian coffee into the machine, slid her flamingo mug under the spout and pushed another button. Then he studied the instructions on the vial of pain pills. “You didn’t take one this morning?”
Shaking her head, she took another bite. “Chocolate is good for pain, right?”
“Not really.” Ryder shook a pill into his palm and poured a glass of water. “Here take this.”
So she did. He turned his back to her while she gulped, as if he couldn’t stand the sight of her. Setting the prescription back on the counter, he said, “I’ll be right back. Have your coffee. Do whatever. Just give me a few.” And he was moving toward the door.
Ryder couldn't wait to get out of here. How amazing that she could still feel disappointed. “Sure, see ya.” With a flutter of her hand, she dismissed him. He’d brought her a scone and got the coffee working. For this morning, that was more than enough.
Holding the door open with a shoulder, he stood his ground. “Phoebe Hunicutt, formerly Phoebe Branson…” That still bugged him and she loved it. “I will be right back.”
“Sure you will. Whatever.”
His cheeks flushed. Cut him some slack, Phoebe. “Sorry I’m such a witch this morning, Ryder.”
“Apology accepted.” He still looked steamed.
The coffee had finished trickling into the mug, its rich scent filling the kitchen. Coming back into the room with two
strides, he grabbed her full mug and plunked it on the table in front of her. Then he took creamer from the refrigerator and a spoon from the drawer and slapped those on the table too. Man, he was mad. She went back to her scone, wishing she’d brushed her teeth and was sitting here in something beside a wet sleep shirt.
Then Ryder was gone. Enjoying the sounds of birds in the trees outside, she closed her eyes. If only this were a normal summer day. The kind of day when she could take a quick stroll on the beach before heading down Red Arrow Highway to work. But it wasn’t. So she’d better suck it up.
Time for a talk with her therapist.
Chapter 6
Jamming her crutch under her right shoulder, Phoebe grabbed her mug and the white bag with her left hand and made slow progress to the porch. Dropping the bag onto the coffee table, she collapsed on the futon sofa to enjoy the rest of her scone. In the process, coffee splashed from the mug and splattered her flamingo night shirt. Perfect. This was going to be a slow recovery.
The morning dew glistened on Fernando’s bright pink surface.
“What’s Ryder doing here?” she grumbled to her lawn ornament.
Could it be that he’s concerned about you?
“No. He just wants my cottage.” She took a sip of coffee.
He could have called, Phoebe. And why the scone?
“He’s just buttering me up.” She crammed the last bite into her mouth.
When it comes to Ryder, you’re so suspicious.
“And with good reason. Remember Trixie?”
But of course he did. Hadn’t she poured out her heart to Fernando night after night? “Catch you later.”
Next stop was the bathroom. Never had this hallway felt so long. Her leg ached and her eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep. Once she got into the bathroom, she set her coffee on the edge of the sink. Balancing on one leg, she leaned against the sink for support. Her mother had taught her how to “spit shine” herself. Grabbing a washcloth, she filled the basin with warm water and got to work. It wasn’t a shower but it was something.
