by Barbara Lohr
At the time, she didn’t know Trixie Tatum that well. But the word was, she was one skinny chick. To put it politely, Trixie didn’t have Phoebe’s assets. That much she knew. Lifting her napkin, Phoebe slowly dabbed the front of her shirt, paying attention to small details Ryder liked. When he sputtered and choked, she glanced up, all innocence. “You all right, Ryder?”
The way he convulsed, his mouth opening and closing like a fish? She felt a thrill of satisfaction. Her ploy was working. But maybe she better ease up. Giving him the Heimlich would definitely be dangerous for both of them. First off, she couldn’t even hobble over to administer it.
While the fan whirred overhead, the fan that he himself had installed that first year, her thoughts spun along with the fan blades. Oh, yeah. Maybe this was what she was going to do all summer. Turning on Ryder, her fix-it man, only to shut him down fast would become her pet project. If he thought he was going to work on the place and then convince her to sell, she was not going to make that easy.
But she had to stay strong.
Cardinals twittered in the pine trees while Phoebe sat transfixed, watching Ryder lift his glass and drink, his Adam's apple working in that thickset throat. Rigid in the chair, she recalled taking her time with that neck. She’d coast her lips over the tendons and dip her tongue into the warm hollow while his breath caught. Feeling her body kick into gear, she had to change her focus. So she shifted her gaze to the black-eyed Susans growing crazy, interspersed with the hydrangeas and a mess of weeds. Drawing in the lake breeze, she savored it, so cool and inviting.
But her darn mind went right back to Ryder. When she pursed her lips, he gave a strangled cry. Her eyes lifted. “Everything okay, Ryder?”
He mumbled something that sounded like “Not really.”
Pulling out her T-shirt a bit, she left the air cool her tummy. “Oh, my it’s hot today.”
“You’re telling me,” he muttered, taking another bite.
“Gosh, I miss the beach.”
“I miss a lot of things.”
“Me too.” She ran a hand over her bare midriff. If she closed her eyes, she could picture Lake Michigan stretching to the horizon, a mass of blue and green waves undulating under the sun. The sound of the trashcan opening and closing in the kitchen made her jump. While she sat here daydreaming, he’d finished his lunch.
“Thanks for the sandwich, Phoebe.” Oh, so they were back to Phoebe and not Sweet Cheeks. Disappointment threatened to upset her stomach. Maybe it was those pain pills. Yeah, she’d blame it on them.
“You're welcome.”
Then he was gone. Out of sight, out of mind. But not really. Up on the roof, Ryder’s nail gun went crazy. She picked up the phone and called Carolyn. Phoebe needed an intervention. Time to check in and see how things were going with Brody. What a relief when her friend picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, Phoebe. How's it going? I was just thinking about you.”
So she filled Carolyn in on her broken leg and the accident.
“A wooden ladder? Are you kidding me? Aren’t they dangerous? They can rot.”
“Yeah, I found that out. I know it was foolish.”
“So now you have your ex-husband working on your house?” She heard the laughter in Carolyn's voice.
“Our house and that’s the rub. He’s acting like he owns it even though it belongs to both of us.”
“Sounds like a man with a method,” she said slowly and then laughed. “Well, aren't they all?”
Sitting down on the futon, Phoebe propped her leg up on the coffee table. “How are things in Santa Fe?”
“Just fine.” The lilt of Carolyn's voice suggested things were way more than fine. But Phoebe couldn’t be jealous of her own friend.
“How’s Mama V’s wedding coming?” Carolyn’s grandmother, a widow, was getting married in July.
“We’re having tons of fun with that. She put me in charge of the flowers. I think we’ll have bouquets of pink calla lilies. What do you think?”
“Bright pink,” Phoebe murmured, her eyes finding Fernando. Ryder had taken the pretty metal structure from the back door and plunked it down near the screened porch so Phoebe could see it.
“Right, Mama V will like that. She wears a lot of lilac and pink.”
“You still living with her?” The girls had a bet that Carolyn would move in with Brody by the end of June.
“Well, I didn't want to get underfoot while she was doing all that planning with Howard.”
Yeah, right. Looked like Phoebe was going to win that bet with Kate, who’d insisted Carolyn would stay with her grandmother to help before the wedding. “So let me guess. You're at Brody’s place?”
“He's helping me work on overcoming my fear of heights. Still lots to do in that area.”
Phoebe snorted. “Carolyn, that is so lame. Your voice? Sounds like you’re working on a lot more than that.”
A sigh was her only answer. Her friend was in L-U-V. Not what Phoebe needed right now.
“What kind of work is Ryder doing?”
“So much needs work.” By the time Phoebe finished listing everything that needed repairing, even she was tired.
“All that could take a long time,” Carolyn said. “And he drives all the way down from St. Joe every day?”
“It's only forty minutes or so. Half an hour if he rides his motorcycle. He’s been keeping most of his tools here.”
“Ah, huh.” Carolyn didn’t sound convinced. “Still, that’s a long ride.”
“I wanted to hire someone,” Phoebe continued. “But he’s saving me, well us, a lot of money by doing it himself. Except I have a plan. My plan is to make things tough for Ryder. I’m enjoying teasing him a little bit.” Well, she didn’t mention he was doing the same to her, without even trying.
“You are so bad.” Laughter bubbled in Carolyn’s voice. “And that's why you are my friend.”
“Right, but my plan has its down side too. Truth is, I’m making myself uncomfortable. I’ll be the one tossing in my bed tonight, trying to get comfortable with this stupid cast on my leg.” Her mind stuttered to a stop. Carolyn had given her an idea.
“Okay, what are you thinking? Earth to Phoebe. You’ve got something on your mind, Phoebe Hunicutt, or you wouldn't be so quiet.”
“Hmm. I'm thinking that it would be way more fun if Ryder was really underfoot. And I really was driving him crazy.”
“Let’s talk about options.” Her friend jumped right in. For a few crazy minutes, they plotted and planned together. Carolyn gave Phoebe some advice. But there might be some drawbacks to her plan, one of them being that Phoebe would have to be strong.
“Go for it,” Carolyn said at the close.
“I...I can’t.”
“Oh, come on. Channel Chili. That girl would do anything to make Ignacio jealous. Go for the whole enchilada, as Chili would say.”
With the nail gun picking up speed overhead, Phoebe laughed. “I'll let you know how it goes. Say hi to Brody for me. I'm looking forward to seeing that man again. When he stopped in at the end of the school year, he didn’t stay long.”
“I know. Business called, but he’s talking about a longer visit. It’s been a long time since he lived in Gull Harbor. I think he’s curious.”
“Ah, hah.” There was something different in her voice. “Are you having second thoughts?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Uncertainty slowed Carolyn’s words. “I kind of miss the lake and everything.”
“You could always come back for a vacation. Bring Brody with you.”
“I'll think about it.”
By the time they hung up, Phoebe’s eyes felt heavy. Talking about men could tire you out. Stretching back on the futon, she scrunched a pillow beneath her head. She watched the blades of the fan circle slower and slower and...slower.
Next thing she knew, Ryder was standing over her, hands on his hips. A smile tipped the corners of his lips.
Maybe it was the nap, but for a second
Phoebe just forgot. Forgot that this hunk of man wasn’t her husband anymore. That he’d done the down and dirty with another woman. The look on his face told her he’d forgotten too.
“Ryder?” Reaching up, she opened her arms.
Before she knew it, he was on his knees next to her.
Her cast brought her to her senses. While she was getting warm and cozy, thank God that cast stayed stick straight.
“You look so pretty, sleepyhead.” When he ran the back of one hand up her cheek, she swatted at it. His expression shifted, like suddenly she was the next-door neighbor.
Carolyn's words came rushing back, reminding Phoebe of the plan. The whole point was to turn up the pain, not the passion.
Struggling to sit up, Phoebe said, “So, you finished for the day?” She had no idea what time it was, but she had to get her head on straight.
When Ryder stood up, he swayed like he was off balance. So, she could still do that to him? “Yep, right.” When he whipped off his sweaty bandana, his curls sprang up, a thick and luscious mess. Her fingers curled, remembering how they felt.
But in her mind, she could see Carolyn standing behind Ryder. She was shaking a finger. We’ll have none of that now, Phoebe. Stick to our plan.
Yes, Ma’am. Phoebe stopped batting her eyelashes. Between Fernando and Carolyn, she had lots of support.
“Guess I'll hit the road.” He backed away, his face impersonal and closed again. She struggled to her feet. Her conversation with Carolyn replayed in her mind. Following him into the cottage, Phoebe struggled to put the words together. The words that wouldn't suggest she was wimping out. The last thing she wanted was for him to suspect that she was a woman with a plan. Crutch under one arm, she followed him outside.
While she stood thinking, Ryder was getting on that Harley. “I'll see you first thing in the morning. I should be here by nine.” All businesslike now, his eyes were hooded and detached.
Yep, Carolyn was right. He intended to stretch this out all summer. She was putting an end to that right now.
“Ryder, I've been thinking.” Leaning on her crutch, she must make quite a picture. What woman can be sexy with a crutch? Maybe this plan wouldn’t work at all. But she forged ahead.
“What is it?” Head tilting to one side, he looked cautious, like he was afraid she’d tell him to take his tools and go. But that was not her plan.
“Well, you know. It takes so long for you to get down here. We’re losing all that working time.” She twisted the bottom of her T-shirt in her fingers.
“Okay.” The word came out long and slow. Sitting back on his long two-up seat, he waited. “And so?”
She fluttered one hand in the air. The left hand. The one without the wedding ring anymore. “After all I have—we have—” Heck, it killed her just to say it. She cleared her throat. “We have three bedrooms here.”
Ryder sucked in a breath and held it. The man leaned into the pause, like he wanted to drag the words out of her and hoped they'd be the right ones. “Sorry, I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
So she had to hold up cue cards? “I mean, if you wanted to stay here, this whole process might go a lot faster.”
Was he even breathing? “Well now, that's real nice of you, Phoebe.” Suddenly he was being so proper. She wanted to giggle. “And you're so right. It would make things easier. Faster. I mean, more convenient. Ah, faster.”
Pressing a hand to her stomach, Phoebe fought a giggle.
Reaching behind him, he snagged his helmet and jammed it on. “If it's all right, I might just bring a few things down tomorrow. Stow them in the guest room.”
If he expected a protest, she wasn’t going to give him one. “That sounds fine, Ryder.” He was playing right into her hands. “See you tomorrow then.”
“Bright and early,” he said, new energy in his voice.
She waved goodbye as he roared out on his Harley, looking so badass it made the breath catch in her throat. She knew where that new energy came from and that was so not going to happen.
At least she didn’t think so.
Chapter 9
Ryder shoved his boom box into the back of his pickup. Almost packed. Backing up, he viewed the boxes and bags. His gym equipment weighed a ton and had taken a while to load. The barbells and hand weights hadn’t been bad. Disassembling the one-man gym had been a bitch.
That detached garage would make a great workout area. Would he have to talk Phoebe into leaving her car outside? At least she wouldn’t be bashing the hell out of her Mini Cooper anymore. She’d never been good with that old, narrow garage.
Clothes bulged from a black trash bag, with some towels stuffed into another. No more of those prissy pink towels. Phoebe’s were so fluffy, lint ended up all over when he dried his hands. He didn’t even want to think how the rest of him would end up after a shower. His tools were already at the house.
He slammed the back closed.
At least he traveled light. Living over the garage this past year had been a good idea, even though his dad called it “squatting.” Stanley took a dim view of his son’s lifestyle. Since the divorce, nothing he did was right. Sprinting up the back steps to the apartment, Ryder didn’t want to dwell on that. He was a grown man. If his mother were alive, she’d support him.
Would she? In his heart he knew that wasn’t true. Ryder stumbled on the steps, tripped and bruised his shin. Phoebe would have found her way into his mother’s heart. She would have given Ryder what-for about his “lapse of good judgment,” as his father called it.
But not now. Time to do a final walk through of the apartment. With only three rooms, it didn’t take long. Bathroom medicine chest was empty. Same for the bedside table drawer, not that he ever kept anything there. He’d made the bed with one of the old chenille spreads that had been his mother’s. Looked kind of quaint but felt homey.
His bedroom. Had he wasted the past year? All he’d done was sleep in this room since the split and it looked like it. Truth was, after Phoebe kicked him to the curb, and for good reason as his father told any stranger who would listen, he’d settled down.
“A little late, wouldn’t you say, son?” his father had said, voice heavy with sarcasm. Stanley was not the kind of father who cut a guy any slack. Now Ryder had a chance to set things right.
After fixing a cup of his Brazilian dark roast coffee, he emptied the Keurig and left it to drain. Phoebe already had one. But she hadn’t said anything about kitchen privileges. The thought made him uneasy. Why hadn’t he asked questions? He must have been in shock when he heard her suggestion.
Feeling unsettled, he started down to the shop. His father stood in the back doorway, studying the truck. “What in tarnation is going on here?”
Taking another sip of coffee, Ryder clapped a hand on his dad's shoulder. “I'm in, Dad. Phoebe’s letting me move back.”
His father lifted his bushy gray brows. “What you mean? That doesn't sound like her.”
“She needs me, Dad. She can hardly move around with that cast. And I was driving to hell and back every day to fix her house, well, our house now.”
His dad frowned. “A bit of exaggeration, maybe? It’s only a thirty-minute drive. Do you mean, she’s letting you stay like the hired hand?”
Ryder let that remark sink in. “Truth is, I'm not clear on the details.” The thought stuck in his gut like a jar of nails.
“Son, I think it’s time for you to step back.”
Oh, oh. This was the tone Stanley had used when he told Ryder he couldn't play football and ice hockey in the same season. The drive to the Notre Dame ice rink three nights a week wouldn’t leave enough time for Ryder’s studies. “You know nothing about restraint, boy. That’s always been your problem.”
Oh crap. Here we go again. The look on his father's face fried him.
“Stanley, don’t you think you could leave this decision to me?” The days were gone when he had to listen to his father all the time. “After all, I'm the one wh
o's been hammering on that blasted roof all week.”
“Right. And calling or texting me every hour,” Stanley grumbled.
Head down, his father trudged back into the shop and began opening up, the way he did every day. If Ryder was smart, this would be a good time to leave. But he couldn’t. Instead he followed behind his dad, travel mug in hand.
This place was what he knew. He and his dad had built Branson Motors together. Edging closer, he overheard his father mumbling something like, “Damn fool. Going to screw everything up again.”
Irritation boiled behind his eyes. “I can't hear you when you mumble like that, Stanley.” He set his travel mug on the counter so he wouldn’t spill it.
Slamming the cash drawer shut, his dad faced him. His father’s face was all scrunched up like a prune, like he’d sucked all the sorrow of the world inside and didn’t like the way it tasted. This was the expression Ryder had seen after his mother’s funeral. Stanley may have changed over the years but that look hadn’t.
The morning sunlight caught the glint of his father’s unshaven face. “Whatever it is you’re doing over at Phoebe’s you got one good chance, the way I see it. And you might just blow it.” He brought a fist down hard on the glass counter and the mug jumped.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.” Throat thick and dry, Ryder ran a hand over the glass countertop. “Let’s not go breaking stuff, okay?”
His father snorted. “You’re talking to me about breaking stuff?”
He had a point. The spunk drained out of him, as if his father had just pulled the plug in the bathtub. Ryder was circling the drain. Slumping against the counter, he crossed one work boot over the other. “Maybe I'm afraid I will, Dad. I just got to get that woman back.”
“You do? Do you know what it's like to sit across from your sullen face at Christmas? Who else loves my turkey stuffing like Phoebe Hunicutt?”
