by Barbara Lohr
“Phoebe Branson.”
“Yeah, right.” His dad snorted. “She is Phoebe Hunicutt. Didn’t want to keep our name, did she? Now the way I see it, you got one chance, boy.”
His father wagged a finger in his face. “One opportunity to make things right. I’m going to tell you, your chance at success is slim to none if you go down there with your truck piled high with all your worldly possessions.” By that time, his father had wandered back outside. Arms folded across his chest, he eyed the black pickup like it was a hearse.
“You think I’m rushing things?” Had Ryder imagined that passionate spark in Phoebe’s eyes when he handed her the doughnuts? Had he been mistaken when she’d opened her arms to him after that nap? “She needs me. Wants me. I think.”
No one ever did a strawberry like his father. Ryder could never understand how his father could suck air from his gut and blow it through his lips like that. “Now you just unpack that truck,” Stanley said when he was finished with the rude sounds. “Go light. Work your way in gradual so you don’t make a mistake. Test the waters.” Here he swirled his hands around and Ryder didn’t dare laugh.
“Take your shaving kit and maybe some clean undies rolled into a ball. Drive down there light and casual like.” By this time they were face-to-face, close enough so he could watch Stanley’s nose hairs prickling. That’s how worked up he was about this. “Let's remember, you are wooing that woman.”
“Wooing?” He was taking his shaving kit from one of the boxes and stopped. He had to get his mind around this. “What the hell is that?”
“You know. Wooing.” Here his dad used his hands again, like he was tossing a pizza crust.
“How the hell am I going to do that?” This was a humbling moment.
Stanley’s jaw dropped. “How did you do it the first time?”
Ryder thought back. “I sweet-talked her, I guess. That's all I remember. We were singing karaoke...”
Another rude sound sputtered from his father. “You couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.”
He had a point. “Yeah, well, anyway. She was singing and I stepped up...” Why she hadn’t pushed him off that stage still puzzled him. They’d ended up out in the parking lot, making out like crazy in the pickup. To say they’d had chemistry would be an understatement. Just thinking about it got him so overheated, he’d need a shower.
“No, you don’t. There'll be none of that.” Maybe his dad could read his mind. His dad’s hands became windshield wipers. This conversation was making Ryder dizzy. “You're going to rush things, son. This calls for thought. Take things slow.”
Ryder recoiled from the insult that cut close to the bone.
Scratching his chin with one hand, Stanley was on a roll. “Remember back when you met Phoebe you were twenty-eight or so, a man of the world.” And the way he used the term told Ryder just what he thought of that. “And Phoebe was only nineteen. She was such a sweet young thing. Look what you taught her.”
Good thing he’d only had toast for breakfast. Disgust made his stomach heave. “I know. She trusted me.” Thinking back to those early days of romancing her at the Rusty Nail made him sick over what he’d lost. She’d been like a dewy peach. So sweet, her eyes shining every time she glanced his way. Why, she hung on his every word. Batted her eyelashes as if she couldn’t get enough of the sight of him. And she could have had any man. They all wanted to take care of Phoebe and probably still did. She was just that kind of woman, all soft curves and sweet sighs. Made him sick to think back.
But his father wasn’t finished. “And you couldn't remember that you were a married man when that little dingbat made eyes at you at the Rusty Nail. You had a good woman at home and you pick up with trash like…”
This was one trip down memory lane Ryder did not want to take. The truth slammed into him like a semi, feeling extra bad since the words were coming from his own father. “I get it, Dad. Trust me, I damn well know what an idiot I was.”
“Well, then.” His father leaned back, lips drawn tight. “Enough said.”
Ryder eyed the truck. “Okay I'd better hit the road. I don't want Phoebe trying to finish the roof for me.”
“She wouldn't.” His father hesitated.
“She would.” They both spoke at the same time.
For the next twenty minutes Ryder hauled stuff off the truck and stacked it just inside the garage. “Man, you really did have high hopes,” his father said when he saw the pieces of workout equipment.
Talk about feeling like a fool. “Just leave it all here,” Ryder said rolling up the personal items his father had mentioned. “I’ll deal with it later.”
His dad chuckled. “Suits me. Remember, be casual. Take the Harley but leave the truck.” That swimming motion with his hands came again. Of course, he adored Phoebe. “Don’t rush it. You’ll scare the poor girl.”
His father whipped out his phone. “And I will be right here, like always. Just a call away.” Then he stared at the phone like he’d never seen it before. “Is it really nine o’clock?”
“Okay, gotta run.” This had gone beyond embarrassing. All the way down Red Arrow Highway, Ryder cussed himself out. He hated the fact that his dad was right. His feelings seesawed from frustrated to grateful. After all, he might need some emergency calls, just to touch base.
Winning a woman? Hell, he could do that. Winning a woman back? Now that was uncharted territory. Stomach churning, he tucked into a turn.
Uneasiness slowed his speed. Maybe Phoebe needed a guy like his dad, a man who was rock steady and slow to act. That sure as hell wasn’t Ryder, although he wanted to be like that. What was stopping him? Hadn’t he changed over the past two years? He sure hoped so. Hell, he could do this. Gunning it, he roared past a truck that was taking its sweet time.
To make things right, he might have to channel his dad. Crazy but he might have to ask himself, now what would Stanley do? He’d been the perfect husband just like his mom had been the perfect wife.
When he got to the road leading to the cottage, the past unfolded in his mind. How many times had he taken this road knowing Phoebe was there waiting for him? He let memories wash over him like a beach breeze. The softness in the air with just a hint of honeysuckle helped hope bloom inside. Maybe his dad was right. Maybe this was his one chance to get her back.
And he wanted more than just the sex. He wanted her sweet laughter. Her updates on Days of Our Lives. He even wanted her poor housekeeping and her crummy frozen meals. The only thing he could stomach was her meatloaf, and that was Stanley’s recipe.
But how could he make her see he’d changed? He would make one stop on the way.
~.~
While Phoebe waited for Ryder that morning, memories came flooding back. Seeing him every day made her realize how much she missed him. Having him move in had been a dangerous idea. Maybe Carolyn could handle a situation like this. But Phoebe didn’t know if she could. Sitting out on the porch watching two mourning doves canoodle in the grass, she felt sad and alone.
But of course she always had her therapist.
“I feel so lonely, Fernando.”
But you always have me.
“Yeah, but you’re just a metal bird. You can’t wrap your arms around me like Ryder.”
There are limitations, chica.
“I know.”
Que lastima.
“Yeah, it really is sad.”
The roar of his Harley tore her from that pity party. She tried to jump up. Right. That worked out well. Grabbing the edge of the chipped wooden table, she steadied herself. Wouldn’t that have been pretty? Ryder would have to save her. Again. Being rescued by that man annoyed her. She’d learned to live without him, and she wanted to keep it that way.
At least she thought she did.
Getting cleaned up and dressed that morning had taken over an hour. Her conversation with Carolyn was still on her mind as she studied her closet. The weather was turning warmer. Her green bikini lay stretched out on her bed. B
ut no way could she manage to get into that bottom. In the end she struck a compromise. After slipping into the bikini top, she zipped up the denim skirt. Grabbing a soft white sweater her mother had sent her last Christmas, she knotted the sleeves over her shoulders.
Nursing her coffee on the porch, she couldn't help but think back. The rumble of the Harley stoked a forbidden excitement. She’d been so happy to see Ryder at the end of each day. Usually she got home from the salon before he left the garage. She’d have dinner waiting. Well, something that was close to dinner, like boxed macaroni and cheese with a boiled bologna ring.
If she had time, she might fix meatloaf, one of Ryder’s favorites. Thank goodness Stanley had shared his recipe after she promised not to leak the secret ingredients. No one could ever replace Stanley. She'd always think of him as her father-in-law. How she wished she’d known Ryder’s mother. From what he’d told her, his folks had the perfect marriage.
“Phoebe?” Ryder’s voice came from the kitchen.
“Out here!” She whisked her fingers through her up do. These mauve gelled spikes hadn’t won Ryder’s approval. He used to love playing with her soft curls.
“Have you had your breakfast?” In his hand was a carton of eggs, which were probably scrambled from being on the Harley.
“You sure they’re not cracked?”
She almost giggled watching his mouth drop open.
Ryder’s Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, and his hand gripped tighter. Yep, she was sure she heard a couple of those eggs crack.
“I thought I'd cook up some eggs. Good for us, right? Protein or something?” Lordy he was having trouble making sense. Yes indeed this is going to be a very interesting summer.
“Sounds good. All I had was cinnamon raisin toast.”
His tongue tipped out to swipe his lips. Ryder love toasted cinnamon raisin bread. “Did you make it with the cinnamon butter?”
“Sure did.” Trying not to laugh, Phoebe nodded. “Yessir. You used to like it that way, didn't you?”
“Yeah. I still like it that way.” But his eyes were rolling over the hills and valleys of her green bikini top. Cinnamon butter was probably not what the man had in mind.
“Well, I sure do appreciate it.”
“What?” Leaning against the table as if he were woozy, he blinked.
She giggled. “The eggs, Ryder. And cinnamon toast? Sure I'd like some.”
His tongue licked his lower lip like he’d just come in from the Sahara and she was a deep well. “This will just take me a minute.”
Now, she should've just ordered him onto the roof. Have the man get busy. But the truth was, working in that kitchen was a bear. It was the bending part that got to her. Sure she could move around okay and sitting wasn't a problem, but bending over? She just about fell on her bum. Why not let Ryder do the hard work?
Glancing up, she watched the sun rise higher through the trees. This was that peaceful time of the morning when she used to take a walk along the shore before heading off to work, especially after the divorce. That summer she’d needed to be put together with super glue. Her book of meditations in her hand, she walked until she’d collapse in the dune grass. Then she’d open the book and read. The hopeful meditations calmed her mind. Got her ready to face another day without Ryder.
At first, getting out of bed to face another day hadn’t been easy. Thank goodness she had her salon to keep her busy every day. Jen and Carly helped field her calls. She blocked Ryder’s number on her cell. It was easy to delete texts and emails. Somehow she’d gotten over him and all that pain. At least, she thought she had. Having him around like this? Made her seriously wonder.
Maybe she was playing with fire. Before long, she smelled the sizzling butter and the cinnamon toast. “You want me to butter the toast, Ryder?” she called out.
“If you would.” Sure sounded like he was having a time of it. Chairs were sliding, plates were clapping together and the air carried a burnt smell, almost like the leaves in fall.
Bumping along slowly to the door, she stood there. The straps of her bikini top felt tight, and she took her time adjusting them.
Casting a glance her way, Ryder burned himself. “Ouch. Man!”
Phoebe bit back a giggle. “Cold water.” She motioned toward the sink.
“What?” He nearly dropped the pan trying to slide the eggs onto the plates.
Taking baby steps to the sink, she turned on the cold water and let it flow over her fingers. “Put your hand under the cold water. You’ve got work to do. Can’t have you injuring yourself.” She kept her voice clipped, and he shot her a look.
“Thank you for your concern.”
“Don’t mention it.” No way was he getting any pity from her. While he stuck his big paw under the cold water, she sat down at the kitchen table to slather the toast with the cinnamon butter that he loved. The delivery boy from Clancy’s had come yesterday, and he even helped her put the groceries away. Eggs had been part of that order but she wasn’t going to mention that now.
Drying his hands, Ryder slanted her a look. “Want to sit on the porch?”
Well, of course she did. But not this time.
“No need. Let’s just eat quick so you can get to work.”
“Slave driver.”
As they sat there sipping coffee and eating the eggs, Ryder begged for compliments. “Almost tastes better than Rosie’s, right?”
Sometimes the little boy came out in him, all shy uncertainty. “Delicious. You did a great job, Ryder. Really. I appreciate it.” And she did.
Satisfaction softened his jaw and crinkled the corners of his gray eyes. He’d showered and shaved. She let the cinnamon butter melt in her mouth. There's something about a man who’ll cook for you.
“Just leave those dishes in the sink,” he told her when they were finished.
“Oh, I will.” But after he left, she managed to clean up. To her amazement, she still loved doing things for him. And that was a problem.
Chapter 10
Phoebe would sure be glad when Ryder finished with the roof. That nail gun was getting to her. Or maybe it was the heat, which had taken Gull Harbor hostage. By noon, it was eighty degrees, not the usual June weather. When lunchtime came, she hustled into the kitchen to make ham sandwiches. She slathered the caraway rye bread with mayonnaise and mustard, just the way he liked it. And although it took her forever, she somehow managed to make cucumber dip. Chopping up the cucumber would be good for her upper arm tone. At least, that’s what she told herself. Then she attacked the onions. But she’d forgotten to add dill to her Clancy’s shopping list, so they wouldn’t have that.
Cucumber dip or nachos? She could handle those. But the main meal? Not her thing, even though a big guy like Ryder needed hearty food and plenty of it. She may have let him down in that area. But in other wifely duties? No need for a guilt trip there.
Phoebe set up lunch on the porch. High in the sky, the sun beat down with summer ferocity. Families were headed to the beach. She could hear the rumble of the wagons loaded with beach toys pass by on the road. Happy voices lifted with excitement.
Before long, Ryder burst through the door, washed his hands and sat down. Eating across from Ryder Branson was a treat––almost enough to make her forget he was off-limits. Her ex ate the way he approached everything else, with lusty enjoyment. No nibbling for Ryder. Well, at least not when it came to lunch. He took big bites, chewing with obvious enjoyment. She wondered if Trixie was a good cook.
“This dip is great, Phoebe.” His eyes sparkled across the table while he dug chip after chip into the thick mixture.
“Glad you like it, Ryder. It’s one of my favorites.” Time for some fun. Taking the biggest chip in the bowl, she edged it under large chunks of cucumber. “Moderation in all things,” she said softly. Savoring that one bite, she let it roll over her tongue, enjoying the onions along with the black crushed pepper.
Ryder’s facial muscles went slack while she chewed slowly. Eyes gla
zed, he fumbled for the bowl of chips and then jabbed one into the mixture. The chip cracked. He kept going.
“Pretty good, isn’t it?” he muttered between bites.
“Perfect, right?” Pouting her lips, she did that air kiss thing that used to drive him wild when she was complimenting him.
His dazed features made her swallow a giggle. While the fan worked to cool the room, his forehead beaded with perspiration.
“Haven’t had this for a while,” she whispered. “Tastes good, doesn’t it?”
“No, I haven’t had it in....a long time. Tastes great,” he said, fumbling for another chip. “You did a great job. With the dip, I mean.”
By that time, who knew what they were talking about?
“Well now, thank you, Ryder.”
Being complimented by her ex felt good. Until it didn’t. After a while her tummy felt stuffed. But the real problem? Oh, he hadn’t even started to satisfy her need. The need she didn’t realize she had until she spent time with Ryder again.
By the end of lunch, they were both gasping for air. It was the first time in her life she'd ever served a meal that was X-rated. Phoebe felt a food coma coming on as she tried to push up from her chair. Had she made a terrible exhibition of herself? Did she care? Just watching his confusion had been worth it.
Phoebe liked to think she still had that power. That effect on a man.
Especially this man.
“Leave the dishes in the sink, Phoebe. I’ll clean these up tonight.”
“Okay. Thanks, Ryder.” Tonight. He was going to be here tonight. Hormones raging, she didn't know if she could stand it.
“You look tired.” Ryder peered down into her eyes. “How about a nap?” Coming around the table, he looked like he wanted to touch her but didn't know how, not with that bikini top.
She pushed back her damp hair. “Maybe.” With a sigh she glanced over at the crutch that had rubbed her skin raw.
Following her eyes, Ryder scooped her into his arms. His chest was broad and firm. She flattened one hand over the beat of his heart. Even the rumble of his chest could get her aroused.
