by Barbara Lohr
“I’ll take you to your room.” His eyes swept her bare chest. “The porch might be too cool.”
“Sure. Okay. My head feels so heavy.”
Cupping one hand over her head, he brought it to his chest. “Rest now, Sweet Cheeks.” The last words were added in a husky whisper. He’d always made her feel like a sweet little thing. She curled her hand tight on his chest so she wouldn’t whisk it over his chin, feel the stubble tease her palm.
There will be none of that, Phoebe Hunicutt.
No matter what, she was sticking to her plan. Boots scuffing on the cracked linoleum, he carried her to the bedroom. Feeling so content she could purr, Phoebe felt herself drifting off to sleep. They were almost there. But he stopped sharp in the doorway. “What happened in here?”
“What?” She blinked her eyes open. A soft breeze blew through the white dimity curtains. The darkened room felt comfortably cool. Her white frame bed stood against the pink wall, with the green and peach quilt that her mother had made for her. She longed to slide under that quilt. “Why are you stopping, Ryder?”
“The damn room’s pink. That’s why. Pink?” He deposited her on the queen-size bed she’d bought after kicking him out.
Pushing herself up on an elbow, she looked at the walls with satisfaction. “I thought it would be good if they matched the house. But I only got to two walls. I still have work to do.”
His head was swiveling like a bobble doll. “No man will ever sleep in this room.”
Suddenly, she was wide awake. And she could not stop laughing. “Not an issue, is it? Close the door on the way out, okay, Ryder?”
~.~
Something smelled spicy and delicious. Brown sugar beans. Phoebe’s stomach growled as she rolled toward the window. A cool breeze blew softly over her face, and she blinked her eyes open. What time was it? Felt like she’d been asleep for hours. Whenever she took a nap, she always woke up feeling cozy and wanting company. The kind of company only a man can bring and Ryder knew that. She squirmed a bit on the bed. Somewhere Ryder was whistling, off tune of course.
Then she remembered. Cold reality straightened her out fast. Ryder wasn’t her husband. He wouldn’t come through the door with that hungry look in his eye. I want him gone. But the words rang hollow in her heart. Especially after that shameful display eating lunch. What was wrong with her? What had happened to her self-control?
Stretching, she remembered she was wearing her tiny little bikini top and smiled. Flipping onto her stomach, she rolled out of bed and pushed herself up onto her feet. She was getting pretty good at this maneuver. The air felt too cool for a bikini top and goosebumps rose on her skin. After rummaging through her drawers, she pulled on a blue T-shirt that said Saugatuck in white script.
Full of renewed purpose, she stopped in the bathroom. The shaving kit on the counter pulled her up short. Darn it. She turned as limp as Ryder’s damp towel hung over the shower door. There was a time when she hated to find his toothbrush on the counter. The stubble in the sink made her cringe. Now just looking at that worn leather kit turned her to mush.
Think messy sink, not gray suede eyes.
Crutch tucked under her arm, she thumped down the hall. When she got to the kitchen, she paused, took a deep breath and smiled. “What is that delicious smell?”
When Ryder turned, his eyes went straight to her chest. “Saugatuck?”
Meeting his gaze, she saw their memories there. “Yeah. Remember?”
“How could I forget?” He swallowed hard.
Not too long after they got married, they spent the weekend at a bed and breakfast in Saugatuck, a Michigan tourist destination with a capital T. Later they laughed about the fact that they hardly got to see the town. Crazy for each other, they even stayed in their room for meals. Saugatuck became a synonym for what-the-heck. Their room sat right on the channel. Boats slowly chugged past as they sat on their veranda, sipping Bloody Mary’s in the morning and cold beers at night. Ryder would run out for takeout, and they’d have fried chicken or burgers on their little table.
Shoulders slumping, Ryder had turned back to the stove. His curls wet from the shower were darned appealing. Of course he had the flame under the beans up way too high. Her ex-husband knew less about cooking than she did.
The yummy smell of brown sugar beans was turning into a burn. Phoebe’s stomach growled. A side-glance told her the plates were set on the table. Her hunger turned a little squishy inside. What would they talk about? Her nervousness made her regret what she’d thought was a bright idea, him staying here. “You need to turn down the heat, Ryder,” she blurted out.
“But I'm not…?” Then he looked at the spatula in his hand. “Oh, that.”
Now what in Sam Hill did he think she was talking about? Okay, he was one fine looking man. That fresh T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders. His biceps moved enticingly while he worked. And then there was that slim waist. When he reached up for the salt, she saw enough skin below that shirt to make her hungry and not for beans. She wanted to tunnel up under that cotton with her fingers. Drink in his fresh scent and lift her face for a kiss. Instead, she grabbed the back of a kitchen chair and hung on like a passenger on the Titanic.
“Sorry I slept so long. I wasted the whole afternoon.”
“Guess you needed the sleep.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Not a problem. I got a lot done today. I’m about finished with the roof, and then I can start painting.”
So he was in a hurry to finish the job. Disappointment seeped through her. “Can I help with anything? Supper, I mean?” All she could smell was the beans.
“No.” He hitched a shoulder toward the porch. “Why don't you sit down. I’ll have dinner ready in a minute.” Confident words but the confusion in his eyes told a different story.
So he felt uncertain about their situation. Well, she knew how that felt. Wobbling out to the porch she took a seat and drank in the cool night air.
The cottage was hidden in the woods about half a block from the beach. When they bought it, they’d liked the privacy of the property. The sounds of restless waves drifted up from the beach. How many times had she wandered that beach at dusk or dawn, wondering where she’d gone wrong with Ryder? What made him turn to another woman?
The lake didn’t have any answers.
And neither did the therapist who’d about emptied out Phoebe’s bank account. That’s when she bought Fernando at an art fair.
Maneuvering into a chair, she thrummed her nails on the scratched table. Having Ryder around was like ripping off the bandage and discovering you hadn't healed. The wound was still red and raw.
Now, Phoebe. Patience, patience. Carolyn stepped into her head, wagging a finger at her from Santa Fe. A night chill descended and Phoebe brushed her hands up her arms. They’d declared a truce this summer and for a good reason. Mentally she ticked them off. The repairs would be made. She could make her ex-husband crazy. She might get to see Stanley. That rational approach adjusted her attitude. Somehow she had to make peace with her decision.
“Here's the coleslaw.” Ryder bustled out, looking so domestic.
“Thought you didn’t like pink.” She pointed to the apron he wore.
With his face the color of the flamingo on the apron, he plunked down a bowl of fries and another one of coleslaw. “I didn’t want to get messed up.” He looked down. “Okay, the bird is kind of girly.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He just didn’t know how girly this summer was going to get. He hadn’t even started with the pink paint yet. When he came back with a bowl of beans, she couldn’t help but notice they were clumped together. Burned canned beans––pretty hard to pull off but somehow he’d managed. She put a paper napkin on her lap. “Looks delicious.”
Sitting across from her, Ryder wiped the back of one hand across a beaded brow. “You think so?”
Well, he was never going to rival Martha Stewart. “Absolutely.” Hey it was food and she was starving. “Anything to drink?”
“Oh,
yeah. Sorry.” Opening the refrigerator, he returned with a frosty beer in each hand. She hadn’t had any pain pills that day, and a beer tasted delicious on a summer evening. Minutes later they were eating. Chipmunks chased each other around the yard. How she envied them their mindless scampering. She’d be tethered to this chair all summer.
And to Ryder. A chill passed through her.
Beyond the hedges, families were coming up from the beach, trundling wagons full of beach toys behind them. If they spoke at all, it was in hushed tones. The sun and fresh air could do that to you. Settle you down so you slept real good. Picking up her fork, Phoebe played with the beans. Sitting here with Ryder just felt so homey that it brought tears to her eyes.
Just then Ryder happened to glance up. He set his beer down. “Hey, what's wrong? I know the beans are a mess but...”
Trying to hide her sniffles, she shook her head. “Yeah, I think you went a little heavy on the pepper.”
“I’ll do better next time.” He looked like summer, the white shirt setting off the deep tan from working on the roof. Whatever this was, he was trying and he was trying for her. If the roof was almost done, maybe the painting would go just as fast. Then he could hightail it out of here and get back to his life. She’d still have the house. Wasn’t that what she wanted?
Phoebe liked Clancy’s coleslaw so she dug into it. Ryder studied the ceiling as if he was having a conversation with it. “At least we don’t have to worry about leaks anymore. I sure didn't want that ceiling getting ruined.”
The tongue in groove ceiling had been his pride. “I appreciate everything you're doing, Ryder, I really do.” Sometimes the cozy cottage felt like too much work for her, not that she’d admit it.
“How's Dad doing?” The word slipped out so easily. She bit her lip. Even Ryder looked surprised.
“Fine. Stanley's fine. Crusty old guy. He'll take care of the business while I take care...” Ryder shifted a shoulder. “Help you out.”
Her father-in-law had always been dependable. “That’s good.”
Eyes swerving to the yard where weeds abounded, Ryder chewed thoughtfully. “Stanley misses you, Phoebe.”
The coleslaw felt like cotton going down. “I told him I'd meet him for lunch anytime.”
Ryder shifted in the chair. “You know what I mean. He misses you being part of the family.”
Looking down at her beans, her vision blurred. “I miss him too. A lot.”
They ate the rest of the dinner in silence.
When they finished, Ryder jumped up and began to clear the table. He’d probably crack half the plates by the time he was finished, stacking them like that.
“I’ll run these later,” he said, as if he could feel her eyes on his back. Then he turned. “I've got a surprise for you.”
“You do?” The man was full of mystery.
Reaching to the top of the refrigerator, he took down a white bakery box. Looking at Ryder, box in hand and a pleased expression on his face, her mouth watered. While he pulled down two smaller plates and grabbed forks, she loved the way his body moved. The man was all muscles and power as he prepared the delicate cannolis. Who cared about dinner when you could have dessert? Watching him, Phoebe knew just what she’d been missing and it wasn’t cannolis.
When he caught her staring, he smiled.
“Why don’t you...go out and sit down?” Ryder tilted his head to one side.
“Right. Sure.” She did as she was told. After all, the man had bought cannolis.
He set a lime green plate in front of her. “Oh, Ryder.” The pastry was dusted with powdered sugar. Puffs of rich ricotta spilled from the ends of each cannoli, and she could see slivers of pistachios.
“I haven’t had dessert in a long time.” What was she saying? Heat burned her cheeks. She poked a fork down at the pastry. “I mean not this sweet, rich thing.”
“Me neither.” His eyes held hers and he cleared his throat. Ryder made a circling motion with his fork. “I mean, you know, not this dessert.”
“Right. A cannoli. I love it. I miss it....them.” Her hold tightened on the fork until it bit into her hand.
Heat banked in his eyes. Had they both stopped breathing?
You are an idiot, Phoebe Hunicutt. Dropping her eyes, she inhaled the sweet scent. The crust of the pastry cracked when she nudged a fork into it. Right now? She felt hungry, starving. When she looked up, Ryder’s eyes were on her. They seemed to glow fiery red. She’d better chew or she’d choke when she tried to swallow.
When they were finished, Ryder cleared the table. Getting up, she tried to help. “Look, Sweet Ch...” Oh, that nickname came so easily. And her body roared to life just hearing a suggestion of those words. But Ryder cut them off with a guttural groan. “You can't bend over, and it’s probably not good for your leg to even try.”
“Well, all right, Ryder,” she said softly, feeling like she was walking on the dry edge of a sand pit that might crumble without warning. Although it was agony hearing the clatter of her precious plates, she left Ryder with the dishes and settled into one of the big rattan chairs. The birds were singing their sweet nighttime songs as the shadows deepened under the trees. Usually people drifted back down to the beach after dinner to watch the sunset. Grounded up here for the summer, she’d really miss those peaceful moments.
Another crash of dishes as Ryder pushed the lower tray into the dishwasher. “You can turn the TV on, Ryder. That won’t bother me.” How many nights had she sat out here, while he listened to sports on the TV inside?
He filled the doorway. “If you don't mind company, I’d like to sit here with you.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” She happened to glance over at Fernando.
Fine with me. But be careful.
Ryder always left his work boots at the door. Inside, he wore a pair of soft leather moccasins she’d always loved. He called them his at-home shoes and she smiled, remembering. After he took the seat across from her, he folded his hands on his stomach and stretched his feet onto the hassock until their toes nearly touched. As darkness fell, fireflies danced out from the trees, leaving glittery trails along the grass, their tiny lights blinking on and off. Before she knew it, Ryder’s head bobbed and he began to snore, just a little bit.
So they sat there, together but not together. Conflicted feelings had a heyday in her head while she watched him doze, loving every exhausted dip of his head.
She’d always pictured little boys with Ryder’s reddish brown head of curls. They’d have his gray eyes too. Mischief makers. There was a time when she loved to think of her husband that way. Ryder had that adventurous air about him. But all that changed. Her dreams of a family with him burned away fast. He seemed so different now. A lot of the quick, snappy comebacks had been replaced by moments when he seemed to turn things over in his mind. That pause? Totally new. New and nice.
A slight smile tilted his lips. What was he dreaming about?
Or who? Her muscles tightened painfully. More than once she’d see him come out of the garage with his phone. But she wasn’t asking any questions, of course. She had no right.
Well, time to get some shut eye. Hating to wake him up, she hesitated. Then Phoebe grabbed an afghan from the back of the sofa and spread it gently over his sprawled frame. After turning off the lights, she just stood there for a second, watching him breathe. This wouldn't be the first time he'd fallen asleep exhausted on that porch.
The back porch light glanced off Fernando’s metallic head. “You take good care of him now, you hear?”
Slipping back to her own room, she got ready for bed. The mini-skirt was easy to zip off and it wasn’t hard to slip out of the bikini top. That light in Ryder’s eyes when he caught sight of it?
She had enjoyed seeing that again. Way too much.
Girl, you are a glutton for punishment.
Chapter 11
When she woke up the next day, coffee hung in the air and no hammering was going on overhead. What time was it? Phoebe
eased one eye open. Nine? Really? Jolted awake, she scrambled from bed. No bikini top today. Rifling through her closet, she found a gauzy green sundress that flowed over the top of her cast. A quick dab of lipstick and she was ready.
After a quick call to the salon, she was almost disappointed at how composed Jen sounded. “Everything’s under control,” Jen told her. “How are you doing?”
My life’s out of control. “Fine,” Phoebe told her employee. “I’m good.”
Silence hummed at the other end. Finally, she heard Jen take a deep breath. “Okay, then. Let me know if I can help with anything.” Jen didn’t believe her. She knew how stubborn Phoebe could be and that she’d never ask for help, even if she needed it.
After the call ended, Phoebe filled a bowl with cereal and ate it in gulps, standing up. All that sitting and standing took a lot out of her. Taking her crutch, she walked onto the porch. The faint smell of paint hung in the air, and she heard the rhythmic slide of a brush. True to his word, Ryder was working on the siding today. Excitement quivered in her stomach. She would finally get the full effect of an entire wall of pink.
“What do you think of that, Fernando? Are we looking good or what?” Her metal sculpture seemed to approve.
The summer breeze teased her. What a great day to walk to the beach. Why not? Tying a hoodie around her shoulders, she jammed a sun visor on her head. Crutch tucked under one arm, she walked to the driveway, edged past the Harley and continued to the road. Sun filtered through the trees and too late, she realized she hadn’t put on sunblock. Another couple steps and the road turned to quicksand.
Although the sand had been compressed by the traffic, her crutch sank right through it. Just take it slow. She was going to see that beach if it killed her. It had rained last night. The air felt moist. That meant there would be a haze over the lake. She loved it when it looked misty like a watercolor.
One step at a time. Crutch, swing leg. Bring other foot up. Perspiration formed on her upper lip. Her left leg protested from taking most of her weight.
This began to feel like a bad idea.
