by Rachel Lee
“On a deadline,” he said. “She may look up from her computer again in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, the boys and I are batching it. I throw her a sandwich from time to time.”
Sharon laughed. “Isn’t she successful enough to give herself more time?”
“She could have all the time she wants, but she says if she didn’t set a tight deadline she’d probably never finish a book. I don’t get it, but that’s the way she operates. So you have a handyman?”
“Are people talking?”
“When do I get to talk to people? Now, if sheep could gossip, that might be something else. No, I saw him painting when I came up. Did I scare him off?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. Liam was Chet’s best buddy in the army and he came here to deliver a letter.”
Ransom’s face tightened. “So what’s going on?”
“TBI.”
He swore. “So you took him under your wing?”
“I’m not sure who is under whose wing, honestly. I needed some things done and he needed a place to stop.”
“Nowhere to go?”
“Evidently not.”
Ransom leaned back, sipping lemonade. “Mmm, that’s good lemonade. Mandy did that for me, you know. Gave me a place to stop. It was supposed to be temporary, while I healed, but obviously that changed.”
“I didn’t know that.” She had heard vague mentions that Ransom had been a CIA agent who had been tortured before coming here a couple of decades ago, but had had no idea Mandy had taken him in. Someday she wanted to get the full story.
“We don’t talk about it a lot. Anyway, all I’m saying is, good for you. Sometimes a person just needs a place to slow down without stuff crashing in all the time. This is a good place for that. And if he’s looking for some work after he’s through with the painting, I might be able to use some help. If he’s interested in sheep, anyway.”
“Thanks, Ransom. I was thinking just a little while ago that maybe it’s time I got some animals out here.”
“Chet always planned to,” he agreed. “Although I’m not sure all of us would have liked his choices.”
She had to laugh. “I’m sure the wolves would have been impossible.”
“Most likely. I’m hearing we have two packs up in the mountains now. No incidents yet, but some are getting edgy.”
“Aw, no.”
“Aw, yes. It’s come up a few times at the grange meetings. There’s a relatively simple solution, though.”
“Which is?”
“Cowboys and good dogs, but I know some folks are running on the thinnest of margins. I’m thinking maybe we need to chip in and buy some really good herding dogs for those that are worried. We’ll see. Money’s tight, like, everywhere.”
“Linc Blair, one of the teachers I work with, uses dogs. In fact, he gives a lot of his pups away, but I doubt he has enough of them to meet demand.”
“I’ve talked to him. He’s got some ideas.” Ransom drained his lemonade and declined the offer of more. “Gotta get back to work. Sorry I didn’t get to meet Liam. Say hi for me.”
“I will.”
“But the main reason I stopped by is that we’re having a barbecue at our place the first Saturday of next month. I hope you can come, and bring Liam if he’s willing.”
“Thanks.” Sharon smiled. “I love barbecues. What do I need to bring?”
“Now, that’s something you’ll have to call Mandy about. Don’t expect her to answer the phone, though. She’ll get back to you or have one of the boys call. But right now she’s planning it as a celebration for finishing her book.”
Rising, he touched the brim of his hat in farewell and descended the steps to his horse. Right then, Liam came around the corner of the house. He froze, his face tight.
Ransom went utterly still, reacting to Liam’s evident hesitation. Sharon wondered what to do to bridge this awkward gap.
“Hi,” Liam said finally, breaking the silence.
“Hello,” Ransom answered. Holding his horse’s reins, he took a step toward Liam and held out his hand. “Ransom Laird. Those are my sheep that have been baa-ing at you.”
Liam shook his hand. “Liam O’Connor. It’s a soothing sound, actually. They don’t seem to get upset about much.”
“They’re pretty placid most of the time,” Ransom agreed. “Sorry to have to say hi and run, but work calls. You’re welcome to the barbecue at my place in a few weeks. Sharon has the information.” Again, he touched the brim of his hat with a finger and swung up into the saddle. “Pleasure to meet you, Liam.”
He rode off at a slow gallop toward the distant herd of sheep.
Liam remained where he was, looking at Sharon. “Seems like a nice man.”
“He always has been. The barbecue isn’t for a few weeks yet, so you can think about it. Lemonade?”
“Thanks.”
“Let me get a fresh glass.” She carried Ransom’s inside and returned quickly with a pair of glasses. She poured for both of them and then resumed her seat. At last, Liam came to sit on the other side of the table from her.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?” She had seen his reaction earlier when he’d stood at the foot of the ladder, a man prepared for attack. “For being you?”
“For being rude.”
“Hardly. He was still on the horizon when you walked away. You might not have seen him.”
“But I did.”
“And I told you who he was.” She held the icy glass of lemonade, watching condensation form on its side. “What happened exactly?”
“I realized that I’m not fit to cope with ordinary life. It makes me angry sometimes.”
“You may not be fit right now, but you’ll get there.” She spoke firmly.
“You can’t know that.”
“I can’t? You got used to being in combat. Surely you’ll get used to a peaceful environment. TBI notwithstanding, you strike me as very adaptable, so don’t write yourself off yet.”
He didn’t argue with her, but she didn’t know if that was good or not. In so many ways, as revealing as he was about some things, he remained inscrutable. Either there was a lot he didn’t want to discuss, or things he simply couldn’t.
She sipped lemonade and stared out over the fields, which were beginning to simmer now as the afternoon warmed up. Emotional truths were the hardest to express. Sometimes all the words in the dictionary weren’t enough.
“Painting,” he said suddenly.
She looked at him. “What?”
“I was painting. I left the stuff sitting there. It’ll kill the brush and roller if they dry out.”
“The barn is killing the brushes,” she said humorously. “And the rollers, come to think of it. All that rough wood. Don’t worry.”
“I finish what I start. Unless I forget.”
Those last three words were so sardonic that her heart squeezed. “Clearly you didn’t forget.” She put her glass down. “Let’s go take care of it. Like you, I need to be busy, too.”
She saw his eyebrows rise.
“You think you’re the only one who needs not to think about some things?”
He didn’t answer, but there was no mistaking the flicker of pain that crossed his face. “Sometimes I forget...”
“That I’m Chet’s widow? Sometimes, if I’m lucky, I forget, too.” That sounded harsh, but it was true. She was stuck here, living a life, and forgetfulness could sometimes provide the only balm.
She jumped up and headed toward the side of the barn where he’d been painting. He followed right on her heels.
“I could do more today,” he told her.
“Sure. If you insist. But it’s getting kind of warm, and I’d rather not see you fall from that ladder. You haven’t eaten in hours.”
“I can handle the heat.”
“I’m sure you can. But if you don’t mind, I’d rather not chance it. There are other things that need doing if you need to keep busy.”
The pa
int had only just started to skin over, so it was easy enough to plunge the brush and roller into a bucket for soaking, and to rinse out the pan. The tiny amount of paint in the can didn’t seem worth the trouble, so she asked him to seal it up and put it on the stack of cans Ed would pick up for recycling.
She sent him to shower while she made sandwiches for lunch. When he returned, he was wearing fresh but paint-spattered clothes. Well, of course. He’d arrived with only a backpack. He probably had only a few changes.
She didn’t have anything around that might fit him, and didn’t know if he could handle shopping.
Putting her chin in her hand, she watched him eat and thought about how complicated all of this was. She wondered if it really had to be this complicated. Dancing around everything only made it harder for both of them. He’d been blunt when he arrived. Maybe it was time for her to be blunt, too.
“I need to go to town.” She wasn’t exactly prepared for feeding two, and she needed to remedy that. But there was another need now, too. “How about you get yourself some more clothes?”
He looked down at himself.
“You hardly want to go everywhere covered with primer and barn-red. And you might want some cooler clothes. Summer’s really arriving.”
He thought about it, saying little while he ate another few bites. Then he startled her. “More clothes imply a commitment.”
Astonished, her mouth hung open. “A commitment? How?”
“More to keep me here.”
She didn’t know whether to get mad or not. Seriously, that was either crazy or opaque. “Do you have a problem with being here for a while? Or is it inconceivable that you could just leave your messed-up clothes behind whenever you want to go?”
Now he looked a little surprised. “I must have said that wrong.”
“Maybe so.” She was glad when the phone rang. Jumping up, she went to answer it. It turned out to be the mother of one of her students from the past year who wanted to know if she might consider tutoring her younger son in math.
“I don’t know if he’s just unwilling or if he’s just not getting it, but you did such a good job with Mike, I thought you might be able to help Andy.”
“I’d be glad to tutor if you don’t mind bringing Andy over here.” No way was she going to drive all over the county. She’d learned that two summers ago, when she started tutoring one girl and wound up with half a dozen students who were scattered around the county as if someone had thrown a handful of jacks. She didn’t know why, but once you took on one student, you acquired others. Last summer, she had been too raw to even consider it, but this year it would be welcome.
After she hung up she found that Liam had finished his lunch and was carrying his plate to the dishwasher. “So you work over the summer, too?” he asked.
“Just a little. Some tutoring. I like it. One-on-one interaction is very satisfying.”
“Like teaching me to read.”
“Yes. I get something out of it, too, Liam.”
Those light green eyes of his creased at the corners with something like a smile. “Glad to hear it.”
“I wouldn’t be a teacher otherwise.”
He closed the dishwasher door. “What were we talking about before?”
She waited, giving him the opportunity to recall if he could.
His expression brightened another shade. “Town. Clothes.”
“Yes.” She bit back the urge to question him again about what he meant by commitment. The possibilities in those words might be painful. She wasn’t ready to admit that she liked having him around, because that would mean it would be painful when he left. And he would leave. There was no reason on Earth for him to hang around here once he felt he had his feet under him. And day by day she watched him growing a little more confident. The work must be helping.
Maybe that was most of what he needed, a sense that he could be useful again. She definitely understood that need.
She knew he was going through a difficult time, but she hadn’t expected it to be so difficult for her, as well. The Liam she had heard about was a competent soldier and a great friend. The man she had met was still powerful, but facing difficulties, some physical, some emotional. She couldn’t examine all this thoroughly and didn’t intend to. The important thing to her was that he kept trying. As each new thing came up, whether going to town, eating in a restaurant, painting or learning to read, he insisted on trying it.
But it was painful, nonetheless, to have some idea of what he had once been, and to see him struggle now to get himself back.
“Clothes,” he said again. “I need clothes.”
It was like watching a man remember where he was, even though he’d only briefly wandered away.
He looked at her. “Okay. What clothes do I need?”
She hesitated. “How about you decide that? I have a washer, so it’s not like you need a whole lot. Go for comfort.”
He looked down at himself and said with humor, “Just stuff that isn’t covered in paint.” Then he asked her, “What are you going to be doing in town?”
“Buying groceries. The larder is getting low, to put it mildly.”
“You should let me help pay for them.”
“Good heavens, why? You’re working your butt off to help me out.”
“The question,” he said with amazing insight, “is who is helping who.”
She managed not to correct his grammar. The thought was good enough. “Maybe a little of both, big guy. Let me grab my purse, and we’ll go.”
* * *
It actually felt good to be heading into town again. During the school year, she made enough trips on weekdays that she tried to avoid them on weekends. Last summer, she had practically holed up, though, and this summer had been headed the same direction prior to Liam’s arrival. She supposed she had a lot to be grateful to him for. He was slowly digging her out of her shell.
Of course, emerging from a shell meant becoming vulnerable again, open to the bad that life brought as well as the good. Still, she enjoyed the fresh air blowing through her rolled-down window, the view of the mountains and the fields they passed, the sense of being out of her rut even if it was just to visit the grocery.
Before heading on to the grocery, she pulled into a parking place in front of Freitag’s Mercantile. “This is it,” she said. “The only place in town to buy some clothes.”
Liam didn’t climb out immediately, simply watched the street, the handful of people coming and going, as if he were getting his bearings. She almost offered to come in with him, then reminded herself this was a man who had navigated his way halfway across the country to bring her a letter. She waited patiently, allowing him whatever space he might need.
Then he smiled at her. “I’ll be out front when you’re done.”
“Good enough.”
She watched him climb out and walk into the store, the only hesitation that faint hitch in his stride. God, he was a hunk. Simply watching him walk away was enough to get her all hot and bothered. She squirmed a little in her seat and fought to redirect her thoughts to a safer place.
It struck her then that she might have seriously underestimated him. This was not a man who feared anything, except possibly the glitches inside his own head.
He was more than ready to wrap his hands around life and deal with it. The TBI might have left him with some deficits, and made him uncertain about what he could do, but apart from anxiety and anger, both of which she had read were normal for TBI survivors, he most definitely wasn’t afraid to plunge in.
If he feared anything at all, it was his own reactions.
As she backed out and drove on to the market, she reviewed her own reactions and assessments.
It struck her that she’d been guilty of diminishing him, too. For all she kept giving him chances to do things, part of her didn’t expect him to succeed. How had she fallen into that trap?
Because, answered the utterly truthful part of her mind, it made her safe from the sexual
attraction she’d been trying to bury since day one. And man, what an attraction, like a match she just couldn’t blow out. So she was trying to evade those feelings by concentrating on his lacks.
Like just now, she could have offered to shop with him. She could have helped him pick out clothes. The impulse was there, but it was a mothering impulse, not the way you treated another adult. She kept having those urges and needed to stop them. Especially since they were purely defensive ones, and unfair to him.
Working her way through the store, filling a cart with things she had already learned that Liam seemed to like, and plenty of fresh greens for herself, she found herself remembering how he looked standing on that ladder just yesterday when the afternoon’s temperature had started rising and he’d shed his shirt.
Muscles, shiny with sweat, rippling with every movement. No wonder she wanted to put a safe barrier between them.
Well, it might protect her, but it wouldn’t do him a darn bit of good. He needed to find his own way through this. All she could provide were some opportunities to explore, like reading and painting. Maybe some other work around the place.
But the bottom line was, he wasn’t her charge, he wasn’t her student and he was a man in every sense of the word.
Coming out of the grocery with what she hoped would be enough to keep them fed for a week—his appetite was growing the longer he painted—she felt a sense of relief, as if she had let go of something that had been weighing her down.
She knew exactly what it was: she no longer had to see him as anything but the attractive man he was. And now she could give in to the sexual twinges he aroused in her without the sense of taking advantage.
She almost laughed at herself as she loaded groceries into the back of the truck. He hadn’t done one damn thing to make her feel like he felt the same attraction for her. Not one.
So it was a safe little fantasy, and she could stop throwing up mental roadblocks and just enjoy feeling like a woman again, instead of asexual. That was a trick she had learned while Chet was away. It sometimes amazed her how often men seemed to think a woman couldn’t get by for months on end while her husband was away. A few had even made passes at her a few months after the funeral.
