She started to smile. She was healed, and the man trotting up the stairs at that moment had a lot to do with her transformation. She planned to tell him that.
Well, maybe not everything she felt. Goodness, the poor guy would probably run for the woods and never return. But she could thank him. At least one more time.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“I SHOULD GO,” SHE
said a few hours later. “Why? Aren’t you planning to work tomorrow? I mean today?” he asked, drawing her a little bit tighter into the warm, safe cocoon of his arms. With her head resting on his bare chest, she felt a languid comfort pulling her toward sleep.
But her conscience—or was that her mother’s voice in her head?—nagged her to get up, get dressed and go home. Having consensual sex with a client was one thing, sleeping over was another.
“Today is Sunday.”
“You’re going to church to repent your sins.” His tone held an element of teasing, but something else, too.
“No. My family isn’t particularly religious. Are you?”
“Used to be. Grew up Lutheran. Now, I’m not.”
Her sleepiness receded. “Because of what happened to your brother?”
He didn’t answer right away. “I suppose so. Everything changed when he died. I can barely even remember what our lives were like before the accident. What I was like.”
She rose to look him in the eyes. “You didn’t mention how he died. Car?”
“No. That probably would have been easier to accept. It was a fluke. He was horsing around with friends and fell off the bleachers in the gym. Not even that high. Maybe four feet, at most. He didn’t pass out or anything. He bounced to his feet, laughing. But later that night, he threw up and said his head ached.” He swallowed. “The doctors did surgery to repair a broken blood vessel in his brain, but he never regained consciousness.”
“Oh, my gosh. How horrible.”
“He was in a coma for four months. Mom went to the hospital every day. Some nights she stayed in the homes of church folk who took her in, but most of the time she made the drive by herself because my dad… He didn’t handle it well.” He heaved a sigh. “Stephen was the glue that kept us together. Without him, we fell apart.”
She understood all too well. Did tragedy magnify the dysfunctional tendencies in a family?
“My dad blamed me for Stephen’s fall.”
A stab of pain arced through her. “Why?”
“I’d finished practice and was hanging around with some friends. Girls. Stephen was at that age where he wanted a share of the attention, too. He was showing off for a girl in his class. She had a crush on me.”
“That’s not your fault.”
“I know, but when a young person dies, there’s never a shortage of guilt to go around.”
She pressed her body against his and hugged him fiercely. “I’m sorry that happened to you. To your family.”
He nuzzled the top of her head with his chin. His voice was low and sexy when he said, “Me, too. Does this mean you’re staying?”
“Oh, heck, I’ve broken so many rules, what’s one more? Yes, I’ll stay.”
He kissed her forehead. “Good. I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.
“Pine needles and berries?”
He grinned. “You’ll see. Now, we’d better grab a couple of hours of sleep so we’re not completely worthless tomorrow. Your most excellent Web site is attracting a lot of new orders.”
His praise was nice to hear, but her brain was already shutting down. Her last conscious thought was I could get used to this.
BREAKFAST THE NEXT MORNING was a happy surprise. No bark, pine needles or dried berries in sight.
“Pancakes? From scratch? I’m impressed.”
“Sourdough. A friend gave me the starter as a house-warming gift. I make them at least once a week. The dogs love them.”
The idea astounded her. Probably because none of the men in her life had ever shown the least bit of culinary interest or aptitude.
The dogs seemed happily at ease in the kitchen with their master. Another first for her. Mom wasn’t an animal lover and claimed to have allergies. Pets had been verboten in the Treadwell home.
“The coffee is excellent. Thank you,” she said, noticing he’d added a small thermal coffee press to the minimalist clutter on his counter.
“You’re welcome.”
The smell of pancakes made her mouth water. She stirred some cream into the mug then said, “Can I ask you something? It’s personal. And not really any of my business.”
He looked over his shoulder. He’d pulled his trimmed hair into a ponytail at the back of his neck. “I’d say you’re entitled to at least two personal questions.” A reference, she assumed, to the number of times they’d made love the night before.
“The envelope that Cooper held up last night at the gifting tree looked familiar. Was that your thousand-dollar donation?”
His shoulders tensed. He didn’t look at her when he said, “Yes. I’ve never made any effort to spread the word about Stephen’s House locally. I did a lot of PR in the beginning, when I figured my celebrity would do some good. Once I moved to the Hills, I kept my involvement limited to writing checks. But, as I think I told you, the seed money for the furnishings wound up being part of a Ponzi scheme.”
She hopped off her stool and walked to him. She wrapped her arms around his middle and squeezed. “My ex lost a bundle to that guy. Or so he claimed in our divorce papers. Things like that are always going to happen, Rufus. You don’t have any control over other people’s greed.”
He relaxed a little, but kept his attention trained on the griddle. “Cooper promised to make a list of the charities from last night to circulate amongst his well-heeled friends. The more money I can help to raise, the less I have to worry about making through my art.”
“That’s nothing to worry about. Your Dreamhouses are going to sell out. I’m absolutely certain.”
He didn’t say anything but he was smiling when he turned to face her. “Pancakes are ready. I hope you’re hungry. I tripled the recipe.”
She jumped back. “Tripled? Do I look starved?”
“The dogs would be crushed if they didn’t get their share. Sourdough is highly digestible and good for dogs, too.”
Each of the three beasts had their mouths open with tongues hanging out in obvious expectation. She couldn’t help but laugh. Unexpected joy bubbled up through her being. What a wonderful gift Rufus had turned out to be—and it wasn’t even Christmas.
Rufus was midway through his second helping when Rachel voiced her second question—the one he’d been expecting earlier.
“Why’d you really quit modeling?”
After the connection they’d shared the night before he had no choice but to answer honestly. “I was diagnosed with skin cancer. My doctor found a malignant melanoma on my ear.” He turned his head to show her the results of his surgery. “Not much call for a one-eared model.”
She stopped chewing and leaned forward slightly. “It’s not very noticeable unless you point it out—especially with your long hair. Couldn’t they have done reconstructive surgery?”
He pushed his plate away, his appetite gone. He hated talking about this subject. “There was talk about that, but, honestly, after the treatments were over, I couldn’t face another hospital room. And a few months later, my parents died within a week of each other. The result of a car accident. There was a lot to handle, estate-wise.”
Her expressive face twisted in pain. “Oh, my God, Rufus. That’s too horrible. No wonder you walked into the woods and didn’t come out.” She reached across the table to squeeze his hand. “I’m so sorry.”
He ran his thumb back and forth across her soft skin. “I don’t talk about this because it sounds like a soap opera.” He faked a smile. “I think I dated a woman who acted this very storyline.”
She topped his thumb with her own and kept it pinned in place. “You don’t have to pr
etend with me, Rufus. My father’s death was a thousand times worse than my divorce. I can’t imagine trying to deal with that kind of loss while you were recovering from cancer treatments.”
Her empathy sounded authentic. It gave him the courage to say something he’d never admitted aloud. “My parents didn’t come to New York for any of my treatments. Mom wasn’t well. She’d developed a debilitating case of rheumatoid arthritis after Stephen died. Dad never left the ranch, except to attend high school basketball games. That’s how it happened. They were on their way home from a game when the truck hit a patch of black ice.”
“How awful. I suppose you had people telling you things like, ‘At least, they went together.’”
He nodded. As lifelong residents of a small agricultural community, his parents’ funerals had been over-flowing—even in the dead of winter. He’d heard all kinds of syrupy drivel intended to make him feel better. All any of it did was make Rufus feel more guilty.
One of the most popular was “Now, your parents will be with Stephen. Your dad was never the same after he died. And your poor mother missed him so.”
“At my father’s funeral, I remember a woman I’d never met before—one of Dad’s dental patients, I think—tell me he was in a better place. I wanted to slap her. But Mom shook the lady’s hand and smiled and thanked her for coming. I hated my mother so much that day. The pretense. The fake smiles.”
He knew exactly what she meant. Especially the part about the pretense. There he was glad-handing mourners when it should have been him in the casket. He’d felt the same way at his brother’s funeral a few years earlier and nothing had changed. Only his guilt had tripled.
He was about to change the subject by asking about her dad when she asked, “So, you’re in remission, huh?”
“I guess you could say that.”
She cocked her head, her coffee mug stopping partway to her lips. “What does your doctor say? Who do you see? Someone in Rapid?”
He stood, collecting both plates to carry to the sink. “I never got around to finding a local doctor. I figured as long as I eat right and stay out of the sun, I’ll be okay.”
“Pardon?” Her voice went high and squeaky—enough to make Rat-Girl bark. “You haven’t done any follow-ups since you moved here? No blood work? Not even a PET scan to see if there’s any activity?”
“No, but I feel great.”
She jumped to her feet, sending the stool wobbling backward. The dogs scattered, their nails scratching against the tile floor like hail on the hood of a car.
Rufus turned to see Rachel stalk across the room, her expression furious. “You ass,” she snapped.
“Huh?”
“You’re a fool. A stupid, selfish fool. At the moment, I hate you more than I ever hated my stupid fool of a husband. He was small, petty and selfish. You are kind, generous and wonderful. If I didn’t hate you, I’d love you. But I watched one man I loved die a slow and horrible death. I won’t do that again for anybody.”
She spun around, poised to dash away, but he stopped her. Inside his head, her words of accusation melded with his father’s that night after his brother’s fall. “Where were you, Rob? Flirting with a girl when you should have been watching your brother? You knew he’d do anything to impress you. If he dies, you only have yourself to blame. You and your damn ego.”
“Wait. Let me explain.” But what was there to say, really? He’d done everything the doctors ordered to beat the cancer because he had a mission he needed to see through to the end. Once his brother’s legacy looked like a done deal, he’d carried on in peace and relative happiness. He’d pushed his health issue into a small, dark corner of his brain—not unlike the space in his Dreamhouses.
She looked at him, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Well?”
He let go of her arm.
“That’s what I thought. I’m going home, now. I need to shower and change. I’ll be back tomorrow, regular time, to process orders. I intend to honor our business deal…at least through the first of the year. But there can’t be anything else between us. Personal stuff. Ever.” She paused. “I can’t pretend to understand why you’d put yourself at such risk. Maybe you don’t think your life is worth living. But, trust me, dying isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.”
She petted each of the dogs on her way out, leaving Rufus with a sense of regret so bitter he couldn’t taste the maple syrup he’d been eating. She’d changed his life in a matter of weeks, and now she was walking away. And he had no one to blame but himself. As usual.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RACHEL PAUSED ON THE
stoop of Libby’s house, dread and heartache robbing her of any joy she normally would have felt about attending her first meeting of the Wine, Women and Words Book Club. She’d fully intended to skip this get-together, but Kat wouldn’t hear of it. “You’ve read the book, which is more than some can say. You’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. You have to come. I don’t know what’s going on with you, Rae, but ‘too tired’ isn’t an acceptable excuse. Not with these ladies. I’ll see you there.”
Rachel was tired, but not from not the exhaustion of hard work and physical effort. More the kind that comes from not being able to sleep and having every passionate moment of an affair that should never have happened rushing through her mind when she did manage to drift off.
“Damn,” she muttered under her breath. Switching the bag in her right hand to her left, she knocked.
The chilly temperature made her breath crystallize in a fog. Her nose was cold and the fingertips in her gloves felt numb even from the very short walk to the main house from her cottage.
She tried the bell. A second later, the door jerked open. “Rachel,” a red-haired woman wearing a pretty cranberry-colored wool dress exclaimed. “I thought I heard a knock but everyone is talking. Sorry about that. Come in before you freeze.”
Rachel had bumped in to Jenna Murphy several times over the past few days. Rachel found her to be an exuberant person with a lot on her plate, so to speak. In addition to writing scripts for Sentinel Passtime, she owned the Mystery Spot, a summer tourist enterprise that Rachel was hoping to pin down as a client.
“Hi,” Rachel said, stomping off any extra snow on the mat inside the foyer. “Looks like it’s definitely going to be a white Christmas, right?”
“For those of you staying here,” she said, her tone obviously conflicted. “Shane and Mom twisted my arm to celebrate Christmas in California. We’re gearing up to start shooting right after the first of the year, so it makes sense, but that will mean missing the wedding.”
“Char told me that this morning,” Rachel said, handing Jenna her bag so she could take off her jacket. “I was sorry to take your names off the list. But since you’re hosting the newlyweds—and the boys—on the first part of their honeymoon, I’m sure that will make up for it.”
Jenna pulled out the bottle of wine to read the label. “Ooh, we’ll open this one first,” she said with a wide grin. “Come on. Come on.”
Rachel added her jacket to the others on the coatrack near the door and hurried to follow. Jenna stopped abruptly two steps later. “I forgot to mention the house,” she said, turning to face her. “Kat and I were just talking. She said your mom is coming for the holidays and I suggested she stay at my place. I have to keep the heat on to prevent the pipes from freezing, so it seems a waste to have it sit empty.”
Rachel had been wrapped up in her recent case of moping and she hadn’t really given any thought to where her mother would stay. “That’s great, Jenna. Thanks. Mom and me sharing my little house might have led to some horrible headlines involving matricide and mental breakdowns.”
Jenna laughed. “I know exactly what you mean. Been there, done that, as they say. Believe me, it really makes all the difference in the world when your mother has a life of her own.”
The statement not only made sense, it made Rachel wonder if retirement hadn’t been a huge mistake where her mother wa
s concerned. Maybe Rosaline needed to return to work.
“She’s here,” Jenna called, leading the way. “Our newest victim, I mean, member.”
An hour or so later, they still hadn’t gotten around to discussing the book. Apparently, diverse conversations were not uncommon with this group.
Char had started things off by passing out photos she’d taken at the holiday party in Lower Brule where Eli, as Lakota Santa, had distributed the toys and books he’d picked up at Libby’s party.
“Next year, you all have to come, too. The food was amazing and the kids were over-the-moon happy. I can’t tell you what a success this was.”
That thread of chatter had led to recapping of the gifting tree concept and how much money had been raised for various charities. “Cooper gave me the final list this morning,” Libby said. “He was so proud. He wants everyone to have a copy so you can start planning your donations for next year.”
Rachel’s heart sped up as she scanned the sheet. Sure enough, Stephen’s House was at the top of the list. She’d researched the organization online. A mother’s devotion. A community’s kindhearted generosity. A brother’s hope that no family should have to choose between caring for a loved one and keeping a roof over their heads.
Rufus’s story—or, rather, R. J. Milne’s, as he was identified in the PR piece—brought her to tears. Every mile of that long drive to the hospital probably added to his sense of responsibility.
In the two days since their morning after chat, she’d seen him, of course, but he respected her edict to keep their conversations strictly about work. Even that contact had been difficult for her. She couldn’t look at him in coveralls and plaid without picturing him in his designer suit. Or, better, naked. Her mouth went dry thinking about it.
Suddenly aware that the other members were looking at her as though she might have been asked something and failed to respond, she swallowed stiffly. “Huh?”
Until He Met Rachel Page 16
