“Mom, come here and look at this.”
She shook off the memories and hurried to the end of the aisle.
Brooklyn had been in Derek’s thoughts a lot since the previous night. So when he entered the hardware store, intent on buying a new hammer and a pound of two-inch nails, it didn’t seem surprising to find her and Alycia there.
When Alycia saw him, she hurried over with a large stencil wrapped in cellophane packaging. “Look what Mom’s gonna paint on the wall of my bedroom. A horse. Isn’t it cool? It looks like Blue Boy, kinda, doesn’t it? But I think we’re gonna have to do a different color than Blue Boy ’cause my walls are gonna be blue already, and gray won’t show up good. That’s what Mom says.” She stopped talking to draw a breath.
He grinned.
“I was hoping to get a dog stencil, too,” she continued, “but they don’t have one that looks like Miss Trouble.”
“Not surprised about that.” He looked toward Brooklyn, who watched as Vic Cottrell put a gallon can in the paint shaker.
“And besides, Mom says we can only afford to buy one. Wanna see what color my room’s gonna be?”
“Sure.” He followed the girl toward the far right corner of the store.
Brooklyn glanced his way. A wisp of a smile appeared on her lips.
“Morning,” he said.
“Good morning.”
“How are you?” he asked, thinking of what had happened at the diner.
“I’m fine.”
She looked fine too. None of the sadness or disappointment he’d witnessed yesterday. And no more frost either. She really had forgiven him.
He pointed at the can of paint. “Looks like you’re planning a busy day or two.”
“Longer than that. The whole house needs painting. But we’re starting with Alycia’s bedroom and will work our way through the other rooms over the summer.”
Grabbing a paint chip from the counter beside Vic, Alycia held it toward Derek. “That’s the color I chose. Isn’t it pretty?”
“Sure is.”
To her mom, Alycia said, “Mr. Johnson likes the horse I picked too.”
“I’m not surprised he likes it.” She gave him another of her brief smiles. “He seems to like lots of things you like.”
Her words made Derek feel good for some reason. After all, he was as yet clueless how he was supposed to go about this father-figure thing. Maybe just being a pal would be enough. Or at least the right place to start. Perhaps that’s why he offered, “I could give you some help with the painting. I’m pretty handy with a brush and a roller.”
Brooklyn’s face immediately got that wary expression he’d seen more than once. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You must be nuts, Brooklyn,” Vic piped in as he switched off the paint shaker, plunging the air into silence. “Never turn down help with painting.”
Derek’s jaw tightened. He didn’t need or want Vic’s input. “You didn’t ask me. I offered.”
“But you’re so busy,” Brooklyn said. “You—”
“Having Alycia’s help with Trouble has freed up a lot of my time.”
That was an exaggeration, and they both knew it.
Her smile returned. Only this time it lingered on her lips and even managed to reach her eyes. What a difference from yesterday. She was resilient; he’d give her that.
He cleared his throat, aware that the silence had grown long. “What time do you want me to come over?”
“In an hour? But only if it’s truly convenient for you.”
It wasn’t convenient, but he realized he didn’t care. “I’ll be there.” With a final smile, he turned and went in search of hammer and nails.
When Derek arrived at Brooklyn’s house a little after eleven o’clock, carrying a stepladder with him, he found her back-porch door open.
Stopping in the entrance, he called a hello.
“Come on in. We’re upstairs.”
He followed her voice.
The furniture in Alycia’s bedroom had been moved to the center of the room and covered with a couple of drop cloths. The windows were naked except for the protective tape Brooklyn had begun to apply to the glass. Both Brooklyn and Alycia had changed into old clothes, apparently ready for paint spatter, and both had caught back their dark hair into ponytails.
Derek leaned his ladder against the wall, his gaze taking in the paint cans and other supplies set on another drop cloth. “I brought a ladder, just in case. Looks like you’ve got everything else we’ll need.”
“I hope so. I’m an amateur at this.” Her eyes swept the room. “We weren’t allowed to change paint colors in our apartment in Reno. The walls were never anything but white all the years that we lived there, and it was the landlord who took care of the painting when the time came.”
That didn’t sound so bad to Derek, having somebody else choose colors and do the painting. But then, he’d never given much thought to interior design, or whatever women called it. He cared more about functionality than aesthetics.
“Which do you want, Mr. Johnson?”
He lowered his gaze to Alycia, who stood before him, a paintbrush in one hand and a roller in the other.
“Roller, please.” He reached for it, grinning at the girl and not stopping to wonder why he felt so lighthearted at the idea of spending the afternoon painting a little girl’s bedroom.
“You do the high stuff, Mr. Johnson. I’ll paint down here.”
He gave her a quick salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
He wasn’t sure what the look Alycia gave him meant. Maybe that she thought adults—or more specifically he—could be weird. And he couldn’t argue with that. He’d been ten himself once.
It didn’t take long to get to work. Derek pried off the lid from a can, stirred, and poured paint into a couple of trays. One tray for him and Alycia, who planned to start on the wall in the corner where her stencil would eventually be applied. The other for Brooklyn, who chose to paint the wall around the two windows.
“Do you like to paint?” Alycia asked as she swiped her brush in the tray.
“I can take it or leave it. But I’ve done my share of it.” He set the roller against the wall and applied the paint.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Never really thought about it.” He got another one of those looks but pretended he didn’t see it.
“Mom’s favorites are peach and pink.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Surprised by the truth of his own words, he cast a glance over his shoulder. Brooklyn was on her knees, concentrating on her brush as it followed the line of wall along the molding. She didn’t appear to have heard him. Just as well. He wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea.
Wrong idea? What did that thought even mean?
He looked back at the wall before him, added more paint to his roller, and returned to work. But the silence, brief as it had been, bothered him. “My grandmother told me you like to read, Alycia. What’s your favorite book?”
The girl rattled off a few titles, none of which meant anything to him. He didn’t let on.
“Do you like to read?” she asked, glancing up at him.
“Yeah, when I can find the time. Mostly I read books about organic farming.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s not very fun.”
He laughed. “You might be surprised, kiddo.”
“You’re like Mom. She likes . . . What kind of books are they, Mom?”
“Biographies and memoirs,” Brooklyn answered, fast enough that Derek knew she’d been listening to them. Perhaps even before they were talking about books.
Curious, he glanced over his shoulder again. This time she was looking at him, her paintbrush idle in her hand. She smiled, and it felt as if they shared a secret. Pleasure spread through him, warmed him, seemed to make the bedroom glow.
Brooklyn saw something change in Derek’s eyes. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, but once it was there, she felt a sudden need
to get up and move around, to draw a deep breath, and to slow her quickening heartbeat.
“How about some music?” she asked before hurrying out of Alycia’s room.
In her own bedroom, she stopped to lean against the wall. She touched her cheeks with her fingertips. Was she flushed? She felt flushed. Perhaps she needed to turn down the air-conditioning a degree or two. It was growing much too warm in the house.
She took another deep breath before she pushed off the wall with her backside. She grabbed the small CD boom box from her dresser and a few CDs to go with it, not caring which ones. Whatever was on top of her music collection was fine with her. Then she walked back to Alycia’s room.
Smiling, she stepped through the doorway. “Here we go. This should make the work go a little faster.” She glanced at the jewel case. “Do you like Josh Turner?”
“Yes!” Alycia answered.
Brooklyn’s gaze rose to meet Derek’s.
“Sure do,” he said with a slow grin.
She felt warm again. What was odd, she realized, was that she didn’t seem to mind.
Chapter 13
Me and my gang,’” Brooklyn sang loudly, drowning out the music of Rascal Flatts coming from the boom box. They’d all sung along to lots of songs as they’d worked for the last few hours, but this time the paintbrush in her hand had become a miniature guitar that she pretended to play.
Alycia twirled in circles, her hands in the air, singing lyrics that were a mix of right and wrong. Mostly wrong.
Even Derek had joined in the crazy celebration that had begun with the final stroke of Waterside blue paint. But his instrument was an upended bucket and a couple of paint paddles.
When the song ended, Brooklyn bent over in laughter. She’d laughed so hard her sides hurt. Who knew painting a bedroom could be this much fun? And the time had flown by.
Straightening, she found Derek smiling at her, his eyes sparkling with humor. A frisson of pleasure shivered up her spine. Something in her expression must have caught his attention, because she saw a new awareness color his own.
“Maybe we’re not ready to take this act on the road just yet,” he said, his gaze still locked with hers.
“Probably not.” The words came out a whisper.
Alycia asked, “What act?”
“Nothing, honey. Mr. Johnson was teasing us.”
“I don’t get it.”
What Brooklyn didn’t get was the odd tumble in her stomach and the quickened beat of her heart that had been happening all afternoon.
It was Derek who looked away first, his gaze lowering to Alycia. “Glad to know you like country music, kiddo. Shows you’ve got good taste.”
“Sure,” she answered.
He glanced up again and held up his paint paddles with a wry smile. “I need to take care of the chores I’ve got waiting at home.”
“Of course.” Masking a sudden nervousness, she moved briskly to take the paddles and set them with the rest of the tools. “We never would have gotten this far this fast without your help, Derek. Thanks so much.”
“I was glad to do it.” His smile was still in place, making her believe he meant it.
She followed him down the stairs and to the back porch. “Come back and have dinner with us,” she said impulsively as he pushed open the screen door. “We’ll order pizza.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“But it is. We’ve been at it for hours. You’ve worked hard and must be starving. We’re hungry too. Please. Come back when you’ve finished your chores.”
He hesitated only a moment. “Okay. You talked me into it. I’ll be back in half an hour or so.”
With a last nod and smile, he headed out. She remained in the doorway and watched him go, wondering about the strange feelings that still whirled inside of her.
“Hey, Mom,” Alycia called. “Are we gonna do the horse now?”
She shook her head as she reentered the house and climbed the stairs.
“No. That has to wait until tomorrow.” She began to gather up the paint supplies. “Remember what the man at the hardware store told us? We have to wait until the paint on the walls has had lots of time to dry. We can’t do it until tomorrow at the earliest. But we can order pizza.”
“Yeah!”
After carrying the supplies downstairs and washing off the paint in the sink, she retrieved her cell phone from the nightstand in her bedroom. It only took a few minutes to find the number for the Pizza Hut that delivered to Thunder Creek. She splurged for the largest size, half meat lovers—hoping that’s what Derek would want—and half Canadian bacon and pineapple, Alycia’s favorite.
That done, she went into her bathroom to clean up. When she saw her reflection in the mirror, she snorted. No wonder Derek had grinned. Her appearance was worse than she’d imagined. Paint smudged one cheek as well as the tip of her nose. And her hair looked like an appaloosa’s blue-speckled rump. Why hadn’t Derek looked as bad? Other than a few sprinkles on his right hand, there hadn’t been any paint on him.
She glanced out of the bathroom to check the clock on the wall. She should have time enough to shower.
“Alycia?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to take a quick shower. I should be ready before the pizza gets here. But if the delivery guy comes, you can get the money to pay him from my purse. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Brooklyn managed to get showered in record time, even with taking care to get rid of all paint evidence. As good as her word, she was finished, dressed, and coming down the stairs just as the doorbell rang.
“Can I still get the money?” Alycia asked.
“Sure.” Brooklyn barely had time to open the front door before Alycia had returned with her wallet.
The teenager who stood on her porch looked bored to death. He rattled off the price in a monotone voice. She paid him, including a nice tip that she could ill afford, but it didn’t gain her a change of expression. She understood better than he could know. She’d worked her share of boring, low-paying jobs. So she smiled and thanked him again as she took the pizza box from his hand, then closed the door and headed toward the kitchen.
“Mmm. That smells good.” Alycia followed hard on her mother’s heels. “I’m starved.”
“I’m hungry too. Derek better hurry or he might not get any.”
As if summoned by her words, a knock sounded on the screened-porch door. “It’s me,” Derek called.
“Come on in. The pizza just got here.”
He appeared through the doorway. “Mom said I always had perfect timing when it came to food.”
That odd tumbling sensation returned to her stomach at the sight of him. He had showered too. She could see the sheen of dampness in his hair. Freshly showered . . . and much too handsome. She turned toward the counter, not liking this new awareness of him, and set the pizza box on it.
“How can I help?” Derek had moved to stand close behind her.
She swallowed a gasp of surprise and managed to say in a normal voice, “Why don’t you help Alycia set the table?”
“Sure. The kitchen table or in the dining room?”
“The kitchen is fine.”
What wasn’t fine was the way she felt with him standing so close.
Derek didn’t move, his gaze fastened on Brooklyn’s nape where short dark hairs formed little fishhook curls against her pale skin. It would be so easy, he realized, to reach out and brush the tendrils there. To lean in and . . . kiss that spot.
Except he had no business thinking such things. No, more than that—he had no need to be thinking such things.
No romantic involvements wanted, he reminded himself.
He turned. “Hey, kiddo,” he said to Alycia, glad for any distraction. “Where do I find the plates? Let’s get this show on the road.”
Before long they were seated at the table, each of them with slices of pizza on their plates. There was no conversation at first. Derek was okay with that. It gave h
im a little more time to get a better grip on himself. Because he really didn’t want to get into another relationship. And even if that weren’t true, he definitely wouldn’t want to get involved with Brooklyn. It would be much too complicated and almost certainly doomed from the start.
True, she wasn’t the girl he remembered, the one he hadn’t liked very much. And he couldn’t deny that he liked the woman she’d become. The devoted mother. The hard worker. He liked her determination and her smile and the sound of her laughter. They could probably be friends. Maybe they’d become friends already.
She caught him watching her. “What?” She touched her cheek where the paint had been earlier, as if worried she’d missed a spot.
“Nothing,” he answered. “Just . . . this is nice. Thanks for inviting me to join you.”
“You’re the one who needs thanking. We’d still be painting if you hadn’t helped us.”
“To tell you the truth, it feels kind of good to see this house come alive again.”
A month ago he would have sworn he felt the exact opposite. A month ago he wouldn’t have cared if the house was torn down and the trees cleared to make room for planting. Amazing the difference a few weeks could make.
Brooklyn’s gaze swept the kitchen. “It feels good to me too. Far better than I expected. I mean, I always liked this house, and I’m thankful to have it. I’m excited about what we can do with it. But I didn’t expect it to feel like home. At least not this soon.” She gave a little shrug. “I was away from Thunder Creek a long time, and my memories aren’t hap—” She broke off abruptly.
Derek wished she’d finished her thought. He knew her better than he used to, but it didn’t seem to be enough.
“Mr. Johnson?”
It took a moment before he turned his gaze toward Alycia.
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