by Dee Ernst
We all laughed, and the conversation drifted away from men to the turn in the weather, then the upcoming season. But in the back of my mind was Craig Ferris. What would it take to get that man to smile?
And why did I even care?
Chapter Five
When I got home, the Suburban was gone. I changed into my gardening clothes—overalls, T-shirt and my old Doc Martens. I went into the kitchen to get a bottle of water, and when I opened my refrigerator, I froze.
It was full of food.
Usually, I had on hand a few basics. Diet Coke. Beer. A rotisserie chicken. Mayonnaise. Cream for my coffee, bread and butter, eggs and cheese. A few containers of takeout and five different mustards.
But this…this was food. There were actually green things in the vegetable bins instead of stray water bottles, and there was orange juice and apple juice, yogurt and six-packs of chocolate pudding.
I opened the freezer. Frozen waffles, frozen burritos, ice cream and ground meat. I pulled out a package and looked at it. Yes, ground meat, and chicken breasts, pork chops…
I sure hoped someone knew how to cook.
I opened the cabinet and noticed boxes of cookies and crackers, three kinds of cereal, boxed macaroni and cheese. Another cabinet held cans of Spaghetti-O’s, cans of soup, cans of tuna fish…how much could three little girls eat?
I wandered down the hallway, following the faint smell of paint. The twins’ room looked considerably better: light and bright, the furniture rearranged to create two very separate spaces. Amanda’s room already had a few posters on the walls. It, too, looked much better. I took a peek into the last bedroom. No painting here. The bed was in the same spot, neatly made. No pile of clothes in the corner, no shoes lying by the closet door.
This was no longer my house. The house I had lived in for so long would never have had pink walls and fresh vegetables in the refrigerator. Sam’s family were slowly creeping in, making their own spaces, and even though nothing was being taken away from me exactly, I still felt like I was losing a bit of something that had been only mine.
I went back through the house, out the front door, and into the garden.
My garden, I must say, was a thing of beauty. It was completely fenced in, had six raised beds, and a long worktable at one end. I’d managed to keep most critters out. I had to build the fence high enough that I could cover the whole thing with chicken wire to keep the birds from swooping down and eating everything.
It was still evolving. This year I put in asparagus beds for the first time in a corner spot where the kale used to be. I knew I wouldn’t get anything this year, but it was always the first place I looked.
I spent two hours weeding and checking my seeds. Nothing had sprouted, but it was still early. The tomato plants were the ones I’d bought the week before at Del’s, and I planted them and set up their cages. Then I watered and turned my compost pile. This, at least, was still all mine. When I was done, I was sweaty and filthy. I never wore gloves unless I was doing heavy lifting, and I forgot to put the soap under my fingernails, so my hands looked pretty rough.
I went into the house, washed up quickly and made a pitcher of iced tea. While I was waiting for the bags to steep, I went back out and walked to the Bay.
Sam had always talked about a deck or patio, but I liked the grass. My favorite Adirondack chair was close to the water, a rickety table next to it, just big enough for a mug of coffee. I sat and watched the sun on the water, thinking about the rest of my day. I had to clean out the goat pen, maybe take a few of them out for a walk. Yeah, I know—walking goats? But I couldn’t trust them, out and running free to not wander off, or wade into the Bay, or go diving off the dock. On the occasions they did get out, Dave would round them up and bring them back, but trying to catch a runaway goat was not an easy task, unless the goat was very hungry and you were holding a favorite treat.
And then what? Some Saturday nights were potluck nights. I’d invite my friends over, and they would each bring a dish. They’d all tasted my cooking before and knew that I could be trusted only with apple pie for dessert. But tonight I’d be on my own except for Craig and his daughters. What were we going to do? Obviously, finding an old MGM musical and singing along might not fly with my company. But they weren’t my company, I didn’t have to entertain them, and I wasn’t about to change my life to accommodate them. They were the interlopers here, no matter what Sam’s will said. Why should I be the one to tiptoe around?
Finn came racing out into the yard, yapping like a mad thing. I looked to see what’d gotten him so excited and saw Larissa — or was it Maddie? — chasing him. I couldn’t see the freckle from here, but whoever she was, she and Finn were having a great time. Chloe trotted out next, and Bit sped by, stopped to pee, then scrambled up on my lap.
It was Larissa who grabbed Finn and wrestled him to the ground in front of me.
“Whatcha’ doin’?”
“Watching the water.”
She looked out dutifully. “What’s it doing?”
I laughed. “Just being water, I guess. Did you guys go shopping?”
She nodded. “Yes. We bought a whole bunch of stuff. Daddy sent me to keep the dogs busy while he unloaded the car.”
I felt a pang. Should I offer to help? Did they even need my help? After all, there were more of them. And they were all perfectly capable of hollering if they needed anything from me. Unless Amanda…
I got up and went inside. “Craig?” I called. The front door was open, and I saw Amanda come in, holding a huge bag from HomeGoods. I ran up and took it from her.
“New bedspread?” I asked.
She nodded gratefully. “Yes. Thanks. It wasn’t that heavy in the store.”
“It never is,” I told her, and followed her into her room. “More?”
She nodded again, and I went out front.
How he managed to get a whole dresser in the back of the Suburban was beyond me, but Craig was having a few issues getting it back out. I came up beside him. “Need some help?”
He nodded. “If you could just grab the other side…”
It came out slowly, solid wood, white, and heavier than it looked. We eased it on to the gravel.
“How many guys did it take to put this in there?” I asked.
“Only two,” Craig answered, stretching to the side and wincing. “But I think one was named Hercules.”
Did he just make a joke? I choked on a laugh. “I believe you. I have a hand truck in the garage. Hold on.”
As I pulled up the garage door, I felt a pang. Living alone had given me blinders to certain behaviors, and as I saw the inside of my garage in the sudden blare of sunlight, I realized I was on track for an intervention from the team at Hoarders. I was used to the idea that finding anything in my garage usually required a good map and a Sherpa, but having a stranger see all that mess…
As I pulled up the garage door, Craig, behind me, let out a low whistle. “Any chance it will come if you call it?”
Another joke? I stared at him.
“What?” he asked.
“I was beginning to think you had no sense of humor whatsoever.”
His mouth twitched into a possible smile. “Well, Jenna, I don’t really know you, do I? I was worried that if I let all my charm and intellect out at once, it would be too much for you.”
I grinned. “I’ll try to hold myself back. Look, there it is. See? I put red tape on the handles so it would be easier to find.”
He brushed past me, or at least he tried. I was backed up against the John Deere tractor, the one that I hadn’t started in years and couldn’t move. We were chest to chest, and stuck.
“I can’t move,” I told him.
“Sure you can,” he said, and he grabbed me around the waist and lifted me, straight up in the air.
In my defense, I had no way of knowing he was going to do that, so it was perfectly natural for me to yelp in surprise. And throw my arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. And clam
p my knees around his hips.
He froze. We were nose to nose, and I could see tiny green flecks in his brown eyes. His breath was warm against my chin. He turned slowly, a quarter turn, and set me down. My knees loosened and my feet hit the floor, and I backed away so fast I almost fell over.
“See? You can move,” he said. He turned back into the garage and pushed his way to the hand truck, picked it up, held it over his head, and came back out.
I stood, feeling the blood rush to my face, watching him go back toward the Suburban. I felt like I had never in my life been more aware of a man’s body as I had been of his in those few seconds. I’d felt the hard bone of his shoulders, the shifting of muscle as he’d held me. My reaction, purely physical, left me shaken.
I was also aware that I was covered in dried sweat and compost, my hair had half-slipped out of its topknot, and there was probably at least one smudge of dirt on my face. Why hadn’t I showered? And changed? Changed into something soft and flattering and preferably slightly see through?
That pulled me up short. Where did that come from?
He looked over his shoulder, totally unfazed, and jerked his head for me to follow him.
We got the hand truck, maneuvered the dresser on, and wheeled it into the house. It was narrow and tall, and fit perfectly in the corner.
Maddie and Larissa were already getting their new bedspreads on their beds. Maddie had a simple quilt in pink, purple and green. Larissa had gone with a Moana theme, blue ocean and a fierce looking little girl.
“Looking good, guys,” I told them.
Maddie was looking at me rather critically. “Were you working in a mine today?” she asked.
“Maddie.” Craig said sternly.
I waved it off. “Perfectly legitimate question. Actually, I was in the garden all morning, and I didn’t shower because next I have to clean up where the goats are. They make a whole lotta poop.”
Larissa stood before me, bouncing. “Can I help you? Please? I really wanted to play with those goats yesterday, but Daddy said I had to ask you first. Are they friendly? Do they bite? Is that gray spotted one a boy or girl? ‘Cause I think her name is probably Esmeralda or Anastasia or maybe Jasmine.”
Actually, his name was Jack. “They don’t bite, but sometimes if you feed them and your fingers are in the way, you can feel a nibble.”
Maddie joined her. “Really? Oh, I want to get nibbled. Can I get nibbled? What do they eat, anyway?”
“They eat everything,” I told them. “They’re goats. You can help me walk them. They like to get out once in a while and check out the woods.” I looked at Craig. “Are they released from bedroom duty?”
He nodded, and his mouth twitched again. “Sure. I’ll hang with Amanda.”
The girls disappeared in a flash. Craig and I stood, looking at each other. He was dressed in dark wash jeans and a polo shirt with a familiar logo on the pocket, bare ankles above leather docksides. I looked less polished. “I see you went grocery shopping. Did you empty out the Food Lion?”
He did it. He smiled. Sam’s smile, warm and sweet. “The woman who checked me out, Ruth? She told me to tell you Sara Lee is on special tomorrow. She was a very friendly woman.”
I smiled back. “Yes, she is. She’s been checking me out since I was sixteen years old. She knows all my food secrets.”
“Food secrets? Is that even a thing?”
“Oh, sure. Sara Lee cheesecake, puffed Cheetos, Dr. Browns Root Beer…I got a hundred of ‘em.”
“Ah. Well, I’m making meatloaf and mac and cheese tonight. Are you going to be around, or will you be out again?”
I cleared my throat. “I’ll be around.”
“Good. We’ll be eating around six.”
“Thanks. I’ll be sure to shower.”
“What? And wash away all that sexy earth mother thing you’ve got going on right now?”
My jaw dropped, and I let out a whoop. Apparently, he had a sense of humor after all.
Wait.
Did he say sexy?
Maddie, Larissa, and I walked the goats. The girls each had one each on a leash, and I had four. The girls had argued for a more equal distribution, insisting they could each walk two at the same time as well, but I knew better. The critters may have been small, but they were strong, and if they headed in opposite directions at the same time, it would get dicey. I was used to them. Chloe and Finn came with us, and we walked down the drive and almost over to Dave Robinson’s place. Dave was out by his beehives, and when I explained that Dave was helping the bees make honey, the thrill of the goats were completely forgotten and the twins wanted to run right over and take a look. I had to explain that the bees weren’t necessarily tame, and if we did go over, we’d surely get stung.
So, back to walking goats. And they talked.
They talked about Sam coming to visit them. About how Mommy and Daddy lived in different places until Mommy died, then Daddy moved in with them. They talked about their other grandpa, and their grandma, and how Grandpa and his new wife wanted the twins to live with them. They had quite an argument about Amanda, and how many times she ran away right after Mommy and Daddy split up. They also talked about how Amanda was bullied by some bad girls at school until Daddy took her phone away so she wouldn’t have to see.
I stopped wondering why he didn’t smile much.
When we got back, they helped me shovel goat poop, set out clean straw, rinsed out the feed buckets, and Maddie tried to comb Jasmine’s long coat. Jack stood still for about two minutes before kicking out his hind legs and running off to another corner. We finally came dragging into the house after four o’clock.
Craig was sitting in the living room, reading. He’d taken the Hamilton biography off of my bookshelf. He looked up as we came in and held up the book.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “It’s been on my TBR pile for a while.”
He had a TBR pile.
I shook my head. “No, feel free. But these two might need to be hosed off.” He stood, then bent down and sniffed Maddie’s hair. “Is that what goat smells like?” he asked.
Maddie and Larissa started to giggle.
“Must be,” Craig went on in a very serious voice, “because I have never smelt anything like that in Chicago.”
The giggles got louder.
“Not, even,” he went on, “in the zoo.”
Full out laughter now, and he stooped to pick them up, one under each arm, and they all headed off to the bathroom.
I went into the kitchen. My sweet tea was done. I took out the tea bags and put the pitcher in the refrigerator between the apple juice and the container of cut-up cantaloupe, two items that had never been in my refrigerator before. Then I went off to my own shower, stopping in the laundry room. I kicked off my Doc Martens and peeled off my socks, dropping them directly into the washer. Next came my overalls and T-shirt. I then went back into the hall and headed toward the linen closet for a towel.
“Ah…”
I froze, sighed, crossed my arms over my bare boobs, and turned around.
Craig looked embarrassed, but I had to admire him for keeping his eyes on my face. “I’m really sorry.”
I shrugged and hugged myself a little tighter. “My fault. I’ll have to remember I don’t live alone anymore, and wandering around the house in my underwear has to stop.”
His mouth twitched again. “I just…I need more towels.”
I was trapped. My bedroom door was about three feet behind Craig. I had nowhere to go but into the linen closet, which wasn’t going to work very well.
“Sure,” I backed up and jerked my head to the left. “Linen closet right here. Take what you need.”
He hurried forward and opened the closet door. I backed into the corner, standing behind the now open closet door. “How are you for blankets?” I asked. I leaned forward just a bit and could see his back as he went through a few towels, looking for the right size.
He nodded, his entire head in the li
nen closet, as he pulled out three or four towels. “Good. We’ll do a load or two tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
I cleared my throat, trying to ignore the fact that we were having a conversation with me practically naked, huddled in a corner, my panties, literally, working themselves into a twist. “Why don’t I take Monday as my official laundry day? I only need a load or two a week. You’ve got a lot more to do, so any other day is yours.”
He closed the linen closet and immediately put his back to me. “That sounds like a good idea.”
“Okay then.”
He went back down the hall. I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly.
Well, at least my panties didn’t have any holes in them.
Craig certainly knew his way around a kitchen. He must have done a little snooping around mine, because he knew exactly where things were, including my ceramic loaf pan which I hadn’t seen since the last time I’d made banana bread, two Christmases ago.
Amanda was chopping things when I emerged, freshly washed and decently dressed, not smelling of goat and with all the garden soil scraped out from under my fingernails. She looked up as I walked in and gave me a small smile, then bent her head to her task. She was dicing celery, and each piece seemed to be the exact same size.
“Need help?” I asked.
Craig shook his head. “No, we’ve got this covered.” No sly, lustful glances. No suggestive raised eyebrows or naughty smirk. He seemed as eager to put what happened twenty minutes ago out of his mind as I was.
I opened the fridge. “Mind if I grab a beer?”
He shook his head, intent on his cooking.
I watched him for a few minutes. “We need some music. Amanda, is there anyone you want to listen to? I’ve got Amazon Music, Pandora, you name it.”
She brightened. “Amazon? Kelly Clarkson, please.”
I grinned at her. “That’s the ticket. Some girl power.” I went into the living room, connected my iPhone, then the Bluetooth, and went back to the kitchen.
Both Craig and Amanda were humming. It was a big hit for Kelly, so even I knew the words. Amanda started singing along, her voice thin but sweet. Then Craig joined in, a deep, surprising baritone. They sang to each other, with each other, until they were a performance, complete with dramatic gestures, elaborate eye rolls, and a hip shaking dance-along. I watched them, and felt an ache to join them. When they were done, I burst into applause.
