by Kay Lyons
“You heard him, he’s qualified.”
“I wasn’t talking about qualifications and you know it.”
Wilson took a couple more sips and Ashley knew he did so only to avoid her probing stare.
Finally he set the cup down and sighed. “He’s a good boy, missy.”
“You’ve said that already.” Stepping closer, she sat down on the edge of the love seat and dared him not to continue. “Tell me why you don’t want me to check his references. What am I going to find? Does he drink? Not show up for work? Drugs?”
“You’re too suspicious.”
“That’s not an answer.” She placed her hands on her knees to shove herself to her feet. “You leave me no choice but to check him out and discover what the problem is myself.”
“Don’t—”
She raised a brow and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting. Wilson glared at her, his mouth pulled up into a sour, pouting expression much like Max wore on occasion.
“He lost his baby girl not long after she was born.”
Ashley gaped at him. Shock overrode every thought in her head. Of all the things she’d expected Wilson to say, that wasn’t it. “What?”
Wilson’s wrinkled hands trembled slightly as he grasped the cup and turned his attention to where Max sat on the floor playing. “She died,” he confirmed. “Joe never got over it and—he’s just had a rough time, missy. He and the mother weren’t married, but that doesn’t keep a daddy from lovin’ his baby. Anyway, Joe just…”
His words trailed off, but it didn’t take much for Ashley to fill in the blanks. She knew loss. Knew what it was like to love and lose, but what about a child? How did someone cope with losing their baby?
“He doesn’t like talkin’ about it.”
She wouldn’t, either. How could anyone discuss such a thing without bringing the pain to the surface again and again?
“He’s tryin’ to move on with his life, missy. Give him a chance and don’t be bringin’ up that I told you.”
“I—I understand,” she whispered, still dazed.
Wilson ran a hand under his nose. “Parents shouldn’t have to bury a child. I’ve been through it. But my boy was older, six. But Joe’s little one, she never got to live. Never got to say her first words. There are things that don’t make sense in this world, but we just have to have faith that they’re in a much better place.”
Ashley swallowed. She understood what Wilson said, but she wasn’t sure whether she’d ever be able to take that leap of faith if it were Max they discussed.
It made sense now. Wilson’s admission revealed why Joe had stared at Max so. Why he’d acted so startled, looked so haunted. He’d accepted the job as her handyman not knowing she had an infant and when he’d discovered the truth—
“Poor Joe,” she whispered, feeling his pain.
“Now don’t be pitying him, missy. He don’t want that.”
“No, but—”
“No buts about it,” Wilson insisted. “You keep what I’ve told you to yourself. Wouldn’t have said nothing except you wouldn’t let it go so I wanted you to understand and give Joe a fair shot at this job without concentrating on his mistakes.”
She hesitated, smoothed her hand over her hair before she speared her fingers into her long ponytail and finger-combed the length. “I get it now. His work history is rough because of being unable to deal with his daughter’s death. That’s why you didn’t want me to check his references.”
Any reply Wilson might have made was drowned out by the squeal Max released. Her son smiled at her and held up the toy in his hand as though wanting to share. Such a small thing but so very sweet.
She smiled, teary-eyed. “How old was Joe’s baby when she died?”
“Well, don’t remember for sure, but younger than Max.”
Max went back to mouthing the toy in his hand. Low sounds came from his throat.
Younger than Max. Her son had only recently begun making the little noises. Squeals and laughter, musical, nonsensical chatter that went on and on while he played. Joe had missed that. All of it.
She cleared her throat, overwhelmed by the stab of loss she felt for him. “I’d better fix breakfast,” she murmured, hurrying from the room. Inside the kitchen she paused and leaned back against the cool refrigerator door. She’d lost her husband, but Joe had lost his daughter. A baby. And Wilson was right, no parent should have to suffer through that.
What if something happened to her? No matter how long a person lived, life still seemed fleeting. Max would be all alone, and did she really want him growing up in orphanages or foster care?
No.
Imagining Wilson’s scolding voice in her head to get out there and make friends, she nodded to herself. She’d put it off long enough. Used excuse after excuse to keep her distance from the townspeople.
Letting down the protective barriers wouldn’t be easy, but for Max’s sake she had to learn how. She had to become one of them.
* * *
HAL STEPPED INTO the police station and grabbed his messages from the box by the desk. He thumbed through them, conscious of several people looking his way as he read that Joe’s father had called four times.
He crumpled the rectangular sheets in his hand and continued on into his office. He didn’t have time for Ted Brody’s shenanigans. His claims that his son was innocent. A baby was dead, had been dead ten long years, and no amount of wishing would bring her back.
He picked up his phone to return a call to the mayor when a knock sounded at the door. “Yeah?”
Officer Bradley stuck her head in the door. “George Thompson just called and said he saw Joe Brody walking along Old Mill Road.”
“Was he sure it was him?”
Bradley shrugged. “He said he was off the road a ways, but seemed pretty confident.”
Hal tossed the phone aside and stood. “I’m going to go out and take a look. If the mayor calls tell him we’ll let his wife off on the ticket, but she’d better do something about the lead in her shoes. Next time she pays.”
* * *
JOE SMELLED BACON when he stepped up onto the back porch. His stomach growled noisily in response and after the walk to and from the nursing home located on the outskirts of town, he craved more than the single piece of toast he’d accepted from his father’s breakfast tray.
He spied Ashley through the screen door, and hunger of another kind took over.
Heat filled him. She was dressed in cut-off shorts and a dark pink tank top. Simple clothing, but with her naturally tan skin and long dark hair once again pulled back in a band she looked…incredible.
Ashley murmured something to Max and then glanced toward the door as though feeling his scrutiny. She blinked, hesitated, then smiled a little too brightly. Joe wondered at the rapidly changing expressions crossing her face.
“Breakfast is almost ready if you want to come in and wash up.”
A low whine caught his attention and he glanced beyond the porch railing where a big brown retriever mix stared at him with soulful eyes. The canine’s tail was low to the ground, but wagging slowly back and forth. The dog took a step forward and sniffed the air.
“Hey, buddy, what’s up?” The dog’s scrawny butt twisted from side to side so hard it shook its whole body. “She forgot to feed you, huh? The little guy in there gets first dibs, you know that. Hang on and I’ll be back with something.”
He pulled open the screen door and stepped inside. “Your dog’s hungry. Where’s his food? I’ll feed him.”
“He’s not mine and if you feed him, he’ll never go away.” She slid a frowning glance toward the door.
Joe looked behind him to see the dog right where he’d left him. “Looks like a nice dog. Might make a good watchdog.”
She didn’t comment and Joe scowled, feeling sorry for the mutt.
“Oh, fine—give him this, but if he hangs around, he’s your problem, not mine. I don’t need a mangy dog to feed.”
Joe turned to
face her, his response dying on his lips when he noticed she’d already thrown together a slop dish of food as though she’d seen the animal before he’d told her. A little lunch meat, bread, some of the bacon and biscuits. More than she could’ve tossed into a bowl in the last few seconds.
He stifled his smile, remembering Wilson’s comment about her pretending to be tough.
Joe ignored the look he received for his efforts and took the hard plastic plate outside. The animal dug in and Joe went back into the house to wash up. Like before, Max looked up at him with wide eyes, but he ignored the little boy and entered the utility room to wash his hands.
After spending his first night in a real bed tossing and turning and dreaming of Josie, he wasn’t quite ready to face Ashley’s son. Wasn’t ready to stare into little eyes that reminded him of what he’d lost.
“Come sit down, boy, so we can eat!” Wilson’s voice broke into his thoughts.
Unable to postpone the moment any longer, Joe dried his hands and did as ordered. He entered the kitchen and chose the seat farthest away from the highchair where Ashley’s son now sat. His stomach rumbled.
“Where ya been this morning?”
“Wilson, it’s none of our—”
“Ridgewood.”
Wilson nodded and dug into the food Ashley ladled onto his plate. “I thought so. Sure your daddy enjoyed that.”
Awkward silence filled the air, broken only by the guttural baby sounds Max made as he picked up Cheerios in his tiny fist and tried to get them into his mouth.
“Joe?”
He jerked to attention only to belatedly realize Ashley had asked him to hold out his plate. Once again, he did as ordered, but a glance into Ashley’s eyes made him frown. She looked sad.
Wilson had already begun eating, but Joe waited until Ashley had served herself before picking up his fork.
“She’s a good cook, ain’t she?”
Joe looked up and noted a flush rising in Ashley’s cheeks. “Absolutely,” he mumbled around his first bite.
“Thanks.”
“Comes from cookin’ all those meals at the home.”
After eating with guys the last ten years, he remembered his manners and swallowed. “The home?”
Her flush deepened and she shot Wilson a quelling glance. “I’m not from around here,” she murmured, breaking a biscuit in half. “I grew up in a children’s home just outside Columbus.”
“Oh.” Joe knew he ought to say more, but he didn’t know how to respond. Especially since his childhood had been next to ideal. Father, mother, friends. It wasn’t until his senior year of high school that he’d screwed up so royally.
“Yup, the missy here can cook for a bunch of people with no problem. After she had to leave the home, she waitressed until she got on at a hospital as a cook. She won’t have no trouble handling her guests’ meals, but first she’s gotta get this house of mine back to right.”
Joe latched onto the change of subject. “Do you already have the supplies for the roof?”
“I didn’t want to buy something and not be able to use it. I thought if you could give me a list, I’d run to the Home Depot in Baxter. The weather shows no rain for the next seven days.”
“No time to waste then.” Wilson wiped his mouth with the handkerchief he pulled from his pocket.
“If you’re up to it,” Ashley added, her golden eyes warm with concern. “You know, after falling.”
He was sore as all get out, but everyone knew the best way to cure muscle soreness was to use the muscles more. “I’m fine. I’ll get started as soon as I eat.”
Ashley smiled and squirmed in her chair at his words. She looked excited, happy that her house was going to be a priority. His lips quirked up in response. Maybe once he proved he knew what he was doing, she’d forget about her quest for references. Give him the benefit of the doubt, as Wilson said.
He hoped so anyway.
Chapter 7
THE NEXT FEW DAYS passed in an exhausting blur. Ashley tried to put her worry over not checking Joe’s references aside and help where she could. While she ripped the shingles off, Joe repaired the moisture damage to the sheeting below. By day four her hardworking handyman was ready to begin putting on the new shingles, and she wondered how she could ever have doubted his ability.
Since she wasn’t strong enough to carry the heavy bundles up the ladder, Joe had to do that himself. Every load. He’d start the morning off in a T-shirt, but as the heat of the day got worse, the shirt would come off.
And the sight of him working on her dream house was nearly more than she could handle when combined with the guilt she felt at finding him so attractive.
She glimpsed a woman’s name encircled in a heart on his left shoulder and a barbed-wire tattoo on his arm.
A fashion statement? She was surprised because Joe didn’t seem the type to go for fads.
“Thanks for the help getting the rest of those shingles off. Go back down now. You’ve been up here a while.”
She had to squint her eyes behind her sunglasses because the sun was so bright, but that didn’t stop her from watching a droplet of sweat snake its way down his muscled chest. “Oh, um, aren’t you ready for the new shingles now?”
Joe used one gloved hand to rub the do-rag covering his hair down over his forehead to wipe the sweat away before sliding it back into place. “Yeah, but you’re so tired you can’t see straight, and it’s getting hotter.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ll fall off the roof again.”
“We only fell off the ladder,” she grouched. How could he stand wearing long pants with the sun beating down on him? She wore shorts and a T-shirt and was roasting.
“How many times did you have to get up with Max last night?”
Her laugh lacked humor. “You’re beginning to sound an awful lot like Wilson.”
“Go back inside, Ashley. Cool off if you can. Rest. If you want to help me, then bring me something cold to drink. I’ve nearly finished off the ice water.”
She tossed aside the metal bar she’d been using to pry up the shingles and nails, and stood. “Fine, I’ve got plenty more to—”
She vaguely heard Joe curse, the bundle of shingles he carried slam onto the roof, and then abruptly she was in his arms, sliding down the incline toward the ground at rapid speed.
They skidded to a stop near the edge of the roof, and Ashley dazedly realized he’d saved her life once again.
“You all right?”
She ought to be asking him that question. Yet all her overly heated mind could think about at the moment was that her knees were on either side of his and she was sprawled all over the chest she’d just been admiring.
“Ashley?”
She nodded and winced when her forehead bumped his chin. The move jarred her brain. “Fine.” But her head pounded and if she drank the Ohio River dry, it wouldn’t be enough water to quench her thirst.
Joe rolled over and carried her with him, the touch of his hands gentle as he pushed her sweaty hair off her face. “You’re too hot.”
She squinted up at him—where were her sunglasses?—and liked the little lines that fanned out from his eyes. The way his body was hard all over, muscular and firm to her soft and not so toned.
“Let’s get you cooled off before this turns into heat stroke.”
Joe started to pull away but she stopped him by lifting her hand and curling her fingers over the bicep braced so close to her head, over the blue-tattooed skin. He smelled of hard work, sweat and the hot, burnt smell of asphalt from the shingles.
And while she knew the last thing she needed to do was think about kissing Joe, a part of her wondered. Hoped?
What? That he’d kiss her? That for a few moments she wouldn’t feel as if it was her against the world? That she wasn’t alone?
Joe didn’t move. He leaned over her, his face concerned, and she watched, somewhat out-of-body, as her hands palmed his jaw and drew him down to her. Her lips closed o
ver his and she sighed.
She hadn’t been a virgin when she and Mac married. Not many girls remained virgins after growing up in a group home, where the right kind of male attention was hard to find. Six years her senior, her husband had been the one to make Ashley understand the difference between sex and love. But that hadn’t come until later, after Mac had left the home and joined the service, leaving her to finish her schooling, graduate and find her way on her own for a while.
Joe’s tongue licked at her lips, gentle and sweet as though he savored the experience, as though she wasn’t the only one intrigued. But all at once a growl escaped his throat, shot straight to her core, and she shoved the memories aside and parted her mouth for him. Let him inside where he kissed her with such passion he seemed ready to combust.
She knew the feeling. It had been a long time for her. The night Max was conceived. Her husband had shipped out the next morning and she’d never seen him again. Never allowed herself to go back to the old days of seeking comfort and love from the wrong men. Nothing could fill the void unless it was the right kind of passion. The right person.
And Joe?
The kiss deepened, lingered. Warmth and texture and hot, hot need. Her body burned and it wasn’t from the sun beating down on them, but from Joe. His taste, his touch.
“Don’t move.”
Joe shoved himself to his knees and left her lying there on the roof, staring up at a cloudless sky and wondering what on earth she’d been thinking. She was a widow. One who’d loved her husband, mourned him and dreamed of him still.
But not as often. No, her dreams the last few nights hadn’t included Mac.
“Here.” Joe placed a lukewarm bottle of water into her hand. “Drink some of that and sit up slowly. As soon as you feel up to it, I’ll help you down the ladder.”
That was it. No mention of the kiss. No apology, either. Although if anyone should apologize it would be her so she was glad he chose to ignore the moment entirely.
Ashley didn’t look at him, but did as ordered. She gingerly raised herself up on an elbow and closed her eyes when her brain beat like a drum against her skull. The water did nothing to soothe the trembling inside her, but after a moment and several more sips, she pushed herself to a sitting position and crept toward the ladder on her own.
