by Kay Lyons
“Oh, how exciting. Why, I remember when that house was dressed to the nines and gleaming. People from all around would make fools of themselves to get invitations to the annual Christmas party.”
“I’d have loved to seen it then,” she murmured. “It’s kind of run-down and needs TLC now.” Her mouth twisted wryly. “Maybe by next year I’ll be on my feet well enough to host a Christmas open house,” she added even while she wondered if anyone would come with her as the owner.
“That would be marvelous. And quite an undertaking for someone such as yourself.”
She stiffened and Max looked up at her with curious eyes, his fingers in his mouth. “Such as myself?” she repeated stiffly. Had she said something to Mrs. Hilliard about her past?
The woman nodded. “Why, yes, dear. A single mother with a child and a crotchety old man to care for—it must be difficult to get anything done.”
The air left her lungs with a rush and tears stung her eyes. “I’m sorry, I—”
Mrs. Hilliard laid a hand on Ashley’s arm. “It’s quite all right, my dear. I understand. It must be very stressful.”
“It’s not that, it’s just—” How did she compare Mrs. Hilliard’s kindness to Mr. Thompson at the hardware store? To the ladies who’d pointedly ignored her after the garden club meeting had ended and their social hour began?
The older woman untucked a carefully folded tissue from beneath her long sleeve and pressed it into Ashley’s hand. “Here, dear. Wipe your eyes. The landscaping will need doing soon, I’m afraid. That way when spring comes, the plants will have had a nice, long sleep and be ready to get started growing.”
“Thank you.” Ashley nodded, attempted to smile, and sniffled softly in a vain attempt to get control of herself. “Thank you for—Will you help me?” she blurted suddenly.
Ashley told herself the woman’s answer didn’t really matter. After all, why would Mrs. Hilliard help her? Loaning her a book was one thing, sketching out a drawing or two and figuring out all the different plants another. It was too much to ask. It was time consuming. It was—
“Why, yes, Ashley. I’d love to.”
—something a friend would do.
* * *
JOE ENTERED the large front parlor, anxious to tell Ashley his news. Instead he leaned against the doorway and watched appreciatively as Ashley danced and sang to a tune from the radio while she painted her way down a wall.
Once again she was dressed in cut-offs and a sleeveless shirt, her toes a colorful shade of red. The sight raced through him like wildfire when he imagined…
He shifted against the casing.
She was his boss.
And even though he craved female company, after working every day and spending every spare moment with his dad, he fell into bed too exhausted to do much more than fantasize about his employer.
Ten years of celibacy and now that he could do something about it, the only woman who appealed to him he couldn’t have. Not without telling her the complete truth first.
Ashley shimmied, the fingers of one hand snapping as she turned to wet her roller with paint. That’s when she saw him and her face flushed to a dull burgundy.
Joe grinned. “Don’t stop on my account.”
She shot him a glare, the corners of her lips curled up in a sheepish smile. “Hush. What’s up?”
“Can’t tell you.”
She raised a brow.
“Didn’t you just tell me to hush?” He chuckled at her expression and stepped forward, unable to help himself. He was in a good mood and she was easy to tease. “The roof’s done.”
She stared at him blankly. “Done? Like done done?”
“Yup. Just in time, too.” He indicated one of the open windows. Outside another summer storm brewed in the distance.
“Are you serious? It’s finished?”
When he nodded she launched herself at him, paint roller in hand as she hugged him and laughed in his ear.
“I can’t believe it! Joe, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Her arms tightened even more and Joe decided to enjoy the moment while it lasted. He pressed her close until the heat of her settled against him.
Ashley’s laughter ended with a gasp. She pulled away to look him in the eyes, but didn’t put any more distance between them. He stared into the honey-bronze depths of her gaze and waited for her reaction. Waited for her to shove him away and stammer something about how she shouldn’t have hugged him.
Instead her mouth parted and an instant later Ashley raised herself on those sexy, red-painted toes. That was all the encouragement he needed. He pressed his mouth to hers, swept his tongue inside. She tasted hot and sweet, musky.
Joe heard her breath hitch in her throat. He grabbed the roller from her hand, uncaring of the paint coating his fingers. He tossed it to the covered floor before he gripped her behind and pulled her closer.
Ashley moaned, soft and needy, the most exciting sound he’d ever heard, before her fingers speared through his short hair and she angled his head more to her liking, one voracious kiss turning into two, five.
Thunder boomed outside, sharp and loud, and the small receiver sitting on a sheet-draped piece of furniture erupted with Max’s cry.
Ashley stumbled backward with wide eyes and a hand pressed to her mouth. She stared at him in horror, and it was that component of her expression that got to him, tore through the haze of desire that clouded his mind and pierced deep.
Horror. When would he learn that he just couldn’t have certain things anymore?
Without a word, Joe turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, not stopping until he heard Wilson’s walker behind him. He groaned, not in the mood for the old man’s comments.
“You going to see your daddy?”
No, but it was a good idea. He’d waited too late the last couple of nights and found himself waking his father up when he’d gone to see him. Going early wasn’t an option, either, since mornings were the best time to work given the blazing temperatures.
“Do you need something?” he asked, his voice rough and way too revealing. Maybe the old man wouldn’t catch it. He hoped so anyway.
“Nope. You do though. Unless you wanna get struck by lightning on the way.”
Joe turned and found Wilson pulling a set of keys from his pocket. He tossed them toward Joe. “Here. Can’t have you gettin’ sick runnin’ around in the rain.”
Joe caught the keys in one hand. “I don’t have a driver’s license,” he reminded him.
“Didn’t need one back when I started driving. Some folks out there now have one and shouldn’t. I figure you’ll do all right.”
Wilson’s trust humbled him. “Thanks.”
The old man nodded, his normally mischievous gaze solemn. Understanding?
Joe continued on, out the back door, away from Ashley and her son.
Ten minutes later he pulled into the mostly empty parking lot outside the nursing home. Lunch hour was over and those who’d visited loved ones had gone back to work or home. He was glad. After the intensity of Ashley’s kiss and then her response, he felt a little shaky. The last thing he needed to walk into was a center full of people unhappy to see him.
Joe left the truck and ran toward the door, the cold rain seeping into his shirt. Inside, Mrs. H. wasn’t at her desk, so he continued on down the hall, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.
“Mr. Brody.”
Her voice stopped him in his tracks. “No one was at the desk, Mrs. H., so I thought I’d show myself to his room.”
“Indeed. Come this way, please.”
Joe frowned when she turned and led the way to the cafeteria rather than toward his father’s room. He followed her, curious. After all, not many people ever disregarded an order from Mrs. H.
She stopped beside an older man who sat hunched forward in a wheelchair. “This is the young man I told you about,” she stated loudly. “Joe, this is Paul. Something is wrong with his chair but his insurance won’t cover t
he expense of fixing it. Perhaps you could help.”
Joe stared. She wanted him to fix the old man’s chair? Feeling more than one set of eyes watching him, he knelt beside the wheelchair and checked the battery, the cables, all the general stuff that could be wrong.
“Looks like the connector is broken. If you have some tools around here, I might be able to get it working again.”
From somewhere behind him a toolbox was produced. Joe found what he needed and spent the next ten minutes repairing the old man’s chair. When he finished and the chair worked, he earned a smiling nod of approval from Mrs. H. that somehow made the experience of being under everyone’s watchful supervision tolerable.
He replaced the tools into the metal box and stood. “If it gives you any more trouble, let me know and I’ll have another go at it.”
The old man opened his mouth. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Then his wrinkled hand lifted as though in thanks and Joe tried not to notice how badly it shook. He took the old man’s hand in his. “You’re welcome. Anytime.”
Mrs. H. touched his arm. “Now then, Mr. Brody, let’s go see how your father’s doing.”
Joe allowed her to escort him from the cafeteria, aware he was once again the topic of conversation.
* * *
HAL KNOCKED softly on Melissa’s bedroom door, fighting the frustrated anger he felt at not being able to track Joe down. He’d had numerous people call with sightings over the last couple weeks, but by the time he made it to the area, Joe was always gone. Wherever he was staying it was close by.
He couldn’t hide for long.
“You ready?”
“Yes. Come in.”
He pushed open the paneled wood. “Storm’s dying down so you shouldn’t get too wet, but are you sure you want to go?”
“No.” Melissa laughed softly. “I don’t want to go at all, but since I’m having a good day, I thought I’d give Mrs. H. a hand. She said they lost their volunteer reader a while ago.”
Maybe so. Still, he didn’t want Mel getting her feelings hurt by some unthinking old fool who thought age gave them the right to voice any and all opinions.
Melissa set the brush down and turned. “How’s it look?”
He winked at her. “Always liked blondes. Have since your mama married me and you were born.”
She made a face. “I feel ridiculous in this wig, but I have to try it. Mrs. H. went to such trouble getting it for me.”
Hal nodded. “It looks pretty, Mel. And no wonder she wants to help, you were one of her brightest students. She cares about you.”
His daughter blinked back tears and he sighed. A distraction was needed. “Come on. Let’s get you over there so you can read the latest installment of—what are you reading again?”
She laughed. “You know what I’m reading—a romance. Something that ends happily ever after for everyone.”
Hal kept his thoughts to himself. His daughter liked those books, but he knew better. Happily ever after didn’t exist anywhere except on paper.
He just didn’t have the heart to tell her that.
* * *
ASHLEY BOUNCED MAX in her arms, hoping, praying, his fussy cries would end soon. “Come on, Max. It can’t be that bad.” One look at his red, splotchy face said otherwise though.
She peered into his open, drooling mouth. The tooth was just beneath the surface and the bright red flesh of his gums looked ready to pop.
“How ’bout givin’ him a popsicle?”
She turned and found Wilson frowning at them. “They have too much sugar and the diet kind have chemicals in them.”
Wilson shook his head. “And you worry too much. He’s hurtin’, sugar don’t matter if it’d help.”
She couldn’t argue there. Her ears hurt and her head pounded. She carried Max to the freezer in the utility room and dug down inside for the box she’d stuck in the back for an emergency.
“I knew you had some hid somewhere.”
She found the ice-encrusted box and pulled. “I thought if I hid them they might last a little longer,” she countered with a pointed stare at Wilson. One-handed, she couldn’t get the box open.
The old man clucked his tongue. “Give it here. I’ll open it.” He leaned against the side of the large freezer and pulled the flap up.
Max continued to cry and fuss and Ashley gave up trying to soothe him. Her nerves were stretched taut, both from Max’s unending cries, the noise from the storm and—Joe’s kiss.
What on earth had she expected? One minute she’d been painting away and the next, she’d thrown herself into his arms. What must he think? What excuse did she have?
She’d wanted him to kiss her.
But what would Mac think?
She ignored the voice in her head and reached out to take the popsicle Wilson handed her. Max calmed down a bit while he watched her peel the paper off the treat. He’d eaten Cheerios and some other soft, pureed foods for two months now so anything she ate, he seemed to want to inspect. He opened his mouth and she inserted the tip of the orange popsicle to land gently on his gums.
“There, see? Yum.”
Max pulled away, sucked his lower lip into his mouth as though trying to figure out the taste, and then opened up again.
“Thatta boy.” Wilson saluted him with a purple popsicle. “So…what happened with you and Joe?”
Ashley’s relieved smile quickly faltered. “What do you mean?”
Wilson stashed a second popsicle in the small basket attached to the front of his walker. “He looked like a stick of dynamite when he left, and you came in to get Max not lookin’ much better. Something wrong?”
“He fixed the roof.” She turned around to put the box back in the freezer.
Wilson’s sudden laughter had her swiveling back toward him. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothin’. Just wondering if Joe got all the paint off his hands after they’d gripped your behind or if he’s makin’ a mess on my steering wheel.”
* * *
JOE LEFT HIS FATHER’S ROOM shaking his head and laughing. His old man was in high spirits today and had every right to be now that he’d accomplished one of the requirements the physical therapist said he had to do before being released.
Between feeling good because he’d helped out Mrs. H. and being happy his pop was getting better, he’d been able to let go of what had happened at the house with Ashley. At least until he saw her next.
Which wouldn’t be as often if he could help it. Maybe he should start taking his meals either outside or in his room. Sitting across the table from her three times a day was too much. He liked how she cared for Wilson. Liked how she had a goal and was determined to achieve it. Liked her. Period.
Problem was, he liked her too much.
He turned the corner, lost in thought, and walked right into a woman exiting the ladies room. “Excuse me, I—” Joe broke off, unable to speak, to move, when he stared into Melissa’s panic-stricken eyes. She blanched, a frightening sight to witness since she was already so sickly pale.
His hands shot out to steady her when he saw her weave on her feet. “Melissa?” He spotted a couch five feet from where they stood and quickly led her over to it. Easing her down amongst the cushions, he asked, “Are you okay? Do you need something? Water? Juice? I’ll go get a nurse.”
To be so dazed at the sight of him, she reacted quickly. Her trembling hand landed on his arm. “I’m fine, just…”
He nodded his understanding. To say he was surprised to see her didn’t come close to being accurate. Knocked flat was more like it.
She released him, her hands flying to her head. He could tell it wasn’t really her hair and the sight reminded him of her illness. “Mel…I’m so sorry.”
Her hands dropped, her chin raised. “Don’t be. I’ve always known the odds were against me.”
Yeah, but he knew she’d always prayed not to get sick like her mother and grandmother. “You look good.”
“Don’t—”<
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“You do,” he insisted. “You’re pale, but pretty as ever.”
She smiled sadly at the compliment. “You look good, too.” She glanced around the hallway outside the cafeteria and Joe followed her stare. If someone saw them together her father would immediately be called, and she had to know Hal was looking for him. His pop had said Hal stopped by twice that week alone in the hopes of catching him there.
“Mel, can we talk somewhere? Find an empty room or—”
She shook her head. “What’s left to say, Joe?”
“Plenty—I didn’t do it,” he grated harshly, his tone low and revealing every ounce of fear and frustration and pain he held inside. He watched her, silently begged her to believe him. He’d done the same when he’d gone on trial, and he did it again now. “I didn’t do it, Mel. I swear, I didn’t hurt her.”
“You were the only one with her.” Tears choked her, made her voice hoarse. “You were young. Uncomfortable with her.”
Joe shook his head, so angry he couldn’t see straight. He hadn’t hurt Josie. He hadn’t—but someone had. “She woke up screaming. Loud, high-pitched.”
“And you shook her.”
“No.”
Joe lowered his head into his hand and rubbed. “All I know is that I didn’t. Mel, I lost ten years of my life. Ten years for something I did not do.”
Trembling fingers wiped away her tears. “You were convicted. My father arrested you. I tried to believe, to think you hadn’t done something so horrible, but the doctor said she’d been hurt, her brain damaged.” She sniffled, fresh tears replacing the ones she’d removed. “I’d heard you were back in town and when I saw you just now I thought maybe—just maybe—” Her voice broke and she paused, breathing deeply. “I’d hoped you’d own up to it, Joe. To admit that you made a mistake and stay for your dad, but let that part of our lives be over by finally telling the truth.”
“I am. Even though it sounds like you just want to forget her.”
She flinched. “What I want is to stop hurting.”
Her head lowered and once again he stared. Watched her as she cried.
