Читать книгу Love - From His Point Of View! - Maureen Child - Страница 14

“Does it hurt a lot?” Zach asked.

“Not anymore.”

“How much does it hurt? This much?” He used his thumb and forefinger to take a tiny pinch of air. “Or this much?” He held out both hands broadly.

“About like this.” I measured a couple of inches between my finger and thumb. “More at bedtime, because I’m tired.”

He nodded seriously. “When I’m sick I hurt more at bedtime. How does this thing go on?” He pointed at my sling.

We were sitting on the rear deck, enjoying what was probably one of the last warm afternoons of the year. Zach was perched on my right thigh. My left foot was propped up on a little table to keep the knee elevated. That had been Seely’s idea, keeping the knee elevated, and I guess it did help. The swelling had gone down some. Doofus lay nearby, panting hopefully.

I showed Zach how my sling fastened, undoing one of the Velcro tapes and letting him restick it a few times. Velcro was one of Zach’s favorite things. He wanted to know if he could have the sling to play with after I was all better.

I smiled. “Sure.” God only knew what he planned to do with it. That didn’t matter. The important thing was that he’d accepted I would be “all better” eventually.

He told me Doofus was lonely and clambered down to play with his pup. I handed him his magnifying glass—another of his favorite things—and pup and boy ran off to look for bugs. My throat closed up as I watched them. I’d come so close to never having an afternoon like this again.

On the other side of the sliding glass doors behind me, Seely was chopping things in the kitchen and talking to Gwen. The two of them seemed to have really hit it off. That was undoubtedly a good thing, but it made me uncomfortable. Women tell each other the damnedest things sometimes.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss.

Not that I thought about it every second. I had plenty of other things on my mind, like reassuring Zach, trying to set up the remodel job at the resort without leaving the house, and problems on the Pearson site.

But the memory of that kiss kept ambushing me.

I’d been eating lunch—Seely had made cheeseburgers—and all of a sudden I’d noticed her hands, the long fingers and short nails, and I’d remembered how she’d dug those fingers into my back. When Doofus tried to trip me on the way to the bathroom, I thought about how he’d nearly caused another accident.

Shoot, in the middle of a crossword puzzle the word erupt made me think of volcanoes, lava and heat, and I was right back with that kiss. All day long, it kept popping out at me like a jack-in-the-box with a broken lid.

I didn’t like it. It’s not that I expect to control my thoughts a hundred percent of the time, but I don’t like being pushed around by them, either.

Maybe hiring Seely hadn’t been such a great idea. I was stuck with the decision, though. It wouldn’t be fair to change my mind now. I’d just have to get myself up to par as quickly as possible so I could let her go.

And then she wouldn’t be off-limits anymore.

That sneaky thought annoyed me. I drummed my fingers on the arm of the chair. Once Seely’s employment with me was over, she probably wouldn’t be in Highpoint anymore, either. Duncan had found her at the bus station, for God’s sake. And I wasn’t interested in trying to persuade a reluctant woman to stay. I’d failed miserably the last time.

My chest tightened. That twitchy, brittle feeling climbed over me, the one that had ridden me too often lately, as if I were wearing my skin backward. One wrong move could split it, spilling all sorts of messy, inner bits out on the dirty ground. Yet I craved motion, action.

I was scared.

I’d wanted Gwen, wanted her for keeps. I’d gone at getting her to marry me the way I go after any important goal, giving it everything I had. And I’d flopped, big-time. She’d fallen for my brother.

Plenty of times in the last few months I’d told myself I needed to start looking for a woman to share my life. And hadn’t done it. I’d begun to wonder what was wrong with me, if maybe I was too old to marry for the first time. Maybe my standards were too high, or there was something missing in me. Maybe I’d missed my chance for a family of my own.

For a long, still moment, I sat there in my wicker chair on the deck I’d built and faced a truth I’d been dodging. Deep down, I wasn’t sure I could handle failing again.

The late-afternoon sunshine hit the yard at a strong slant, dragging long shadows from the poplars along the back fence that striped the yard in plump diagonals. I hadn’t mowed the grass in three weeks. It was still green but had stopped growing. The leaves on the oak showed more gold than green in the autumn sun.

By the back gate, Zach and Doofus were digging industriously. I smiled, wondering what he was digging for. Gold? Diamonds? Or the sheer joy of making a nice, big hole in the ground?

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I never managed to pull off the wife-and-family bit. I had Zach. I didn’t have him every day, but lots of fathers were in that position these days. Didn’t they say that happiness lay in being content with what you have, instead of yearning for more?

My fingers started drumming again. To hell with that. Sounded like giving up to me.

The doors behind me slid open, and a wonderful aroma drifted out.

“Thought you might like some sweet tea,” Seely said. “It’s a Southern tradition.”

“Sure. Thanks.” I accepted the glass she held out, willing to try one of her traditions. “I don’t need that jacket, Gwen.”

Seely took the old rocker. Gwen sat in the wicker chair that matched mine, laying my jacket across her knees. “If you say so. You know me—I’m always cold.” She studied my face a moment. “You’re right, Seely. He does look better. Hard to believe he’s actually been behaving.”

“I don’t know why everyone thinks I’m incapable of taking care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a few years now.” I took a sip of tea. “This is good. So, I guess the two of you have been, uh, getting acquainted?”

Gwen shook her head, grinning. “The look on your face, Ben! It’s easy to see you think the two of us had nothing better to talk about than you. Shame on you.”

“You’ve been talking for over an hour. In my experience, that’s enough time for two women to exchange their life histories and get started on everyone else’s.”

Seely laughed. The rocker creaked as she leaned forward to pat my knee. “Don’t worry. She didn’t spill the beans about your misspent youth.”

Gwen frowned. “I don’t think Ben had a misspent youth. Or much of a youth at all, with the way he had to give up everything when…” Her voice trailed off. Maybe because of the look on my face.

The rocking chair creaked again as Seely leaned back. “Actually, we talked about your house more than you. I love old houses.”

“Yeah?” I relaxed, pleased. “This one isn’t all that old compared to some back east. But around here, homes over fifty years old aren’t common.”

“When was it built?”

“In 1935, but my grandfather used salvaged pieces from older houses where he could. That’s fashionable now, but not too many people were doing it back then. The wainscoting in the entry and the mantel in the living room are about 120 years old. Came from an old bawdy house.”

She laughed. “Oh, that’s wonderful! And the staircase? That looks old.”

“The newel post is over a hundred years old.”

“It’s a grand old house.” She rocked gently a moment. “A pity it’s neglected, but I suppose that’s like the cobbler’s children going barefoot. You’re probably too busy building other people’s homes to have time for your own.”

I sat up straight. “What the hell are you talking about? Everything’s in great shape!”

“I’m sure it is. Maybe neglected was the wrong word. It just doesn’t look like anything has changed much in twenty years.”

I had my mouth open, ready to blast her, when Zach came running up, chanting his mom-mom-mom mantra.

“Good grief, you’re dirty,” Gwen said.

“Yeah. Come see the bug me an’ Doofus found. You, too, Seely,” he said, politely including her in the treat. He and she had settled it earlier that he was to use her first name. “It’s tre-men-duz.”

Lots of things were tre-men-duzlately. I reached for my stick.

Seely stood, put her hand on my good shoulder and asked, with one lifted eyebrow, if I was sure I ought to get up. I scowled at her, but stayed put. “The steps from the deck are tricky for me,” I told Zach. “I’ll sit this bug out.”

Everyone else headed across the yard. Over by the rear gate, Doofus was barking at the pile of dirt he and Zach had created. I assume the bug was there. Seely grinned at Zach and said something I couldn’t make out. Zach giggled. Gwen smiled at him, then tilted her head to speak to Seely.

Seen side by side, the two women couldn’t have looked more different. Gwen was a tidy little thing, her short hair pale and shiny in the sunlight. Seely was at least a head taller. More robust. Brighter, somehow.

I frowned. More irritating, too. What was so great about changing stuff around, anyway? Everything worked. And it wasn’t as if I hadn’t done anything to the place for twenty years. The couch and area rug in the living room were only five years old. Of course, it was Annie who’d nagged me into replacing them, but so what? And maybe they sat in exactly the same spot as the old ones had, but they looked good there.

The deck I was sitting on—I’d added that myself.

Fifteen years ago.

Doofus suddenly tried to catch his tail, and Seely laughed. She had a husky laugh. It made me think of a messy bed, with the sheets dripping to the floor and Seely rising above me, throwing her hair back and laughing just like that…

Whoa. That was weird, fantasizing about Seely with Gwen right next to her. But guilt was stupid. I owed Gwen family loyalty, and that was all. I was allowed to look at other women. In fact, I’d damned well better start looking.

First, though, I had to finish healing. Right now I couldn’t even pick a woman up to take her to dinner. I sighed, thinking of my truck. I needed to find out what kind of hoops the insurance company wanted me to jump through before they’d issue a check.

The phone was sitting on the table beside me. I’d brought it out because I’d been talking to Manny earlier. I’d input dozens of numbers into the directory when I bought the phone a few months ago.

Not everything around here was old, dammit.

Bah. I punched up the directory. Time to put my brain to some kind of productive use.

Gwen slid Zach’s arm into a jacket he didn’t really need. “Seely, it was a pleasure meeting you. No, Ben, sit down. Don’t walk to the car with us.”

I shook my head sadly as I used the walking stick to lever myself upright. “What is it about me being injured that turns everyone into tyrant wannabes?”

Seely chuckled, Gwen grimaced, and Zach wanted to know why he couldn’t take his bug home. To prove I could compromise, I limped to the door with them instead of going all the way to the car. “I guess I’ll see you Saturday, kid.” I ruffled the top of Zach’s head.

He looked puzzled. “Are you goin’, too?”

“Oh, Lord.” Gwen rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. Duncan was going to when he stopped by yesterday, but you were sleeping.”

“Tell me what?”

“Zach was terribly disappointed about missing out on his camping trip with you. Duncan managed to get some time off so he could take him.”

The knife slid in so fast I couldn’t guard against it. I was supposed to be the one who took Zach camping and hiking. I was the one who’d taught Duncan, dammit. Not to mention Charlie and Annie. Our parents hadn’t much cared about that sort of thing, but I did. I always had.

My brother had everything else—why did he have to grab this, too?

“Dad?” Zach sounded uncertain.

So I smiled. “Just feeling sorry for myself because I have to miss this one. But you can tell me all about it when you get back, right?”

“Right!”

I didn’t watch them drive away. I never do. That’s a rule. Every time Zach leaves—especially when Gwen picks him up—I get hit with a load of might-have-beens. No point in taking a chance on Zach guessing how I felt. Kids often blame themselves when the adults in their lives are screwing up.

But I did wait to shut the door until they were both in Gwen’s car.

Seely was standing behind me. “That was hard,” she said. “You handled it well.”

I grunted, annoyed with her for seeing too much, and hobbled toward the living room. “Not that hard. My knee’s doing better.”

“I wasn’t talking about your knee. But I think you know that and are trying delicately to hint me away from the subject. Unfortunately,” she said sadly, “I am almost immune to hints.”

A quick snort of laughter snuck out before I could stop it. “That’s the first time anyone’s ever called me delicate. I hear blunt, rude, pigheaded and tactless from time to time, but not delicate.”

“There you go. We have a lot in common. I figure you’ll understand how hard it is for a basically direct person to tiptoe around a subject. Much easier to just say what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

“Gets you in trouble sometimes,” I said. I’d reached the couch and sat down, suppressing a sigh of relief. Stupid knee. My shoulder wasn’t feeling too great, either.

“Trouble can be interesting. Here, let me help you get that leg up.”

“I can do it.”

“Now how did I know you were going to say that?” She ignored my scowl, putting her hands under my calf and helping me lift the leg onto the couch. “I must be psychic.”

“That makes sense. It’s not like I’m predictable.”

She laughed and settled on the other end, curling one leg up beneath her. That surprised me. She’d mostly stayed away this afternoon unless I needed something…which I figured was my fault. Because of that kiss. With my leg stretched out between us, I couldn’t jump her. That’s probably what she was thinking.

And I was not thinking about that kiss again. I was just wondering if she was.

“I liked watching you and Zach together,” she said. “Gave me the idea that you’re crazy about him.”

“Well, yeah. Of course I am. Any man…“My voice trailed off as I remembered that her father hadn’t acted like he was crazy about her. I cleared my throat. “Of course, some men are jerks.”

“I can agree with that.”

The bitter note in her voice surprised me, though it shouldn’t have. She had a right to be bitter. “Do you hate him?” I asked abruptly. “Your father, I mean.”

She blinked. “I…oh, damn, I wanted to say no, that he doesn’t matter enough to hate. And that’s almost true. But sometimes…”

She shrugged and looked away, but not before I’d seen the unhappiness in her eyes. “It’s like having a trick knee. You go along fine for days, weeks, even months. Then all of a sudden you put your weight on it, and it doesn’t hold. Every now and then I still get angry. Dumb, isn’t it?” Her mouth twisted. “I’m thirty-two years old. I should be over it by now.”

“I don’t see what ‘should’ has to do with it. Seems to me we can control our actions, but thoughts and feelings don’t pay much attention to rules.” Or I wouldn’t be thinking about that blasted kiss again.

She looked startled, then smiled. “I suspect a lot of people underestimate you.”

That was probably a compliment. I studied her a moment. Though her body was easy, relaxed, I thought shadows lingered in her eyes. I decided to steer us into less painful territory. “So, what would you change in here?”

“Me?”

“You said things hadn’t been changed in a long time. You must have had something in mind.”

“I’d paint the walls,” she said promptly.

I looked around critically. “Nothing wrong with the paint.”

“It’s white, Ben.”

“So?”

“So the room could use some color. Red would be great.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Green would be good, too—a rich green, nothing wimpy. But this couch is a lovely, warm brown. I think red would be great with it. And maybe some molding over the fireplace to match the crown moldings. That would make the mantel really pop.”

I eyed her dubiously. “You sound like an upscale decorator.”

She laughed. “I’ll admit to being hooked on those shows on cable.”

“They have decorating shows?”

“Don’t watch much TV, do you?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Well, there’s a whole network devoted to it. Shows about gardening and all kinds of decorating—window treatments, kitchen remodels, painting techniques, all that sort of thing.” She grinned. “A friend of mine calls it female porn. We can look and drool, but we can’t touch.”

“Sounds about right.” I gave a thoughtful nod. “Green, maybe. I could see a pale green in here. Or purple.”

“Uh…purple?”

“Sure. Put a little gilding on the crown moldings, too. It would really dress the place up.”

She caught on. “Gilding the moldings! I never would have thought of that. But then, you really must use red for the walls. Chinese red. And maybe a little pagoda in the corner?”

We spent the next few minutes turning my living room into a Chinese emperor’s nightmare, complete with bamboo, lacquered screens and dragons, all in the most garish cast of colors possible. Somehow that evolved into a discussion of building styles, remodeling and how to honor the architectural integrity of a building when creating an addition.

Now, all this was right up my alley. I don’t often swing a hammer or hang drywall myself these days, but I’ve done it enough in the past. A good builder has to know a little about everything, from the right temperature to pour concrete to the current craze for paint glazes to how to shore up a damaged load-bearing wall. So it might seem like I was enjoying some shop talk and Seely was humoring me, but it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t about me at all. I would have talked about blueberry muffin recipes if that’s what got her this excited, just so I could watch her glow.

This slow-moving woman came alive when she talked houses. Which was downright peculiar for a woman with no nesting urges.

“Your den is an addition, isn’t it?” she said. She was snuggled into the corner of the couch, her shoes off and her feet tucked up. A strand of hair had worked loose to wiggle along her temple and cheekbone like a hyperactive question mark.

I grimaced. “Sticks out like a sore thumb, doesn’t it? I’ve always meant to redo it. The roofline messes up the rear and side elevations. My father had it done, and I don’t think he gave a thought to how it fit with the rest of the house’s style.”

“He wasn’t interested in construction and architecture himself, then?”

“Sure, if it took place two or three thousand years ago.”

“I’ve wondered about that,” she said slowly. “I would have thought there would be exotic mementos scattered around from all the time he spent abroad. Pot shards, maybe, or a scarab or two.”

“I’ve got a pretty little Egyptian lady in my bedroom, on the dresser. Most of that stuff is boxed up, though. Never really knew what to do with it. Now what,” I demanded, “did I say to put that polite look on your face?”

“Who, me? Polite?”

“Like you’re thinking something you’re too nice to say.”

“Oh.” She flushed. “And here I’m trying to be tactful…it just seems like you have some issues with your parents. Maybe with the way they died and left you to raise the family they’d started.”

My good mood evaporated. “I did what had to be done. That’s all.”

“And that was a less-than-delicate hint to close the subject. Good enough.” She said that with perfect good humor, but rose to her feet. “I’d better go check on the roast.”

“Don’t rush off. I didn’t mean to…dammit, you can’t get offended every time I’m an ass, or we won’t be able to talk at all.”

She patted my shoulder. “No offense taken. I don’t blame you for getting testy when people make a fuss about the way you took on the responsibility for your brothers and sisters. It must seem sometimes as if you’re defined by what happened twenty years ago. As if nothing you’ve done since then matters, compared to that.”

Having leveled me with a few words, she swayed gently toward the door. “Supper should be ready soon. You want to eat on a tray in here?”

I must have answered, because she left the room. God only knows what I said. I don’t know how long I sat staring at the wall and seeing nothing, either.

Eventually sheer physical discomfort roused me. My shoulder this time. I mushed some pillows around to create more support for it, leaned back and waited for the fire to die down.

The blasted woman had a bad habit of saying outrageous things, then wandering off, leaving me no one to argue with but myself. That would stop, I promised myself. If she was going to drop bombshells, she could damned well hang around and deal with the debris.

But Seely wasn’t in the habit of hanging around.

Never mind. People could change, right? She was big on changing walls and furniture. She could just get used to the idea of changing a couple of habits, too.

It was a helluva thing, but somewhere between Chinesered walls and that irritating pat on my shoulder, my gut had made a decision without consulting the rest of me. For the next few days, I’d be such a good patient my family would worry about me.

Because I had to get well and fire Seely. Soon. I was going to have that woman out of my employ—and in my bed.