Читать книгу The Rancher's Secret Wife - Brenda Minton - Страница 12

Chapter Four

“Drill?” Cheyenne hesitated because she’d forgotten mini blinds. She’d forgotten about taking it easy. Her gaze had lingered on the face of the man who, on paper, belonged to her—her husband.

In Vegas he’d been the one person who’d told her she could do this pregnancy thing. She could make it work, and she could keep her baby. Cheyenne thought about the birth mother who chose to have her. She still wondered about that woman, what her situation had been.

Her hand rested on Reese’s arm, and he looked down, as if seeing her, seeing her hand. But his hazel eyes didn’t focus, didn’t see. She wanted to touch his face, let her hand rest on the strong line of his jaw and touch the raspy stubble of his unshaved cheek.

Break contact, a little voice whispered into her mind. She needed to step away, find a focus point other than her husband’s face, his strong shoulders and the way it felt to have his hand on hers. She moved.

“I’ll get the drill,” she whispered, a little hoarse.

He walked behind her, staying close to her side, stopping when she stopped. She wanted to back away. Instead she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. His hand touched her back.

“Did you find it?”

“Yes. Now what?” She picked up the drill.

“Well, you get the parts we need and then we measure so that we get the blinds even.” He touched her arm. “Sit down.”

“I have to help.”

“No, you don’t. You have to give your baby a chance to make it to term.” He reached for the drill, taking it from her hand. “I really can do this. Or at least part of it. You sit and give me directions, and I’ll see what I can accomplish.”

She nodded and moved away from him.

“One important rule, Cheyenne.” He cleared his throat and she turned. “You have to tell me what you’re doing. I can’t see you walk away or see you nod your head. I can’t even see a frown, so I don’t know when I’m on thin ice.”

Heat slid up her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m getting what you need, and I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you.” He smiled an easy smile. “I’ll wait over here.”

She watched him unfold the cane he used and walk to the window to wait for her. He sat on the windowsill, his muscular legs clad in black shorts. He wore a white T-shirt that contrasted with his deep tan. She looked away, hurrying to grab the tape measure, pencil and other items she’d left on the bed. When she returned he smiled again, this time less confident—a little boy smile on a man’s face.

Shy? Or unsure?

“Here it is.” She gave him an inventory of what she had and put it all on the folding table near the window, along with the drill and the parts for the mini blinds.

“Thank you. And now you sit down.”

She did as he ordered, sitting on one of the old plastic chairs that had probably been in the building since the 1950s. They were faded yellow and orange and not at all comfortable. She wouldn’t get rid of them, though. They were a part of the past, like the black-and-white photos on the wall. They connected her to this place, made her feel as if it had become her history, her town.

Reese measured the inside of the window using his hand to make sure the space was the same distance down on both sides. He then tacked a small nail in place. She didn’t know why but she didn’t question.

“So tell me something about yourself that I don’t know.” He smiled as he reached for the brackets that would attach to the wall.

“Not a lot to tell.”

“Were you a shy child or outgoing?” He held up a package of screws. “And I need four of these for each end. Could you find the right ones for me?”

“I can.” She took the plastic package from his hand. “I was shy. I never quite...”

She found eight matching screws and handed him four.

“Never quite?”

“Nothing.”

He didn’t turn away. Instead he stepped closer, and then he brushed the seat next to her with his hand and sat down. “Never quite what?”

“Not now, Reese.”

“You aren’t going to make this easy, are you?”

She smiled because he smiled, disarming her, making her think that they could really be friends if given a chance. “My sister was born when I was five. Surprise! All of a sudden I was the child they shouldn’t have

adopted. They should have had more faith in God. They should have waited for Melissa.”

His expression softened, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry they made you feel that way.”

She knew he meant it. Of course he did. But she also knew that he probably had some similar feelings about marrying her. He’d married her on impulse. Someday the right woman would come along, and he’d be sorry he’d rushed ahead of God and married her.

“I’m sure they didn’t mean to.” She whispered the words for fear saying them too loud would bring an onslaught of tears that she couldn’t control.

“Is that why you went to Vegas?”

She closed her eyes and fought emotion that tightened her throat. The baby kicked against her ribs, and she touched her belly, letting her hand rest where her baby fought for space inside her. She breathed deep.

“I just wanted to...” To be loved. Unconditionally.

“You wanted?” His voice was soft—raspy soft.

She breathed deep again, this time to get through a pain that tightened around her belly. “Could we let this go?”

“I think we can. Have you called them lately?”

“No. Reese, they don’t want to hear from me. I was their mistake. They adopted me when I was six months old, and they regretted it for the next seventeen years.”

“I don’t know how they could regret having you.”

She stood, needing space, needing to breathe deep. “Don’t you regret telling a dancer in Vegas that you would marry her?”