Читать книгу Sunrise Crossing - Jodi Thomas - Страница 13

CHAPTER SEVEN

Crossroads

YANCY HUNG HIS new coat on the workshop latch and moved into his barn workshop. He didn’t even look up at the loft. The woman he’d called Rabbit wouldn’t be up there. She hadn’t been for three days.

He knew because he came to check every night. He’d even walked over a few days on his lunch break, hoping she might have dropped by. No sign of her or of his coat.

He was beginning to believe she was only a figment of his imagination. Maybe wishing for someone his age to talk to had conjured her up. A man gets used to the loneliness after a while, but that doesn’t mean hope vanishes.

What were the chances that a woman he’d never seen around town was hanging out in his workshop? She’d been pretty, real pretty, and he would have noticed a girl with beautiful blue eyes and dark, waist-length hair. He volunteered at half the things in town. He went to all the town-hall meetings and was always running to the grocery or the hardware store. He would have seen her somewhere.

Smiling, he remembered how her thick midnight braid had brushed her hips when she’d climbed down the ladder. If he was just making her up, at least he’d done a good job. Even her smile made him grin now, three days later.

“You up there, Rabbit?” he muttered to the silent barn.

A board above him creaked, making him jump.

“I’ve been waiting,” she answered with a laugh. “I had to make sure you were alone.”

Startled, he looked up and saw her lean over the edge of the loft. She was dressed, as before, in jeans and a flannel shirt, with his coat folded over her arm. Little Rabbit was so petite folks might mistake her for a teenage boy if they didn’t see her long hair braided down her back and the gentle rounding of her chest that showed even in the baggy shirt.

Yancy tried to clear his thoughts. She was back.

“Well, come on down, Rabbit. We’ve got work to do.” The rule came back to him. No questions. “I thought I might have dreamed you up, but dreams don’t usually steal coats.”

She swung a leg onto the ladder. “I’m sorry about that. I brought it back. But I’ll have to borrow it again to wear home.”

He watched her as her left foot hit the rung of the ladder and slipped.

An instant later she was flying down toward him, tumbling out of control like a bird with a broken wing.

Taking one step, he caught her in midflight. This dream he’d been thinking about felt very solid in his arms.

Without holding her too tight, he lowered her feet to the ground. She was real. Her heart pounded against his chest for a moment before he let her go.

“Thanks,” she managed as she backed away. “I’ve always been clumsy.”

“You didn’t look clumsy,” he managed to say as he fought the urge to reach for her. “You looked like you were flying.”

She shoved a hand in the pocket of his coat and pulled out a bag. “I brought you cookies, but it appears they’re only crumbs now.”

He accepted her gift. “I love cookie crumbs. I’ll share them when we take our coffee break, if you can stay awhile?”

“I can stay. The other night, when I worked here, I walked home and slept like a baby. So, what have we got to do tonight? I feel like a cobbler’s elf.”

“I’m putting together the hearth for the fireplace. I could really use your help.” He pulled a tarp away from a long piece of wood he’d carved months ago. “It’s a two-man job.”

Her face lit up when she grinned. “One man, one rabbit, you mean.”

“That’ll have to do.” It crossed his mind that the lady might be a little nuts to show up at night in a stranger’s barn, but right about now in his life, a bubble off normal didn’t sound like too bad a place to be. He liked watching her work. She had skills he’d probably never develop. Plain, old, ordinary wood became art in her hands.

As the night aged, he began to feel like he was half-drunk. She’d come back. The work seemed to go more than twice as fast with her help. When he made a mistake, alone he would have sworn, but together they laughed.

It was funny, he thought as he watched her; deep inside, he felt like he’d known her all his life. He’d read once about an old Greek myth that claimed humans were once twice as tall. When the gods decided to make males and females different, they cut all the humans in half. From that day on, people walked around searching for their other half.

An easy way of just being together drifted between them. They didn’t need to ask questions or carry on small talk. Like they’d always been a part of each other’s lives. Or like they were each other’s missing half. Impossible, he thought. Men like him were loners, born to have no one care enough to last a lifetime.

She helped him carry the hearth through the darkness between the barn and the house. When he clicked on the construction lights in the old house, she squealed with pure joy.

Turning loose her side of the hearth, she circled the room. “Even in the shadows I can see the beauty of this place.” The construction lamps made spotlights on the floor of the huge open room, and she danced in and out of their beams like a ballerina on stage.

Yancy didn’t notice the beauty of the room he’d so carefully created. He was too busy watching her. “Take your time looking around. I’ll just stand here holding this hunk of wood myself,” he teased.

Her laughter filled the empty space. She ran back and helped him carry the hearth to where the bones of a fireplace waited to be dressed.

As he spread his arms wide to hold the frame in place, she moved between him and the hearth, measuring, taping everything in place. By the time she was satisfied all was level and balanced, he was no longer thinking, period. When she brushed against him, he seemed to be the only one who noticed they’d touched. She smelled so good. Like peaches and freshly washed linens. He could do nothing but stand perfectly still, holding the hearth in place and breathing in the nearness of her.

When she finally left to run back to the barn for the toolbox, he forced himself to relax and think of what they were doing, not what he would have liked to do. If he’d thought she would have welcomed an advance, he might have dropped the hearth and grabbed her. After all, he could rebuild the hearth, but he might never get another chance to hold her.

Only she might not welcome his touch. He wasn’t the kind of man who knew how to come on strong with a woman. He guessed his shy Rabbit wasn’t much more knowledgeable when it came to men and women than he was. She did love helping, though. A kind heart was rare in the world.

When she returned, she was all business, but the easy nearness, the light touches continued. He told himself she wasn’t noticing what she was doing, but he was memorizing every brush her body made against his, every time her hand touched his shoulder, and loving the way she leaned near. If she was launching a gentle attack, maybe he should tell her that he’d gladly surrender.

An hour later, they both stood back and admired their work. The hearth was beautiful. A work of art, thanks to her cuts and finishing.

“Not bad,” Yancy said. “We could roast marshmallows in a fire there.”

She nodded. “If we had the wood for a fire, a few matches, some chairs to sit in and some marshmallows.”

“Just details,” he admitted, looking around. “I’m almost finished with the downstairs and I have no idea about furniture.”

“You could make it.”

He liked that idea. “I wouldn’t need much. I got the bar to eat on. All I’d need is a stool and maybe a rocker by the fire.”

She moved to the bar and leaned against it. “What about your guests? Where would rabbits sit?”

Without thinking, he circled her waist and lifted her up. “You could sit on the bar.”

A moment later he realized what he’d done. He might have let her touch him, but this time he’d touched her. No, he’d handled her. Like she was a kid or a close friend. He didn’t even know her name. He had no right. He didn’t know much but one rule had always been clear. A woman could touch a man, but a man never handled a woman without an indication of the woman’s consent.

Yancy stepped back and straightened. His eyes staring down at the floor like he’d done in prison when he was little more than a kid lost in a world of rules and punishment. He’d spent every day since he’d been out trying to act normal, trying to do what was right, but deep down he knew part of him would always be an ex-con.

The silence of the empty room seemed to throb with each heartbeat.

They’d had a great night working together, talking, laughing. But a woman who wouldn’t tell him her name wasn’t likely to welcome his hands on her. When he’d caught her as she fell from the loft, he’d felt her stiffen even as he lowered her to her feet. She’d been polite. She’d thanked him for saving her, but she’d moved away.

“Yancy?” Her voice echoed in the empty room.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he forced himself to look up. “I didn’t mean to...”

Her gray-blue eyes were smiling. “It’s okay, Yancy. You didn’t hurt me.” She crossed her legs and put her elbows on her knees. “The bar may be a little high but the view is great up here. I can almost see your handmade furniture. Rockers by the fire. A writing table by the window. Bookshelves climbing along the wall to match the stair steps over there. If you build me a stool, make it a few inches higher than yours so we’ll look directly at each other. I get tired of always looking up at people.”

He leaned his head to the side, studying her as if she were an animal he’d never encountered. “You’re not mad at me?”

“Why?” She watched him.

“I put my hands on you, Rabbit.”

“You did that when you caught me. If you hadn’t I’d have probably broken a few bones.” When he just kept staring, she added, “I’ve made up my mind that you are a good man, Yancy Grey. I’ve not always been a good judge of men, but I’m learning. I am not afraid of you. I believe you won’t hurt me.”

“I wouldn’t,” he managed to say, knowing she had no idea what a gift she was giving him with her trust. “But most folks don’t warm up to me very fast after they find out I’ve been in prison. I’ve done hard time, Rabbit, and they say that changes a man forever.”

She looked more interested than afraid. “Want to talk about it?”

He’d been asked before and always said no, but somehow this time he thought it might be all right. He jumped up to sit on the bar a foot away from her and began.

He told her of how he’d been caught stealing when he was nineteen and had turned twenty in prison.

She listened as he remembered details he’d spent years trying to forget. He had to be honest with her. She trusted him.

“The smells in the whole place made me half-sick most of the time. I’d go out in the yard, even on the coldest days, just to be able to breathe. Once, it was snowing and I was the only one to step outside. I just stood, looking up at the snow, and listened to the rare sound of silence while I breathed in the smell of nothing but winter.”

She covered his hand with hers without saying a word.

“I used to lie awake in my tiny cell listening to the sounds around me, wishing I were somewhere, anywhere else. Sometimes I’d dream of getting out and just living a normal life, but prison is still there in the back of my mind. No matter how hard I breathe out, there’s still a little bit of the smell left in my lungs.”

Her stormy-day blue eyes were full of compassion.

“It’s been seven years and I still feel the pressure to do everything right. Like I have to watch myself every minute. If I do one thing wrong I’ll somehow wake up back in prison with all the bad smells and the sound of men crying and cussing. If I say the wrong thing. If I don’t tell people the truth about where I’ve been, then I’m hiding. If I do, I’m afraid of how they’ll react.”

Lacing his fingers in her small hand, he added, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you disappeared, Little Rabbit. If you do, I should tell you that tonight was just about the best of my life. Even if I never see you again, I don’t think I’ll ever forget working beside you. It was nice, real nice.”

He’d had this routine before with women he’d met. They acted like it didn’t matter that he’d served time, but if he called for a second date, they were always busy. He expected it. He hadn’t blamed them. He wouldn’t blame her. She’d probably just disappear as if she’d never been there and he’d have no idea how to even look for her.

She pulled her hand away and he let her go without protest. “Help me down, Yancy. It’s late.”

He nodded and jumped off the bar. Carefully, he circled her waist and lifted her down. She didn’t meet his eyes as she looked around the room.

“What are you building next?” she asked, changing the subject.

“The banister.” He answered in a dull voice, knowing this must be her way of saying goodbye. “I thought I’d make the rails out of the same oak that I used on the hearth, then have the top done in wrought iron to make it more modern.”

She moved into the shadows where the stairs climbed the north wall. He heard her feet take the first few steps. “I can see it. It’ll add warmth to the room and last forever.”

“I’m thinking my lifetime will be enough. I don’t have any relatives to pass this place along to.” He walked to her and glanced up into the darkness, where no lights warmed the second floor.

She came down one step so that they were at eye level. “I have to go,” she whispered—as if there were anyone to hear but him. “Start the rails. I’ll be back to help shape and stain them.”

Studying her, he wondered if she were lying. “Fine,” he managed, wishing he had the nerve to ask her just one question before she disappeared.

He waited for her to come down the last step.

She didn’t move. The house was pure, snowflake silent.

“I didn’t mind you touching me.” She moved one step closer. “Would you mind if I got a little closer to say good-night?”

Before he could answer, her lips touched his. When he didn’t move, she leaned against him and put her hands on each side of his face. “Kiss me back, Yancy,” she whispered against his mouth. “Please, kiss me back.”

Something deep inside Yancy broke. Maybe it was reason. Maybe it was the door to his own private prison.

He pulled her against him and kissed her full on, like he’d always wanted to kiss a girl.

After a few moments, he felt her fingers gently brushing against the sides of his face, as if she were calming him down. When he let her go, he realized he’d been holding her so tightly she probably couldn’t breathe.

He’d kissed her too hard. Too long for a first kiss.

His hands dropped to his sides, but she didn’t pull away. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she ran. She had to think he was some kind of wild animal. It would probably be no surprise to her that he’d had very few girlfriends.

But she stayed so near he could feel her breath as she whispered, “Easy now, Yancy. Let’s do it again. I’m not going away. You don’t have to hold on so tight. I’m right here in front of you, wanting very much to kiss you. Do you think we can try again?”

He moved his hands gently up her body and held her as tenderly as he knew how as she kissed him a second time.

This woman with all her secrets and closed doors kissed him with an openness unlike anyone had ever kissed him. She wasn’t just going through the motions, waiting for what happened next, but there was tenderness, caring, as if she’d held all her passion in check for so long that she had to explode.

This time he was the one who couldn’t breathe.