Читать книгу The Complete Christmas Collection - Джанис Мейнард, Rebecca Winters - Страница 32

For Rory, sleep rarely came easily. When it did, it was usually fitful, an often futile exercise where the loneliness she could sometimes mask with activity during the day reared its ugly head at night to haunt her. But she must have been asleep. Something had just wakened her, a distant, cracking sound followed by an odd, heavy silence.

With Tyler’s back tucked against her, she blinked into the dark. Realizing that it shouldn’t be that dark since his night-light should have been on, she reached for her robe at the foot of the twin bed.

She had no idea what time it had been when she’d heard Erik come up the stairs and close the door at the end of the hall. She’d lain there listening to the sound of water in the bathroom pipes and the heavy creak of floorboards as he’d moved around her room. When silence seemed to indicate that he’d gone to bed, she’d attempted to block further thought in that direction by listening to her son’s deep, even breathing and the wind gusting like muffled cannon blasts against his bedroom wall beside her.

The ice pelting the window had no longer sounded as sharp, as if the buildup had muffled it. The only thing that had allowed her to not feel as anxious as she might have about the fury outside had been thinking about the man down the hall being so near.

Now she heard nothing at all.

There was no clock in Tyler’s room. Quietly, so as not to wake her sleeping child, she pulled on her robe and found her way to the door.

The moment she opened it, she realized the electricity had gone out. The night-light in Tyler’s bathroom across the hall wasn’t on. Neither was the one in the outlet down by her room. The hall was as black as pitch.

She kept a flashlight in her nightstand, another in a drawer in the kitchen. Without questioning why she didn’t head for her room, she edged toward the stairs, her hand sliding along the wall to guide her to the handrail.

“Rory?”

Her hand flattened over the jolt behind her breastbone. “Erik,” she whispered, turning toward his hushed voice. “Where are you?”

“By your bedroom door. Where are you?”

“By the stairs,” she whispered. “What was that noise?”

“It sounded like a tree went down. My guess is that it took out a power line.” Across twenty feet of dark came the soft, metallic rasp of a zipper. “Do you have a flashlight up here?”

It seemed he’d just zipped up his jeans. Thinking he could well be standing there shirtless, she murmured, “The nightstand on the left. In the drawer.”

She heard him move inside, and his mild oath when he bumped into something, the end of the bed, probably. Moments later, shadows bounced around the room and a flash of bright light arched low into the hall. Following that blue-white beam, he walked up to her, his undershirt and sweater in his free hand, and handed her the light.

She kept the beam angled down, the pool of it at his feet. Still, there was more than enough illumination to define every superbly sculpted muscle of his chest.

Deliberately, she moved her glance to the heavy sports watch on his wrist. “Do you know what time it is?” she asked.

“Almost seven.”

It would be getting light in less than an hour.

He dropped the sweater. In two quick motions he shoved his beautifully muscled arms into his long-sleeved undershirt.

“When you did the walk-through with the building inspector, did he say anything about the generator? It should only have taken seconds for it to take over.”

The generator? “He said it was set to come on for a few minutes once a week,” she told him, scrambling to remember as she watched him pull his shirt over his head. “To make sure it’ll be available when I really need it,” she added.

Erik’s dark head popped out, rearranging his already sleep-mussed hair. His jaw was shadowed, hard and angular in the dim light. “Has it been working?”

“I don’t know.” The gray metal generator on the slab at the back of the building hadn’t been on her priority list. It hadn’t been on her list at all. Until now. “I think he said it’s set for either Tuesday or Wednesday mornings. We haven’t been here then.”

He swiped the sweater from where it had landed near her beam-lit, glittery-red toenails. Rising, his glance skimmed the length of her pale robe, only to jerk away before he met her eyes.

She’d barely realized he looked nearly as tense as he had when she’d left him last night before he dragged the sweater over his head and tugged it down. “I’ll check the transfer switch. Then I’ll get a fire going.

“I just need this.” He took the flashlight from her. “Give me a minute and you’ll have enough light to do whatever you need to do up here. The hall light won’t work, but the bathroom lights will. Did he explain how the standby works?”

A transfer switch sounded familiar. The guy who’d inspected the building a couple of weeks ago had pointed it out. It was in one of the electrical panel boxes in the basement.

“I think so. I don’t remember everything he told me,” she admitted. “We looked at a lot around here that day.” There’d also been Tyler to calm. He hadn’t liked the huge, shadowy space. “There was a lot to take in.”

Something shifted in Erik’s expression. She knew he’d been aware of how overwhelmed she’d been by Cornelia’s intervention, and by how suddenly she’d found herself in a place she’d known nothing about at all. It stood to reason there were a few things she might have missed, or had forgotten. As it was, she could have managed on her own to start a fire to keep Tyler warm. She just had no idea what to do about the generator—which meant, right now, she couldn’t fix this particular problem without him.

She didn’t doubt that he knew that, too, as he followed the beam of light down the stairs, pulled on the heavy boots he’d left at the bottom and disappeared into the dark.

Feeling at a distinct disadvantage where he was concerned, and hating it, she turned in the dark herself, working her way first to Tyler’s bathroom, then back to his room. She’d just started to put on the clothes she’d left on his play table last night when she heard his bedclothes rustle.

“Mom? I’m a-scared.”

“It’s okay, honey. I’m right here. The power went out,” she explained, her voice soft, “but it’ll be back on in a minute.” Leaving her robe on, she found her way to him, hugged his warm little body to hers. “You don’t need to be afraid.” Forcing a smile into her voice, she murmured, “You know what?”

His response was the negative shake of his head against her neck.

“I have a big surprise for you.”

“Is the tree all done?”

“It is. But that’s not the surprise.”

She felt him pull back. “Is he here?”

He. Erik.

The man’s presence was not at all the news she’d hoped would get his morning off to a better start.

“He’s downstairs,” she told him, and felt certain he’d have scooted off the bed that very moment had he been able to see where he was going.

She’d thought to tell him her surprise was the big adventure the day might be, since making an adventure of uncertainties, for the most part, had taken his mind off his fears and insecurities before. Since Erik had unknowingly just accomplished that for her, she told him they’d just wait right where they were while his idol turned the lights back on.

Instead of electric lights, however, it was the beam of the flashlight that illuminated the hall outside the open door.

The beam swung inward, causing Tyler to bury his head in her chest at the momentary brightness and her to block the sudden flash with her hand.

“Sorry,” Erik muttered. He aimed the beam at the rumpled bedding on the trundle. “It’s not the switch. I’ll have to wait until it’s light out to see what the problem is.”

The circle of light bouncing off the cerulean sheets filled the room with shades of pale blue. Along the far wall, he watched Rory cuddling her son on the higher bed, her hair tousled, her hand slowly soothing the child’s flannel-covered back as Tyler turned to smile at him.

It hit him then, as they sat huddled in the semi-dark, that all they really had was each other. He’d realized that on some level last night when he’d prodded her about where they’d spend Christmas. But seeing them now, realizing how much she’d lost and how vulnerable she could easily feel being that alone here, drove that reality home.

The troubling protectiveness he felt for her slid back into place. That same protectiveness had been there last night, protecting her from him.

He’d had no business touching her last night. All he’d wanted when he’d met them at the tree lot yesterday was to make sure she could give her little boy the Christmas she wanted for him.

All he’d wanted last night was her.

There hadn’t been a trace of defense in her pretty face when he’d touched her. Nothing that even remotely suggested she would have stopped him if he’d pulled her to him. He’d known when he’d left there a few days ago that distance was his best defense against complications with her. Especially since the not-so-subtle needs she aroused in him simply by her presence had a definite tendency to sabotage objectivity where she was concerned.

Having sabotaged the distance angle himself simply by showing up, it seemed like some perverted form of justice that distance was going to be deprived him for a while.

“Do you have another flashlight up here?” Objectivity now appeared to be his only defense. And objectively, she truly needed far more help from him than a little tutoring with the store. “Something stronger than this?”

“The only other I have is just like that one. It’s in the kitchen in the phone desk drawer.”

“You need something brighter. I’ll get one of the camp lamps from the store and bring it back for you to use up here.”

She didn’t know she had camp lamps. But then, she hadn’t finished her inventory, either.

“We’ll wait,” she told him, then watched him leave them, literally, in the dark.

There was something he wasn’t telling her. She would have bet her silk long underwear on that, had she not needed to wear it under her favorite gray fleece sweats to keep warm.

She couldn’t believe how quickly the house had cooled. She turned the thermostat down every night, but without the furnace running at all, the temperature inside had dropped ten degrees within the hour.

She’d compensated by bundling Tyler in long johns, fleece pants, heavy socks, slippers, an undershirt, thermal shirt and sweatshirt and parking him under a blanket in front of the blaze Erik had built in the fireplace.

The only layer Erik had added was his jacket when he’d gone out a few minutes ago. He’d already left it in the mudroom when the thud of his heavy-treaded work boots announced his return.

“This is the last of the wood you brought in yesterday. I’ll get more from the shed in a while.”

The drapes were still closed, but the edges of the room were no longer dark. The fire had grown to throw flickering light into the room. The camp light that now occupied the dining table illuminated from that direction much like a table lamp.

Tyler smiled up at him.

“Can we turn on the tree?” he wanted to know.

He hadn’t been talking to her. “We don’t have electricity yet,” she reminded him anyway. “Why don’t you read Frosty?” With the suggestion, she handed him his new favorite picture book. “And I’ll get you something to eat.”

Concern suddenly swept his little face. Dropping the book, he shoved off the blanket and headed for the wall of drape-covered windows.

“Is there a problem with the furnace, too?” she asked Erik, wondering what her little boy was up to. Wondering, too, if a problem with the furnace was what the larger male wasn’t sharing. “It’s oil. Not electric. Shouldn’t it be working?”

Tyler pulled back the living room drapes. Dawn lightened the window, but the coating of frost and ice on the glass made it impossible to make out anything beyond it.

The logs landed with quiet thuds at the far end of the hearth. “The furnace is oil, but the fan and pump are electric. You need power to pump the oil and push out the hot air.”

Great, she thought. “Oh,” she said.

Tyler let go of the drape. The heavy fabric still swung slightly as he ran to the dining room window next to it and pulled back the drape there.

“How come I can’t see it?” he asked.

“See what, honey?”

“The snowman. He has lights.”

“Hey, Tyler. I heard your mom say she’d get your breakfast. How about we get that out of the way before we tackle anything else?”

At the obvious change of subject, Rory’s glance darted to Erik. It was met with the quick shake of his head and the pinch of his brow.

He moved to her side, his voice low. “I don’t think you’ll want him to see it yet. Give me time to fix it first. I haven’t been all the way around the building, but some of those gusts last night were pretty strong. You might want to take a look from the store porch.

“So,” he continued, brushing off his hands as he walked over to the child smiling up at him. “Why don’t you show me what kind of cereal we’re having?”

Totally distracted by his friend’s attention, Tyler dutifully led the way to the pantry while Rory grabbed a flashlight and headed for the door into the store. On the way, she could hear Erik asking questions about flakes versus puffs and Tyler answering like an expert before she closed the inner door and hurried by flashlight beam to the outer one.

She’d barely opened the store’s front door and screen and crossed her arms against the freezing air when she froze herself.

The world outside had been transformed into a wonderland as disheartening as it was beautiful. In the pale twilight, the stubbles of her lawn appeared to be a blanket of clear marbles. Across the ice-glazed street, every bough on every tall pine, every branch of every winter-bare tree, every leaf on every bush had been encased in a robe of ice.

In between, the ice-coated electric line sagged heavily from pole to pole—except for where it dangled loose a few feet from the tangle of branches of an oak tree now uprooted from her yard and lying across the road, blocking it completely.

Near the entrance to her driveway, half of the maple tree that would shade it in summer lay squarely in it.

Clouds filtered the cold sunrise, but the sky to the east was lightening enough to add hints of color to the gray when she carefully edged her way over the icy boards to the end of the porch and looked toward the meadow. It was there that she saw the snowman that now rested in parts not far from the still upright and remarkably unbroken apple tree. The white chicken-wire, light-encrusted balls had separated when they’d blown over and were now frozen in place with boughs that had flown in from the grove of pines beyond.

Erik had suspected that seeing the dismembered decoration would have upset her little boy. He was right. And though what she saw distressed her, too—especially when she thought of what had to be an identical mess of toppled debris on the other side of the building—she wouldn’t let herself think about how she was going to clean it all up right now. Mother Nature froze it, and she’d thaw it, too. She’d worry then about taking care of the scattered and broken boughs, branches and trees. Right now she couldn’t let herself think about anything beyond going back inside, making sure the guys were fed and figuring out how to make coffee without any power.

The rest of it was just too daunting.

“Thank you,” she said softly on her way past Erik the moment she walked back in.

He stood at the island, Tyler a few feet away at the silverware drawer. “No problem.” He searched her face quickly, looking to see how she was taking what she had seen.

Not sure what to make of the deceptive calm she diligently maintained around her child, he turned with two boxes in his hands. “Cereal?”

“Sure.” Doing her best to ignore the knot of anxiety in her stomach, she reached for bowls and bananas. “What kind are you having, Ty?”

“Both,” her son announced.

“We’re mixing ’em,” Erik explained.

The camp light now stood on the kitchen counter. In that relative brightness, Tyler’s eyes fairly danced.

The dark slash of Erik’s eyebrow arched. “Is that a problem?”

For a moment she thought the suggestion must have been Erik’s, until she considered that Tyler could have come up with the idea and Erik had decided to let him think the notion a good one. Looking between the two of them, she decided it could go either way. And either way, as protective as Erik had been of her son’s feelings moments ago, and sensing that what that mountain of muscle really needed was to be outside and moving, she couldn’t think of a thing to say but, “Of course not.”

Being deprived of his usual five-mile morning run did nothing to help Erik escape the restiveness nagging like a toothache as he headed into the early morning light. The bracing air felt good, though. He didn’t even mind that the ground felt like a skating rink beneath his boots. His balance on it was as sure as on a yawing sailboat—managing that shift and roll was second nature to him.

Where he was out of his element was figuring out how to stay objective about the woman inside when he’d been kept awake half the night by her scent on her sheets and thoughts of her tantalizing little body playing havoc with his own.

When he had first agreed to help her, he hadn’t considered how much her education would require beyond a business plan and inventory. But the scope of his responsibility had finally hit him. It had taken both of his grandparents to maintain their store and their home. For her to make it here, she’d need to be as self-reliant as they had been.

What he also hadn’t considered until a while ago was how much more difficult her tasks might be because part of her focus would almost always be on her child.

Ten minutes and another trip to the basement later, she had power—which was one less thing he needed to be concerned about before he headed back upstairs to see her by the light switch in the dining room.

“You fixed it.” Relief lit her guarded smile as she pushed the toggle. “I heard the refrigerator come on. And the furnace.”

From where he’d stopped in the entryway, he watched her glance up at the still dark fixture above the long table.

“That light is off circuit right now,” he told her. “The only overhead light you have up here is in the kitchen. Besides the bathroom lights upstairs, you have one live outlet in each bedroom. All the appliances up here have power. So does the water heater in the basement, but the washer and dryer don’t.”

The minor inconveniences barely fazed her. “What was wrong with the generator?”

“The fuel line valve from the propane tank had been left in the off position. It could have been turned when the servicing company filled it, or by the inspector when he checked it out. Either way,” he said, conscious of her concentration, “it would be a good idea for you to check it the next time it’s filled. I’ll show you later how to thaw the valve in case it ever freezes in place again. Right now there are a few things I want to show you in the basement.”

“I wanna go to the basement,” Tyler announced.

Rory looked to where he had just jumped to his feet. “I thought you didn’t like the basement.”

With a small shrug, he walked up to Erik.

“It’s okay,” was all Tyler said, but it was infinitely more obvious than Erik’s faint smile that it was only okay because of the big guy.

With more immediate concerns to deal with, she knew she couldn’t afford to worry about that growing attachment now. His new hero had the vaguely impatient look of a man on a mission as he led them down the steep stairs and across the concrete floor.

Because Tyler wanted to see what he was talking about, he scooped him up, catching his small hand to keep him from touching anything, and proceeded to describe how the transfer of the power between the generator and the grid took place and how this system had a double-pole, double-throw transfer switch gear as a safety feature because it was the best way to prevent shock or electrocution.

Her son looked fascinated by what the big man holding him so easily was saying about currents, shutoffs and sensors. And while she grasped the basics of what she needed to know, much of the detail escaped her just then. She had no problem, however, recognizing when something could be dangerous. As the day wore on, she even found herself wondering if there was any double sort of safety feature a woman could use to protect herself from the effects of a man who had the disturbing ability to draw her to him even as he pushed her away.

“I just want to know how to use a regular saw. Okay? The one you used to trim the trunk on the Christmas tree would work fine.”

“It would work on the smaller branches,” Erik agreed, the icy breeze carrying away the fog of his breath, “but not for those you need to cut to get something this size moved. If you’re serious about this, a chain saw is faster and a lot less work.”

Concern clearly battled her determination.

“If I’m using that, I won’t be able to hear Tyler if he needs me. And I can’t have him right with me, because I don’t want him anywhere near that thing.”

“I’ll show you how to use the handsaw.” He didn’t hesitate to offer the assurance, aware himself of the child on the porch, breaking ice off the fir boughs she’d collected for a wreath. “But you should know how to use this, too. We’ll be where you can keep an eye on him.”

He watched Rory look from the wicked-looking chain saw blade to the long tangle of ice-coated limbs that had split away from the maple on the far side of the drive. A slash of exposed, raw wood on the heavy trunk mirrored the ragged tear on the thick branch where it had fallen from the tree’s side.

He’d already cut up the branch that had fallen atop it with the now-silent saw he’d borrowed from her neighbor. He’d heard the saw’s droning buzz when he’d come outside a couple of hours ago to fix Frosty and put a little physical distance between himself and his charge. Being near her in the confines of the house had left him too edgy, too restless. Outdoors, he at least had the buffer of space.

His glance slid from her burgundy fleece headband and jacket to the hem of her jeans. Since she’d kept herself occupied away from him for the better part of the morning, he suspected she’d been after a little distance, too.

Apparently having reassessed her options, and with her immediate concern addressed, she anchored the toe of her black boot in the loop of the saw’s handle. “So,” she gamely began, “I start it by putting my foot here?” she asked. “And pulling on this?”

Catching her arm as she reached for the starter pull, he turned her in the churned-up gravel to face him. “You start by putting on these.”

He tugged off his heavy leather gloves, then slipped the clear safety goggles Ed Shumway also loaned him from around his neck.

Teaching her how to use a saw hadn’t been on the agenda he’d outlined for himself that morning, but she’d wanted to know how to use one to clear the property after it thawed. Since he didn’t much care for the thought of her outside sawing and hauling limbs by herself, he’d already planned to have the mess cleared for her. This wasn’t the only storm she’d likely ever encounter, though. And he wouldn’t be around once she was on her financial feet. If she was going to be self-sufficient, it was his job to give her the tools she’d need to make that happen.

Reaching toward her, he looped the goggles’ wide elastic strap around the back of her head. Not giving her time to take off her gloves to adjust the bright orange band, he did it himself and settled the clear skilike goggles in place.

“Keep in mind that the barter system still works for a few things around here, too,” he informed her, tucking back a strand of the dark hair he’d dislodged from the fleece covering her ears. “Someone should be willing to take care of all these trees for you in exchange for a load or two they can sell or use for firewood.”

Far too conscious of the softness of her skin, the silk of her hair, he deliberately dropped his hand.

Pulling his gloves from where he’d tucked them under his arm, he jerked them back on and nodded to the saw. “Now you can start it.”

Rory braced herself. Not so much for what she was about to do, but because everything about this man had her feeling so off balance.

He’d given her his jacket a while ago. He stood there now in his heavy charcoal pullover and jeans, seeming totally unfazed by the cold and the almost familiar ease with which he’d touched her.

“Hold the blade straighter,” he called over the din of the idling motor. With his broad chest pressed to her back, he reached his arms around her, placed his gloved hands over hers and adjusted her angle.

“Ready?” he asked, his breath warm through the soft knit covering her ear.

Conscious of his body enclosing hers, she gave a tense little nod.

She wasn’t sure which disconcerted her more, the thirteen pounds of suddenly screaming machine, or the man surrounding her, making sure she didn’t hurt herself with it. With the blade engaged, metal teeth spinning, the chain bit ice. A quick spray of what looked like snow and wood chips flew.

“Keep your grip steady.” He spoke near her cheek now, his body still at her back as he eased his hands to her shoulders. “You need to keep it from bucking back if you hit a knot. Keep it under control.”

Control, she thought. She hadn’t felt “in control” in ages.

“Like this?” she called, handles in a death grip, her eyes glued to the blade sinking into the wood.

“Just like that,” he called back and, just like that, the weight of the free end of the limb cracked it downward and the blade went through.

A second of disbelief was replaced with a grin as she swung toward him.

“Don’t!” His hand shot forward, the side of his face bumping the corner of her goggles an instant before his hand caught hers to hold the saw in place. Bent against her, he’d turned his head to hers, his lips inches from the startled part of her own.

“The brake,” he said. With a small movement of his hand, the throttle dropped back to idle. “You need to set it as soon as you finish your cut. It’s safer that way.”

She realized now why he’d stayed behind her. Had she swung around, she could have caught him with the blade in his thigh.

Taking the idling machine from her, he shut off the motor, set the saw on the ground.

In the sudden silence, she could hear her heart hammering in her ears. Shaken from the start he’d given her, horrified by what she could have done to him, she dropped her glance to the short placket on his pullover as he rose and turned to her.

“Erik, I’m so sorry.”

His forehead furrowed as he pulled her hand from her mouth and lifted the orange band at her temples. Removing the goggles, he looped them over the fabric covering his forearm.

“Hey. It’s okay.” Hating how he’d killed her quick smile, he touched his gloved finger to her high cheekbone. It was there that the goggles would have bumped. “We hadn’t gotten to that part.” Another second and they would have, he thought, searching her pale features. He just hadn’t expected her to get excited about felling a limb. “Next time you’ll remember.”

He couldn’t feel the smoothness of her skin through the thick suede. He could imagine it, though. Just as he could too easily imagine so many other things he knew he shouldn’t be thinking about her.

Detachment wasn’t an option at the moment. Not with her looking so frightened by what she could have done. “Right?”

Beneath his hand, he felt her faint nod. What he noticed most, though, was how her head turned toward his hand, as if somewhere in her subconscious she craved that unfettered contact, too.

She’d done the same thing last night, right about the time he’d been thinking about reacquainting himself with the feel of her mouth. Heaven knew how tempted he’d been to do just that. But he acknowledged now what he hadn’t then. It hadn’t just been complications with her he wanted to avoid. He hadn’t wanted her thinking of anyone but him when he kissed her. And last night had been far more about easing the doubts that had haunted her for so long than whatever it was that kept him from caring about how easy she was to touch.

Rory watched his glance shift over her face. She had no idea what he was thinking, what it was vying with the concern so evident there, but from the way his eyes narrowed on her cheek, he seemed to be looking for a bruise.

“It didn’t hurt,” she told him, praying she hadn’t caused him one as she unconsciously lifted her hand to his temple.

“I don’t see a mark,” he murmured. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t have a bruise later. You should get some ice on it.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “There’s plenty of it.”

She felt far too concerned to smile back. “I don’t see one on you, either,” she told him, tipping her head to get a better look. “Not yet, anyway.”

Erik’s smile faded. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had touched him simply to make sure he was okay. There was caring in that touch, a hint of worry, a little gentleness. As complex as it seemed, it was really such a simple thing. Something basic. Yet her unveiled concern pulled hard at something deep inside him. Something he hadn’t been sure still existed, and which would have felt decidedly threatening had he had time to consider what it was.

“Mom? Come help me?”

At her son’s request, Rory’s hand fell. Only now aware of how she’d reached to be sure Erik was all right, and of how they must look standing there checking each other out, her glance darted to where Tyler stood by a stack of pine on the porch.

He wanted help with the wreath.

Taking a step back, she called that she’d be right there.

Erik met her lingering disquiet.

“Stop worrying. You’re quick. You’ll get the hang of this,” he insisted. “We’ll give it another try later. In the meantime, you did fine. Really.”

“Except for the part where I nearly disabled you,” she muttered, half under her breath.

“I had you covered, Rory. You were a long way from anything like that.”

A split second was hardly a long way. She’d have pointed that out had his assessment of her capabilities not just registered. It was like last night, she thought, when he’d talked her through the doubts and turmoil of the past year. It seemed he didn’t want her doubting her abilities, or herself, about anything.

He clearly expected her to challenge his last claim. The quick part, probably. She couldn’t. Last night he had called her beautiful, smart and stubborn. The stubbornness she would concede. That he thought her beautiful and smart still left her a little stunned. But what mattered to her most was that for him to feel so certain about her meant he might actually believe in her himself.

Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how badly she wanted that sort of faith—that trust—from him.

“I’m going to go help Tyler now.”

His eyes narrowed on hers. “You’re good, then?”

He wanted to know if she believed what he’d said.

I had you covered, Rory.

“I’m good,” she said, and with him already turning to his task, she headed for the porch to rescue the boughs and her rosy-cheeked child.

He had her back. He wasn’t going to let anything bad happen as long as he was there.

He couldn’t begin to know how much that assurance mattered to her.