Kitabı oku: «The Complete Christmas Collection», sayfa 13
“I’m sorry about your wife.”
“Ex.”
“Ex-wife,” she corrected. She spoke quietly, feeling bad for having pushed, worse for what she’d discovered. He’d once had plans to build his life in the fiercely beautiful surroundings where he’d grown up, but circumstances had forced him to move away, and move on. Just as circumstances had forced her in an entirely different direction than she would have chosen, and led her to the very place she strongly suspected he truly no longer wanted to be.
“Marriage can be complicated,” she said, beginning to appreciate the roots of his restiveness. “That must be why it’s never easy no matter how it ends.”
The furnace kicked on with the rattle of the floor vent behind the counter. His head down, his hand on the printout, Erik slowly ruffled a corner of the pages with his thumb.
He’d heard understanding in her voice, suspected he’d see it in her fragile features were he to look up. She seemed to think they shared the same kind of pain.
He didn’t want that kind of sympathy. He didn’t want to poke around at what he’d finally grown so far beyond, or into what was undoubtedly fresher and more painful territory for her. And he definitely didn’t want to be as curious as he couldn’t seem to help being about her, or the man she’d married. She’d once spoken of her child’s loss. There’d been no doubt in his mind at the time that she hurt for her son. He just hadn’t considered how the boy’s pain could easily compound the depth of the loss she felt herself.
Mostly, though, he didn’t want her getting so close, or to get close to her. Emotionally, anyway. Physically would be just fine. Heaven knew he was aware of her in ways he had no business considering. But she didn’t seem anything like many of the women he knew, those looking for a good time, no commitments involved. Not that he’d been intimate with anyone in longer than he cared to remember. He didn’t want any commitments, either. Still, he’d grown tired of the games, the shallow conversations and walking away feeling little more than...empty.
He gave the top folder a nudge. “I’m sorry about yours, too,” he admitted, because he didn’t need to know the details to feel bad for her. “And you can have a good business here,” he assured, because it was his job to help her make that happen. “We just need to get to work so we can make sure of it.
“This is my grandfather’s business plan,” he said, opening the folder. “Since you’re new to all this, it’ll be your bible. We can tweak it as we go, but to get you up and running, it’ll be simpler not to deviate from it too much at first. This—” he pulled the top printout forward “—is a stock list of the groceries they kept on hand, divided by type and vendor. Dairy, produce, snacks, staples, that sort of thing.
“This printout,” he said, indicating the tallest stack of paper, “is your sporting goods department. There are certain vendors you’ll need to order from weeks or months in advance. Others can ship in twenty-four hours. You’ll want to get their new catalogs. Gramps said they’re all online, but some will mail hard copies. You’ll need to establish accounts in your name with all of them.”
He handed her a CD. “It’s all on here for ordering and bookkeeping purposes. Look through it, list your questions and we’ll go over them later. I want to get you started on the physical inventory. You need to know what you have on hand, so it’s as good a way as any to get your feet wet.”
The change of subject was as subtle to Rory as the slam of a door. He would share anything that would help her make a success of the business. But his personal life was now off-limits. Despite how deftly he’d closed off his past, however, he’d revealed wounds that might well have taken years to heal. Family mattered to him. His dreams had mattered. Once.
She’d give anything to know how he’d survived knowing that the woman he’d married had no longer loved him. For her, even harder than Curt’s death was the knowledge that he might not have ever loved her at all.
The deep tones of Erik’s voice somehow overrode the sick sensation that inevitably came with the thought. Or maybe it was simply his no-nonsense presence that managed to keep that awful feeling at bay.
“We can start with things you can probably identify even if you’ve never used them. Camp stoves, lanterns, backpacking gear,” he said. “Or go with something that might be more of a challenge. Your choice.”
He was there to teach her what she needed to know to reopen the store, not about how to live with questions that could now never be answered. From his deliberate allusion to her lack of knowledge about certain outdoor activities, she had the feeling, too, that he intended his baiting to pull her out of her thoughts. If not for her sake, definitely for his own.
Since he had far more experience with both the store and self-survival, the least she could do was follow his lead.
“More of a challenge.”
He said he wasn’t surprised.
First, though, she brought them each a cup of coffee, his black, hers with milk, which they took with a section of the printouts and a notepad to the back of the store. It was there that he told her he needed to leave by two o’clock, which, thankfully, was a few minutes before she needed to leave to catch the ferry to pick up Tyler. So for the next hour, she learned to identify lures, hooks, rods, reels, creels, the difference between a bobber and a sinker and the different weights of leader—which would be important to know, he told her, if a customer came in asking for twenty-pound test. At least now she’d know they were asking for fishing line.
“If someone wants fish, wouldn’t it be a whole lot more convenient to buy it from a grocery store?”
Towering beside her, he remained focused on a column of item numbers. “Might be convenient, but it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.”
“I take it you’ve never been to Pike Place Fish Market.” She focused on a page of her own. “You pick out the fish you want and the guys behind the cases toss it down the line to the scale. You get it wrapped, packed, you don’t have to gut it and the show is free. That’s fun enough for me.”
With that even-eyed way he had of looking at her, he slanted her a tolerant glance. “You’re missing the point.”
“The point being?”
“Being in the great outdoors. The thrill of landing a thirty-pound salmon, or pulling an eight-pound rainbow trout from a freshwater stream.”
“The guilt of taking Nemo from his mother,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Never mind. I doubt that you know him.”
“Please tell me that’s not the approach you’re going to take with your customers,” he muttered back, just before his glance dropped to her mouth—which had the odd effect of shutting her up and getting her back to verifying counts.
They didn’t have time to move on to the modest sections of hiking, camping or boating equipment before she noticed the time. Since she had to drive right past the marina at the end of the street, and he’d tied his floatplane there, she asked if she could give him a ride and save him the two-block walk in the misty rain.
Conscious of the time himself, he told her that would be great. She could go over the rest of the inventory on her own and call him with any questions. They’d meet again next week after she’d gone over the business plan. He also asked if he could take the drawing of her new floor plan with him.
Thinking he intended to give the layout she wanted some thought, she handed it over, along with a travel mug of coffee since he seemed to like hers. Minutes later, he’d just tossed his briefcase into the back of her fuel-efficient little car and folded his big frame into the passenger seat when her cell phone chimed.
One glance at the caller ID had her bracing herself an instant before she dropped the phone back into her bag, started the engine and backed up. The phone continued to chime as she pulled onto the wet two-lane road and headed down the rise.
Erik’s glance cut from her purse to her profile.
“I’ll call her back,” she said. “It’s Audrey. My mother-in-law. She’s calling about plans for Christmas.” The woman was actually returning Rory’s call, something it had taken her three days to do. The conversation would be short, but it wasn’t one she wanted to have with Erik in the car.
“She was my mother-in-law,” she corrected. Technically, Rory was no longer related to the Linfields. Audrey had apparently pointed that out to Lillian Brinkley, the wife of the country club president, who had ever so thoughtfully shared it in the ladies’ room with two other members of the socially connected among the mourners at Curt’s funeral. Rory had been seeking a few minutes of quiet while closed in a stall at the time.
According to Audrey, via Lillian, Rory’s vows with her son had been “until death do them part.” They’d parted, however sadly. End of legal relationship.
As strained as her relationship with Curt’s parents had always been beneath the polite manners and civility, Rory hadn’t doubted the remarks at all.
“She’s really only Tyler’s grandmother now.” That was the only part that mattered, anyway.
The wipers swiped at the heavy mist on the windshield. Through the veil of gray, the little marina came into clearer view. Erik barely noticed. For a couple of hours he’d caught glimpses of a woman whose guard with him had begun to ease, a smart, savvy woman who possessed no small amount of determination, ingenuity and a remarkable willingness to step beyond her comfort zone.
What he saw now was a woman doing her level best to mask disquiet. He’d seen her do it before, for her son’s sake. Her attempts seemed to work fine on her five-year-old, but Erik recognized strain when he saw it. With her eyes on the road, he watched her take a deep breath, slowly ease it out.
Whatever was going on with Tyler’s grandmother had her hands going tight on the wheel.
The heater whirred in its struggle to produce warmth, gravel crunching beneath the tires as she pulled to a stop by the wooden stairs that led to the long floating dock. In the choppy, chill water of the sound, his white Cessna Amphibian floated and yawed where he’d secured it at the end of the pier, well away from the few sport boats moored there this time of year.
He almost always felt better flying from this place than toward it.
“Thank you for your help today,” she murmured, her hands now tucked at her waist, her shoulders hunched against the still-cold air. “I’ll come up to speed on everything as fast as I can. I promise.”
The bravado behind her smile pulled at protective instincts he’d rather ignore. He knew she wanted to belong there, in a place she’d known absolutely nothing about until last week. He knew she wanted to make a good home for her son. He suspected, too, that she could use a little reassurance on both counts.
After all, she was pretty much on her own here.
“I’ll pass that on to our benefactor,” he promised back, wanting to keep his purpose there in perspective. “And for what it’s worth, Rory, you and your son really should do well here.” He hesitated, perspective faltering. “I’d always thought it was a good place to raise a child.”
He reached for the door, cold salt air blasting in as he opened it. “I’ll call you next week. In the meantime, call me if you have questions.” He climbed out, then ducked his head back in to retrieve his case from the backseat. “Thanks for the ride.”
Rory had barely opened her mouth to tell him he was welcome before the door closed. In the space of a heartbeat she’d swallowed the words and was staring at his broad, leather-covered shoulders as he headed for the weathered stairs.
He’d made it halfway down the dock, his long stride sure and certain despite the drift and roll beneath his feet, when she finally put the car into gear. Even with the surface beneath him shifting with the unpredictable current, the man seemed as steady as a rock.
I’d always thought it was a good place to raise a child.
The admission had cost him. She felt as certain of that as she did of her gratitude for his having shared it. He knew his opinion mattered to her. She’d told him so herself. But sharing that particular thought had also demanded a hasty retreat back to the world he now lived in, back to a world so different from what he’d once wanted.
What stung, though, wasn’t how anxious he’d been to retreat to the life he’d created for himself. It was the sharp, undeniable feeling that he had quite deliberately retreated from her.
Chapter Five
Rory returned the call to Curt’s mother within a minute of dropping off Erik at the dock. When Audrey didn’t answer, she left a message saying she was sorry she’d missed her and asking her to please call back as soon as it was convenient.
Despite two other attempts to reach her, it apparently hadn’t been “convenient” for four days.
The conversation they’d had still had Rory reeling three hours later. Thanks to the distraction a text from Erik provided, however, at that particular moment she didn’t have to struggle to mask the resentment, offense and indignation she wasn’t about to impose on her little boy, anyway.
“Is Erik at our new house now, Mom?”
Following the beam of her headlights through the steady rain, she murmured, “Probably, honey.”
“Can I help him again?”
“We’ll have to see. I’m not sure why he’s coming.”
The text she’d received from Erik that morning hadn’t given her a clue.
Am in mtgs. Need to know if you will be home around 6.
She’d texted back that she’d be there by 6:15 p.m.
His reply had been a wholly unenlightening See you then.
Since he’d indicated he’d be in meetings, she hadn’t called to see what he wanted. She hadn’t talked to him at all since he’d closed her out at the dock last week, even though he’d told her to call if she had any questions.
She had dozens. Between online catalogs and searches, she’d figured out the answers to most of them, though, and talked herself out of contacting him about the rest. Those she simply added to her list to ask at their next meeting. Partly because they weren’t urgent. Mostly because she suspected that what she really wanted was more of the relief she’d so briefly experienced when he’d assured her that she and Tyler would be all right. The sensation hadn’t lasted long enough to do much more than tease her with the hope of finding the security she hadn’t truly felt in forever, but she desperately needed to feel something positive about the more personal aspects of her life—and that wasn’t something she should be seeking from him at all.
There also existed the unnerving little fact that she’d just wanted to hear his voice—something she insisted she shouldn’t even be thinking about, considering that she was nothing more than an obligation to him.
That glaring bit of reality mingled with her turmoil over her in-laws as she turned onto the gravel drive just past the store. Through the silvery drizzle, her headlights illuminated a black, bull-nosed pickup truck loaded with something large covered in plastic.
She’d barely pulled into the garage and gathered her groceries from the backseat when Erik strode up and plucked the heavy sack from her arms.
“Anything else back there?” he asked.
Raindrops glistened in his dark hair, beaded on his leather jacket. His impersonal glance swept her face, his brow pinching at whatever it was he saw in her expression.
Not about to stand there trying to figure out what that something might be, she turned away. “Just one bag. I can get it.”
Ignoring her, he reached into the car as Tyler raced around the back bumper and came to a screeching stop.
One strap of his green dinosaur backpack hung over his shoulder. The other dangled behind him as he looked up with a shy “Hi.”
Erik straightened, looking down at the child looking up at him. “Hi yourself, sport.”
Anticipation fairly danced in her little boy’s hazel eyes.
As if unable to help himself, Erik smiled back and held out the bag of apples he’d snagged off the seat. “Do you want to take this?”
At Tyler’s vigorous nod, he waited for the child to wrap his arms around the bag, then nudged him toward the warmth of the house. With Tyler doing double time to match Erik’s long strides, Rory punched the remote to close the garage door and hurried to catch up, clutching her shoulder bag and keys.
She couldn’t believe how pleased Tyler looked to see him.
“Were you on the ferry?” she asked, torn between her son’s growing fascination with the man and trying to imagine why he was there.
“I took the long way around. I had a meeting in Tacoma,” he told her, speaking of a town at the south end of the sound, “so I drove. Jake was on it, though. He should be right behind you.”
“Jake?”
“One of our craftsmen.” Rain glittered through the pool of pale yellow light that arced from the neat back porch. Even in that spare illumination, Erik could see strain in the delicate lines of her face, could hear it in her voice. “I’ll explain when we get inside.”
He watched her hurry ahead of him. Her head down, she unlocked the door and ushered Tyler inside, reminding him to wipe his feet on the way.
The mudroom, with its pegs for coats, cabinets for storage and the double sink his grandmother had used for repotting plants, opened into the kitchen. The warmer air held the same welcome it always had, but no longer did it smell of the pine disinfectant his grandmother had used with abandon when mopping the floors. Now lingering hints of lemon soap gave way to scents of cinnamon and orange as Rory distractedly flipped on lights and told him to set the bags anywhere.
The island of the neatly organized kitchen seemed as good a place as any. As he set the bags on the laminate surface, his glance cut to where she’d left on a lamp at the far end of the long, open space.
She’d just moved in last week, yet everything appeared to be in order. Furniture had been pushed, pulled or shoved into place. Drapes and pictures were hung. Not a box remained in sight.
Not a hint of what had once been familiar remained, either.
The walls had been bare for over a year. Having walked through that empty space a dozen times, it no longer felt strange without the chaos of floral patterns and knickknacks his grandparents had acquired living there. But with that blank canvas redecorated, the sense he’d had the other day of no longer belonging there, of having lost a piece of himself, threatened to surface once more. He didn’t doubt that it would have, too, had the unexpected ease of what she’d created not distracted him from it.
The well-defined spaces now bore his student’s decidedly understated stamp. The heavy wood pieces he’d carried in were dark and substantial enough to make a man feel comfortable, but balanced by shades of ivory and taupe that felt amazingly...restful.
The rustic refectory table with its high-backed chairs held a large pewter bowl filled with glittered pinecones and cinnamon potpourri. Beyond it, the deeply cushioned sofa faced the stone fireplace at the end of the room. A long, narrow sofa table behind it held a trio of thick cream-colored candles. The two armchairs he’d brought in had been positioned to one side, a heavy end table stacked with books and a chrome lamp between them.
He turned to see that she’d left her raincoat in the mudroom. The apples and her shoulder bag had landed on the desk by the now child’s-art-covered refrigerator—mostly red-and-green construction paper bells. Sinking to her heels in front of her little boy, she worked his jacket’s zipper.
“You’ve been busy.”
Oblivious to what had his attention, conscious only of his presence, Rory understated considerably.
“A little,” she replied, thinking of the day she’d had and how desperately glad she was for it to be nearing its end. “I had a meeting with the probate attorney.” Now that the house had sold, she’d had more paperwork to sign. “And I had to go to the bank to close the safe-deposit box, then go straighten out my medical insurance.”
The good news was that she could pay the attorney’s fees and increased insurance costs from the proceeds of the sale of the house. The not so good part was that both cost more than she’d expected—which meant she’d have to forgo the new sign and new shelving she’d hoped to have for her store’s grand opening. And buy a considerably smaller Christmas tree than a version of the megadollar, floor-to-ceiling noble fir that had so mesmerized Tyler at his school. She’d already ruled out buying more outdoor lights to pay for the ferry rides.
Budget concerns, however, had taken a backseat to the varying degrees of anger and hurt she’d been busy stifling all afternoon. Thanks to Curt’s mother.
“After I picked Tyler up from school,” she continued, “we dropped off library books and went grocery shopping before we caught the ferry.”
“And saw Santa ringing a bell at the store,” supplied Tyler, still in Christmas mode. “Not the real Santa,” he explained. “Mommy said he was a helper.” He gave a sage little nod. “The real Santa has lots of helpers.”
“Be tough to do all he does alone,” she explained. Her little boy’s zipper now freed, she rose and headed for the bags. “I hope the milk stayed cold.”
Erik had never seen her in a suit and heels before. A crisp white blouse peeked from beneath the black jacket that curved at her waist and hugged the hips of her slim pencil skirt. Black tights covered the long, shapely line of her legs. As he glanced up from her spike-thin heels, he had to admit he hadn’t seen her truly upset before, either. Though she definitely was, and trying hard to hide it.
“I meant you’ve been busy around here.”
Apparently realizing the extent of her preoccupation, she met his eyes and promptly closed hers with a sigh.
“Can I have an apple?” Tyler asked.
She forced herself to brighten. “You’ll ruin your appetite, sweetie.” Taking his head between her hands, she kissed the top of it, hard, and tipped his face to hers. “Hang up your jacket and empty your backpack. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”
With Tyler dragging his jacket into the mudroom, she reached into the nearest bag to unload groceries. She’d just put the milk in the fridge and grabbed two boxes of cereal when she turned on her stylish heel.
The boxes landed on the counter three feet from where Erik watched her with his hands in the pockets of his cargos. The stance pulled the sides of his jacket back from the navy pullover covering his chest and made his shoulders look broad enough to bear the weight of the world.
It seemed terribly unfair just then to be taunted by the memory of how very solid his chest had felt. Especially when she so badly wanted to be held against it. But fair hadn’t been a big part of her day.
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head, the neat wedge of her hair swinging. “You didn’t drive all the way here to watch me put away groceries.” She tried for a smile. “May I get you something? Juice? Milk?” Neither sounded very adult. “Coffee?”
He took a step toward her. “I didn’t come to interrupt. I just want to drop off your shelving.”
“My shelving?”
“The three units for the back of the store. I had a couple of the guys work on them with me over the weekend. With Christmas coming, they were up for the overtime. One of the units is in the back of my truck. Jake is bringing the rest.”
Disbelief cut through the anxiety that sat like a knot beneath her breastbone. They’d barely discussed her layout to update the market. Though he’d said it would probably work, he hadn’t even bothered to tell her whether or not he liked the idea. All she’d done was show him her sketch, explain why she wanted it and all of a sudden the shelving she’d felt certain would now have to wait had materialized. He made it happen just like that, as if he was some sort of...fairy godfather.
The man fairly leaked masculinity. As utterly male as he was and so not fatherly in the way he’d checked out her legs, the thought would have made her laugh had she not felt like crying.
“You made my shelves?”
“You wanted them, didn’t you?”
She wanted world peace, too, but that didn’t mean she expected it to happen.
She raked her fingers through her hair, wondering if they were a gift, which she couldn’t accept without reimbursing him. Wondering, too, how much he’d paid his men, since it was undoubtedly more than she could afford.
“Yes. Absolutely. I’m just...” Speechless, she thought. “Thank you,” she concluded, because she had no idea what else to say before the ring of his cell phone had him pulling the instrument from his pocket.
After two short beeps and a glance at the text, he muttered, “Jake’s out front,” and dropped the phone back into his pocket. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Then you can tell me what’s wrong.”
Certain he was referring to her less than gracious reaction, she said, “Nothing is wrong. You just caught me off guard. I never expected you to make the shelves—”
“I meant what was wrong with you when I got here.”
Oh. That.
Thinking him far too astute, uncomfortable with that, too, she turned for the cereal. “It’s nothing.”
Moving with her, Erik stopped scant inches from her back. With Tyler just around the corner, he lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. “Lying is a bad example to set for a child.”
Conscious of his warm breath moving her hair, her head still down, she lowered her voice, too. “Then how about it’s nothing I can talk about in front of him?”
“That’s better.” Taking a step back, he indicated the door near the stairway. “I need to get into the store. Mind if I go in through the living room?”
Since he tended to do what he wanted to do anyway, she was a little surprised that he’d asked. Mostly, she was just conscious of how close his muscular body still was to hers. All she’d have to do was turn around...
She shook her head, swallowed hard. “Not at all.”
“Give me half an hour. I’ll be back.”
Twenty minutes was actually all the time it took him and his employee to unload the sections of the three shelving units from a company vehicle and the back of Erik’s truck. It wasn’t long enough, however, for Erik to question why he couldn’t leave well enough alone with the woman he’d spent the past few days trying not to think about at all. Not beyond her needs for the store, anyway. He’d told her to call him if she needed anything. Since she hadn’t, he’d assumed she was doing fine.
Except she clearly was not. Even when he let himself back inside, greeted by the scent of something delicious, there was no mistaking the disquiet she was still trying to hide.
Tyler smiled from where he sat on the dining room side of the island. Beyond him, light glowed through the glass-paned white cabinets, revealing neat stacks and rows of plates and glasses.
“Mom’s making mac and cheese. It’s my favorite. You want some?”
“Mom” had shed her jacket and heels. She stood across from them in her stocking feet, stirring a pot on the stove. The cuffs of her white blouse had been folded back. A green dish towel had been tied into an apron at the waist of her skirt. Erik knew she’d heard him come in, but it was her son’s innocent invitation that had her looking over her shoulder with apology in her expression.
“I told him you probably already had plans,” she said, sounding as if she fully expected his refusal and had already prepared her son for it. “But he wanted to ask anyway.”
Had this been any other woman, any other child, Erik knew without a doubt that he’d have done what she obviously expected and come up with some excuse for not being able to stick around for dinner. With just the three of them, the beat of the rain against the windows and the cozy warmth of the kitchen countering the cold outside, the scenario felt entirely too domestic for him.
He wanted to know what had upset her, though. If for no reason other than to be sure it wouldn’t impede her progress with the store. Or so he told himself. He also knew she wasn’t going to say a word about whatever it was as long as her son was present.
Then there was the little boy himself. With Tyler looking all hopeful, he simply didn’t have the heart to say no.
“Mac and cheese, huh?”
Again, the quick nod. “It’s really good.”
“Then I guess I’d better stay.” He looked to the woman at the stove, caught the strain countering the softness of her smile. “That okay, ‘Mom’?”
Her hesitation held uncertainty, and collided with something that looked suspiciously like gratitude for indulging her child. “Of course it is. Tyler?” she asked. “Let’s move your place mat to the table and get another one from the sideboard for Erik.”
Erik tossed his jacket across the stool next to where Tyler sat. As he did, the boy scrambled down and grabbed his pine-green place mat from the island. Intent on his mission, he laid it on the heavy oak table, then pulled a matching one from a long drawer in the printer’s cabinet his mom had pushed to the wall by the stairs.
He’d just set the mat across from the other when he looked back to the man tracking his progress. “Do you want to see my boat?”
Erik hadn’t a clue what had prompted the question. Seconds ago they’d been talking about food. With a shrug, he said, “Sure,” and the little boy was off.
Wondering if the kid’s energy ever ran low, he walked over to where Rory spooned dinner into two shallow pasta bowls.
“What can I do?” he asked.
“You’ve already done it,” she said quietly. “He’s wanted to show you that boat ever since you said you build them. After you told him about the boats outside Cornelia’s office, it was nearly all he talked about.” She turned, a bowl in each hand. “But if you want, set these on the table for the two of you while I slice another tomato. That would be great.”
