Restoring Romance

by Tamie Dearen

  When he returned to the den, her eyes were closed, the washcloth still in place on her forehead. With slow, careful movements, he draped the second blanket over her. Lucky darted from under the cover and disappeared through the door.

  Ash looked so tiny and frail, buried under the blankets with only her face exposed, his chest tightened with an overwhelming desire to protect her. When a car honked on the street outside, causing her eyebrows to draw downward while she slept, he gritted his teeth, barely restraining himself from rushing outside to yell at the driver. Instead, he dragged out his phone, turning on soft music from a playlist he customarily used while performing tedious restoration work on intricate furniture carvings. He watched until her tense facial features relaxed a bit. Satisfied with his efforts, he set off to find the laundry room.

  After a thorough search of the house, he walked outside to the garage and, at last, located the washer and dryer. However, the pair sat under a dropcloth, no plumbing in the vicinity. She must be using the laundromat. Something about that situation galled him. She shouldn’t have to cart her clothes out to the car and drive across town and sit on a hard chair in the washateria. He hoped delayed city inspections hadn’t caused her current situation. Whatever the reason, she needed help, though he was quite certain she would never ask for it. Someone had to take care of her and, as her cousin, he was the logical choice. He ignored the insignificant thought in his head suggesting his mother or sister-in-law might be better qualified for the position.

  Back inside the house, he crept into the darkened den to check on his patient. He retrieved the damp cloth from where it had fallen on the floor. Her face seemed flushed, and he reached his hand out to see if her skin felt hot. At the last second, he stopped, realizing his hands were still cold from being outside. A bright alternative popped into his head, and he bent downward to press his lips against her forehead. He caught a whiff of strawberry from her hair, and couldn’t help lingering, savoring the moment. When he straightened, he flinched—a man stood in the dim light, staring at him, his eyes growing wider as his broad smile faded. Adam’s breath hitched before he took in the gilded frame and understood his intruder was a mirror image. His reflection regarded him with accusing eyes.

  “It wasn’t a kiss—I was only testing her temperature,” he explained to his confronter, in a harsh mental message.

  “Yeah, right!” the sarcastic voice answered in his head.

  Another retort teetered on the edge of his mind when it occurred to Adam he might be bordering on crazy if he continued to argue with himself. With guilty accusations pushed firmly into the back corner of his mind, he went upstairs and gathered all the laundry he could find from the bathroom hamper and the floor of the bedroom and closet. With one last peek at her sleeping form, he slipped out and hopped in his truck heading to the laundromat. Laundry basket in hand, he pushed his way through the door, blinking as his eyes adjusted from the blinding sunlight.

  “Adam Walker—I haven’t seen you in here for ages,” called a hoarse voice, so low she almost sounded like a man. “Let me guess... Either your washing machine is broken or you got tired of having no one to talk to but pieces of old broken-down furniture, right?”

  She cackled with laughter, revealing smoke-stained teeth, as she ambled over and rested her hips against a washing machine, her arms crossed in a way that emphasized the low cut of her blouse.

  “No, Teresa, I’m just helping a friend get their laundry done.”

  “Oh? A friend?”

  Her stenciled-on eyebrows arched upward, and she cocked her head to the side, her gaze searing the contents of his basket. Relieved he’d hidden Ash’s undergarments beneath the towels, he gripped the plastic rim tighter.

  “Yep, a friend. Believe it or not, I’ve got a few of those.”

  “Of course you do.” She giggled, casually opening the washing machine in front of her. “You have six friends, don’t you, Grumpy? Let’s see, there’s Sleepy, Sneezy, Dopey, Doc, Happy... I always forget the last one.”

  “Very funny.” He knew the answer was Bashful, but figured it would only make her tease him more if he admitted it.

  “Almost made you smile, though.” She stretched her fingers toward the clothesbasket he had tucked under his arm. “Do you want me to help you get your friend’s clothes started in the wash? What did you say her name was?”

  He glanced at the clothesbasket, belatedly noticing a pink sweater on top of the towels. No wonder Teresa was so interested in helping.

  “No, thanks. I’ve got it.”

  “Okay.” She extended the last syllable in an I-know-you’re-up-to-something singsong. Then she leaned back, appearing as if she intended to park there for the evening.

  Adam responded with one of his famously dark glowers.

  Her eyes rounded, and she edged backwards. “Guess I’d better go... uhmm... check the phones.”

  At least for now, he’d protected Ash from the damage of speculation. He was certain, however, that victory would be short-lived since Teresa was a known gossip and would probably make it her life’s work to find out who belonged to the pink sweater.

  He shifted to the washers farthest from her prying eyes and opened two machine lids, tossing the towels and washcloths into one, leaving the clothes for last. In the other machine, he threw in two pairs of jeans. But as he picked up the first silky blouse it occurred to him to look for washing instructions on the tag. With his back to Teresa, he felt inside the garment and found a tab along the side that read, “Hand wash only.” He put the shirt aside, but with the next top, the soft pink sweater, he fared no better.

  “Machine wash delicate. Lay flat to dry,” he muttered. Lay flat to dry? Where am I going to lay this sweater?

  With his task becoming more complicated by the second, he shuffled through the garments and pulled out a bra, using his fingertips to hold it by the straps, as it felt less invasive. Unfortunately, the tag had no washing instructions, nor did he find directions on any of the other undergarments he examined. With growing frustration, he determined to look up general bra-washing instructions online, and he reached for his phone. His pocket was empty. Of course... it’s playing music for Ash.

  In a stroke of what he considered brilliance, he decided to take all the clothes back to Ash’s house and wash them by hand in the sink. The towels, however, he left in the washateria machine. He almost threw in the two pairs of jeans—after all, he often washed his own jeans with towels. But in the end, he decided against it, not wanting to take a chance in case women’s jeans were different from men’s.

  He bought soap from the dispenser and started the machine, calling out to Teresa as he left. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”

  On his way to the grocery store to buy hand-washing detergent—if there was such a thing—it occurred to him that he could get Erin to wash Ash’s clothes tonight. His kind-hearted sister-in-law would assuredly love to help if she knew of Ash’s migraine. Yet, Adam was resolute in handling the situation himself, proud that he knew from his mother’s frequent episodes, exactly what would make her feel better. As a child, his main task had always been to corral his brothers and keep them quiet whenever their mom was suffering with a migraine. But he’d paid attention to his father’s ministrations, and now it was his chance to do the same.

  Inside Food Max, he found the detergent for hand washing, opting for the kind made for sensitive skin, because Ash’s skin looked soft and delicate to him. Then he rolled his basket through the food aisles, selecting broth soups and crackers and a loaf of bread. With a quick trip to the pharmacy section, he added two different brands of over-the-counter migraine medicine. Hopefully, she’d brought some migraine pills with her, since she might not be able to fill a New York prescription in Oregon.

  Thirty-miles-an-hour seemed intolerably slow as he drove back to unload his groceries and look in on Ash. Slipping inside the dark den where quiet music still played from his phone, he moved close, watching her face as she slept. Resisting t
he temptation to perform another lip-temperature-check, he left her alone and drove back to the washateria to put the towels into the dryer.

  “I moved your towels and started the dryer for you.”

  Teresa wore a tentative smile, as if hoping for a word of affirmation. Though irritated by her continued meddling, he plastered what he hoped was an agreeable expression onto his face.

  “Thank you, Teresa.”

  “You’re welcome.” She glowed with pleasure, and he felt like a heel, realizing she must be incredibly lonely at this job with so little personal interaction. “They still have twenty minutes or so,” she said. “I can offer you a cup of coffee if you want to wait up here with me.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got some errands to run.”

  He left before he could see the disappointment on her face. A short drive took him to Good As Old. In the window of his front door hung a sign proclaiming he would “Be right back!” He unlocked the shop and switched the placard to a “Closed” sign. Most of his business was by appointment, anyway, so he wouldn’t lose much income by closing the shop for a few hours.

  On the way back to the laundromat, he swung by City Hall to be sure no stalled inspections were preventing her washer and dryer from being connected. Satisfied the City of Romance wasn’t responsible for her debacle, he returned to the washateria. When Teresa suggested going dancing that weekend, as he exited with a basket of folded towels and washcloths, he made a noncommittal grunting noise. Her voice followed him on the way out the door. “You could bring your friend with you.”

  Wary of her unbridled curiosity, he circled the block three times before pulling into Ash’s driveway and parking out of site by the back door. Though he knew he was acting paranoid, he didn’t want to take a chance on fanning the gossip fires. Ash mustn’t think everyone in Romance was always in your business, not respecting your privacy... even if it was mostly true. That was just the sort of thing that would make her go running back to New York.

  From his phone, he retrieved clear instructions for laundering delicate items of clothing and set about to wash the rest of her things. Even with no one watching, he felt the blood rushing to his face as he washed the first few undergarments. But he pushed his ridiculous embarrassment aside and focused on finishing his task, taking great care to prevent his calloused fingers from snagging the silky fabric. He laid everything out to dry in one of the spare bedrooms. With good fortune, she might never discover he’d handled her intimate garments. Of course, his luck seemed to run thin where Ash was concerned.

  He tiptoed down the wooden staircase and discovered Ash attempting to sit up, her hand on her head as if it might somehow fall off her neck. He hurried to help her, supporting her back as she swung her legs to the floor.

  “Why are you up? Do you need something?”

  “No,” she whispered. “I just need to visit the restroom.”

  “You can lean on me,” he offered.

  Her chin jutted forward in an expression that had already become familiar. “No, I can do it myself.”

  He smiled, lifting his hands to ward off her imaginary blows. “Sorry. I won’t interfere.”

  Yet he followed a step behind her, ready to catch her if she lost her balance. She fumbled her way into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Adam took the opportunity to put some chicken noodle soup on the stove, assuming from the sparkling state of the kitchen, she hadn’t eaten that day. During the eight minutes it took to heat the soup, he checked on her several times, but she hadn’t emerged from the bathroom. He placed a few saltine crackers on a plate and carried them into the den, hoping to settle her stomach with something bland before inviting her to the table for soup.

  The bathroom door opened and her face appeared, pale and drawn, her hair falling to her shoulders in damp tendrils. Her gaze landed on the saltines, and she twisted, lunging back into the bathroom. Stashing the crackers on a nearby table, he found her on the floor retching into the toilet. He snatched one of the freshly laundered hand towels, doused it with cool water, and wrung out the excess. With one hand, he swept her blond hair back so he could wipe her face with the cool wet towel.

  “I hate throwing up.” Tears flowed down her cheeks. “And I really hate doing it in front of people.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ash.” His heart ached with regret as he patted her face with the wet towel. “I shouldn’t have stuck those saltines under your nose.”

  “It’s not your fault. I already threw up before I came out and saw the crackers.” She took the towel from him, scrubbing at her face until her skin reddened, but more tears flowed. “I’m so humiliated.”

  “Please, don’t be. You can’t help being sick, and it’s just good fortune that I happened to drop by so I can take care of you.”

  “I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself.”

  “Of course you can.” He slid down the wall to sit on the floor beside her. “But you have family now, so you don’t have to.”

  She leaned back against the cabinet door and buried her face in her hands. “I don’t want you to see me like this. I mean... I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

  To him, she looked as beautiful as ever, but he highly doubted she would believe him. Rather than repelling him, her vulnerability only drew him with a force more powerful than gravity.

  “You look as amazing as always, Ash.”

  “No, you look amazing. I look like a drowned rat. I don’t have on any makeup, and my hair is all wet.”

  “Just a second.” He flashed his palm in her face and climbed to his feet. He turned the water on in the sink and stuck his head underneath the cold stream.

  “What are you doing?” Ash asked.

  “Evening the odds.” He straightened and gave his head a shake, sending out sprinkles of water and eliciting a squeal from Ash. He sat down again, water dripping from his hair and wetting his shirt. “Now we both look like drowned rats.”

  For the smile that bloomed on her face, he was happy to get a little wet. He would’ve swum across the Pacific Ocean. In the winter. Without a life vest.

  Chapter Ten

  WHEN MAGGIE CALLED to chat on Friday night, Ash told her about the three-day headache. “Oh, Ash! I’m so sorry you had another migraine attack. And how awful to be all alone.”

  “Yeah. It was pretty tough...”

  “Hey... that didn’t sound very pitiful. What aren’t you telling me?”

  Drat! Her best friend was way too perceptive.

  “My family came by to check on me a few times during the week.”

  “Your family? As in... your cousin, Adam?”

  “Maybe.”

  “A few times? As in... all day, every day?”

  “Only two or three times a day!” Ash’s protest spilled out before she recognized Maggie’s trap.

  “I knew it! What were you thinking? You let him come over multiple times every day to take care of you? Was that part of your plan to get over him?”

  “No.” Her head throbbed anew with guilt and stress. Adam had been so sweet and devoted as he tended to her needs. Though she was becoming more attached by the minute, she’d allowed it to happen. Appearing at her absolute worst, she knew his actions weren’t based on physical attraction, but rather on dedication to family. He cared for her in the same way he undoubtedly cared for their precious grandmother when she was still alive. That knowledge, however, did nothing to squelch her growing attraction to her kind-hearted, scowling cousin. That he made a custom scratching post for Lucky had only further endeared him to her. “I have a new plan.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m going to treat him exactly like I would a brother. If I act like he’s my brother, I’ll feel like he’s my brother.”

  “And I believe you because you’ve had so much practice with your own brother. Oh! I forgot—you don’t have a brother.”

  Ash blew a raspberry. “Just wait, you of little faith...”

  “What are you going to do if this p
lan of yours doesn’t work? What if you still have the hots for your cousin?”

  Ash didn’t respond, though she knew the answer. If this doesn’t work, I’m coming home... to New York City.

  SUNDAY AFTERNOON, ADAM sat on his parent’s front porch, pretending to read a book while awaiting Ash’s arrival. Her mixed signals had him utterly confused, and he was determined to have a private conversation before dinner.

  She’d been so open and vulnerable last week, perhaps because the pain of her headache had lowered her defenses. As she shared even more of her past, he was amazed to learn how much she’d overcome in her short lifetime.

  Filled with admiration for her unshakable spirit, he felt inspired to return to his dream of providing a home for unwanted kids, though he wasn’t sure what that would look like. Perhaps simply adding a few adopted kids into the family. Perhaps taking in a number of foster children. And he couldn’t imagine anyone he would rather have by his side than Ash Hendrix.

  His optimism bloomed when she accepted his invitation to ride horses at his ranch on Saturday, yet it transformed to irritation as she arrived with Erin and Daniel in tow. He grew more exasperated at her cheery explanation of pursuing a fun outing with her “cousins,” a term that grated on his nerves as she repeated it throughout the day and thwarted his every attempt to speak with her alone.

  With any luck, he planned to catch her on the front porch today before she escaped inside. Fortune held and she arrived early to his parents’ house, creeping toward the front door with a large covered basket, while eyeing him like a skittish fawn.

  “Can I speak with you for a moment, Ash?” He patted the seat beside him.

  After a brief hesitation, her head drooped in resignation, and she turned to join him, perching on the edge of the bench, looking straight ahead, as if contact would contaminate her.

  He wanted to take her hand, but she kept them clenched on the basket in her lap. “Ash, have I done something to upset you?”