Who I Am with You

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  They were silent for a short while as they took their first few bites, but eventually Jessica said, “Mac seems nice. Where did you meet her?”

  “We met at church. Her husband’s on staff there.”

  “So she runs her electronics store all by herself? Not with her husband.”

  “No, not with her husband. But I think she’s got a couple of part-time employees. She stays pretty busy, from what I can tell. I used to send her business whenever I could. There were lots of computers and networks to see to at my last job. Somebody always had need of something that Mac could help with.”

  He felt Jessica watching him. At first he tried to ignore it, but finally he turned to meet her gaze.

  “The news made it sound like the Treehorn campaign let you go after the information leak. Is that true?”

  “No, I quit.”

  “Why?” The question was soft and gentle.

  “I’m not sure anymore. At the time, it seemed like I owed it to Tammy. That maybe if I wasn’t with the campaign any longer, she’d be heard over the noise. I don’t think it worked out that way.”

  “You weren’t a mole for the opposition.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “No.” He released a laugh devoid of humor. “I’m no mole for the other guys. I believed in Tammy’s platform. I believed in her personally.” He looked out the window. “I sure wouldn’t have given the files off that laptop to anyone outside the Treehorn campaign. It wasn’t my job to read them, anyway, so at the time I didn’t even know what was in them.”

  “Why don’t you tell the press that?”

  “I did. At least I tried. Nobody seemed to listen.” He took a deep breath. “Look. Can we talk about something else?”

  “Sure. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  He leaned slightly toward her. “You didn’t upset me, Jessica. Honest. The situation is frustrating, and I’m not sure I’ve handled it right. But it didn’t upset me to have you ask about it.” For the briefest of moments, he wanted to lean even closer and kiss her. He quashed the desire. It would be unwise for himself and unfair to Jessica. He straightened in his seat and picked up the remainder of his hamburger.

  Silence filled the interior of the car for a second time. Ridley was trying to figure out a way to break it when Jessica released a little gasp. Her right hand went to her abdomen. “Oooh,” she breathed.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes. Just a little pain.”

  “What kind of pain?” he asked, alarmed.

  She looked at him and, seeing his expression, laughed. “Don’t panic. Nothing is happening. Little pains come with being pregnant.” Her left hand joined her right. “When this one isn’t jabbing me, he likes to press on my lungs so I can hardly breathe.”

  “He?”

  Still smiling, she gave a small shrug. “I don’t like calling my baby ‘it’ most of the time, so I take turns using ‘he’ or ‘she.’”

  Sunlight caught in her blond hair, and the desire to kiss her returned, even stronger this time. An invisible cord drew him toward her as his gaze moved to her mouth. One touch of her lips on his, and he would be a goner for sure.

  As if suddenly realizing what Ridley was about to do, Jessica sucked in a breath and moved closer to the door. “I’d better use the restroom,” she said, a quaver in her voice, “before we start the drive home. Be right back.” She opened the door and got out, moving faster than he’d thought she could.

  No longer hungry—not for food, at any rate—Ridley wrapped the remainder of his burger in the paper it had come in and stuffed it into the white sack sitting on the console between the front seats. Guessing Jessica was finished, he did the same with her leftovers, then got out of the car and threw the sack into the nearest trash receptacle.

  Staring toward the foothills to the north, he silently berated himself. Talk about bad timing. Jessica was still grieving the loss of a husband and child, and he’d tried to put the moves on her. How thoughtless could he be? And as if grief wasn’t complication enough, she was also about seven months pregnant. The last thing he needed was to lose his head over someone like her. Only, at the moment, he didn’t think there was anyone else like Jessica. She was one of a kind. Fragile, yet strong. Uncertain, yet courageous.

  “Get it together, Chesterfield,” he muttered beneath his breath.

  He turned and saw her walking toward him and his car. And he knew. He knew it wasn’t his head he was in danger of losing to her. It was his heart.

  KUNA, IDAHO

  Monday, May 11, 1931

  Henry Victor kept his promise. Three days after Andrew went to see the attorney in his Meridian office, Helen returned from a trip to town, and the devastation written on her face—although she tried to hide it—told Andrew all that he needed to know. She said nothing before going into their bedroom and closing the door, but he knew all the same. She had been to see her lover, and Henry Victor had ended the affair.

  It surprised Andrew that he ached for her, that he was sorry she had to experience this pain. He’d experienced many emotions over the past months—anger and sorrow, humiliation and indignation, perhaps regret most of all—but pity for his wife hadn’t been among them. Until today.

  “Dinner will be ready in half an hour,” Madge Greyson said as she stirred something in a pot on the stove.

  He suspected then that his mother-in-law had known about Henry Victor and also knew what had happened that afternoon. “Thanks, Mother Greyson. I’ll finish my chores.” He headed outside.

  But he didn’t attend to any chores. Instead, once in the barn, he climbed the ladder to the loft. With a heavy spirit, he walked to the loft door and looked out at the sun, riding low in the western sky.

  “Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.”

  Remembering the first time God had impressed that verse upon his heart, Andrew dropped to his knees. That first night, he hadn’t known how to pray, because Helen was losing their infant son. Now he was in a similar place—a moment desperately in need of prayer, an urgent need for the Holy Spirit to intercede for him. A groan tore from someplace deep inside, and he leaned forward until his forehead touched the straw-strewn floor of the loft.

  “God . . . O God . . .” It was the only prayer he could form. “God . . . O God . . . O God . . .”

  He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, how long he whispered the same words over and over and over again. But when at last he straightened, the light in the barn had changed, turning from a yellow glow to a reddish orange. Dinner must be ready by now. Had anyone called for him to return to the house? Had Helen called for him? Would she ever call for him again, even now that Henry Victor was out of the picture?

  He drew in a slow breath. “Can she learn to love me again?”

  He heard no answer, of course. All he could do was stand in faith, trusting that God would see him through whatever was yet to come.

  Chapter 15

  Except for church on Sundays, Jessica rarely saw Ridley in the week and a half that followed their trip to Boise. Several large custom orders came in—she was so thankful for her restored internet—and she found herself rising early and working late in order to fill them. Ridley knew how busy she was since he’d checked to make sure the new router was working. She’d told him about her influx of business, and he’d promised not to bother her while she strove to meet the deadlines.

  Trouble was his not bothering her bothered her.

  Far too often, when she heard the pounding of a hammer or a bark from the dog, she left her work and went to the studio window, hoping for a glimpse of Ridley. She was seldom that lucky. As was the case right now.

  And she knew it was better that way. She was about eight weeks away, if the baby came on time, from being a single mother. And he was not much longer away, if he only stayed for the summer, from going back
to his life in Boise. Or perhaps even farther away if his notoriety kept him from local employment, as he’d mentioned to her once.

  With resolve, she returned to her stool and set to work. An hour later, she’d mostly succeeded in pushing Ridley’s image from her mind when the doorbell rang. Her pulse quickened as she whisked off her paint-splattered smock, thinking it might be him. She brushed hair from her face with the back of her hand as she hurried to the front door.

  As she pulled it open, she lifted her eyes. But she looked too high to meet her mother’s gaze.

  “Hi, honey.”

  “Mom.” It wasn’t disappointment she felt. And yet . . . “I didn’t know you were driving up today.” She took a step back, opening the door wider.

  “The trip wasn’t planned. I hope it isn’t inconvenient. Is it?”

  “No. Of course not. Come on in.”

  Her mom stepped inside, and the two of them embraced. Before her mom pulled away, the baby gave Jessica a sharp jab.

  “Oh, my!” Her mom leaned back and laughed. “That was some kick. Do you put up with a lot of that?”

  “A lot.”

  “Are you getting enough rest?”

  Jessica nodded, but it was a half-truth. She spent at least eight hours in bed every night, but she didn’t spend all of that time asleep. Not as of late. She could blame some of her restlessness on her pregnancy. The remainder she would have to blame on thoughts about her attractive next-door neighbor.

  “I have a few things out in the car for the baby’s room, but I’ll bring them in later.”

  “Can you stay the night?” Jessica asked, but she already knew the answer.

  “I came prepared to stay, but only if I won’t be in the way.”

  “You won’t be. I’m finishing up with a big order, but we can visit while I get the last of it done. If that’s okay with you.”

  “Sure.”

  Jessica turned toward the kitchen. “Would you like something cool to drink? I could use a little break before going back into the studio.”

  “I’d love something. Whatever you have. Just water would be fine.”

  “I’ve got iced tea in the fridge. It’s decaf.”

  “Perfect.”

  Jessica took the pitcher of tea from the refrigerator and set it on the counter. “Did you decide about going to Tampa for Trish’s play?”

  “Yes, I’m going, but it’ll have to be alone. Your dad couldn’t get away from work.” Her mom sat at the table. “I wish you could go with me.”

  “Me too.” She poured the tea into two tall glasses. “How long are you going to stay?”

  “Just a week. You know what your grandmother liked to quote about houseguests.”

  Jessica smiled as she carried the glasses to the table. “They’re like fish. After three days, they begin to smell.” She sat across from her mom. “But that doesn’t apply to mothers.”

  “Of course it does.” Her mom took a sip of tea. “And don’t worry. I’m only staying with you one night. Your father and I have plans for the Fourth.”

  “I wasn’t worried.”

  “You know, in aristocratic England of the Victorian and Edwardian periods, houseguests came and stayed for weeks and weeks. Months, sometimes. I suppose that wouldn’t be so bad if a person had thirty or forty bedrooms for them to stay in. Not to mention servants out the ying-yang to cater to them all.”

  Jessica smiled, her heart flooding with love for her mom—for no particular reason other than that she was her mom. Although she was also terribly fond of the random facts her mom liked to share every now and then, thanks to her voracious reading habit.

  A frown creased her mother’s brow. “What is all that barking?”

  Jessica rose and moved toward the back door. The barking grew louder, and then Kris came into view. Quieting, the dog ran up to the screened door, sat, and pawed at the jamb. When the sheltie saw Jessica, she gave a quick yap, then closed her mouth, wearing a look of expectation.

  “Mom, come meet Kristin Armstrong.”

  “Kristin Arm—Jessica, what on earth?” Her mother rose and followed Jessica to the door.

  “Kris for short.” She pushed open the screened door, and the sheltie padded inside with a prance worthy of the show ring.

  “You got a dog? You didn’t tell me you were getting a dog.”

  “I didn’t. My neighbor got one.”

  Her mom’s eyes widened even more. “You have a neighbor? Someone’s moved in next door?”

  “Yes.” She heard Ridley calling for the dog. “And you’re about to meet him.” She stepped onto the porch. “She’s over here, Ridley.”

  He raised an arm and waved before heading in her direction, long strides eating up the distance. “Sorry about that,” he called as he neared. “She’s been good about staying close to home. I thought she was through with running off. I guess she got bored, waiting for me to play with her. Hope she didn’t interrupt your work.”

  “She didn’t interrupt. I was taking a break.”

  Her mom stepped to her side. “Your new neighbor, I presume,” she said softly.

  “Ridley, this is my mom, Pat Alexander. Mom, meet Kris’s owner, Ridley Chesterfield.”

  He held out his hand as he put a foot on the bottom step. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Alexander.”

  “And you.” Jessica’s mom shook his hand, questions in her eyes. He couldn’t tell if it was because she’d recognized his name from the news or because she was simply curious about the man staying next door to her daughter. Funny thing was he didn’t really care anymore, and that was unexpected.

  Jessica said, “We were having a glass of iced tea. Would you like to join us?”

  “Sure.” He grinned. After all, he’d hoped for that kind of invitation. “If I wouldn’t be intruding.”

  Jessica tipped her head toward the kitchen. “Come on inside.”

  It had been a long twelve days, making himself stay out of her way. He’d seen her on Sundays, of course. In fact, she’d ridden with him in his car to church. But they’d come straight back after the services so she could get in a few hours of work in the afternoons.

  “Sugar or lemon or both?” Jessica poured tea into a glass.

  “Lemon would be good.”

  Jessica turned from the counter, the glass in one hand. His heart hiccupped in his chest. She looked adorable in her coral-colored leggings, loose-flowing cotton top, and bare feet. And the sight of her made him realize he’d missed her even more than he’d thought.

  Pat said, “Let’s take our drinks into the living room where we’ll be more comfortable.” The older woman reached for the two glasses on the table, but he intercepted her.

  “Allow me.”

  It wasn’t long before they were all settled in the living room, each with their own beverage.

  “When did you move in next door, Mr. Chesterfield?”

  “Call me Ridley. Please. And the answer is about a month ago.” Pat sent her daughter a glance. “That long.” Looking at him again, she added, “I’m relieved to know Jessica has a neighbor at last. I hated her being out here alone all of these months.”

  “Mom,” Jessica said softly.

  “Well, I can’t help it. I like knowing there is someone nearby, in case there’s an emergency.”

  “Anything she needs, Mrs. Alexander, all she has to do is ask.”

  “Mom, Ridley didn’t buy the house next door. It belongs to his parents. He’s only there for the summer.” Jessica glanced at him.

  Funny, how tempted he was to say that it wasn’t true he was only there for the summer. Only it was true. Eventually he would have to go looking for a job. Eventually he would have to leave the peace and anonymity he enjoyed in this remote mountain community. He had a house of his own in Boise. He had a life there too. Or at least he used to. In fact, he’d spent the last week giving serious thought to what he wanted to do next in terms of a career. His gut told him that what he’d been through in recent months would influence h
is decision. He just didn’t know what that meant yet.

  Pat set her glass on a coaster on the coffee table, drawing him from his thoughts. “When do you expect your parents to move in?”

  “Not for a number of years. They plan to vacation here in the summers until they retire. Then they’ll live here full time.”

  “Are they in Boise now?”

  “Arizona.”

  Kris trotted into the living room and pushed her muzzle beneath Jessica’s hand where it rested on the arm of the chair. Jessica immediately began to stroke the dog’s head.

  “Looks like the two of you are good friends,” Pat said.

  “Kris loves your daughter.” Ridley looked at Jessica, and he felt that now familiar quickening in his heart. “Maybe because she gave her a name.” He grinned, as if sharing a secret with her.

  Jessica met his gaze and returned his smile.

  After a period of silence, her mom said, “If you two will excuse me, I think I’ll bring in my things from the car.”

  Although he heard Pat’s words, he was too taken by Jessica’s eyes for the meaning to penetrate. Her mother had already risen and taken a step away from the sofa before he realized what he’d heard her say. He stood quickly. “Let me help you.”

  “Oh, heavens. I don’t need help. Sit there and enjoy your tea. Visit with Jessica. I’ll only be a moment.” She slipped out the door.

  Willing to be dissuaded, Ridley’s gaze returned to Jessica. “She’s staying, I take it.”

  “For the night. She said she brought things for the baby’s room, but that was just an excuse. She worries about me.”

  “I got that.” He almost said that he was going to worry about her, too, once he wasn’t staying next door. A foolish inclination. She wasn’t his responsibility.

  “She doesn’t need to worry,” Jessica said. “Not anymore. I’m stronger now. Stronger than she knows. Stronger than I knew until . . . until recently.”

  KUNA, IDAHO

  Tuesday, June 23, 1931

  Sweat trickled down Andrew’s spine as he pitched hay from the wagon onto the growing stack north of the barn. Emil, the hired hand, stood on the top of a ladder, pushing the alfalfa hay even higher with his pitchfork.