by Rachel Lee
What the hell had gotten into her? She wondered this as a tear began to roll down her cheek. What had she been thinking? Who was she to talk about anyone’s relationships?
Maybe it was some kind of weird hormone attack. Or maybe she was reacting to all the years when she had kept her mouth shut. Years when she had put up and shut up.
A stranger was comparatively easy pickings, wasn’t he?
She brought her fist to her mouth and tried to quell the tears, but they wouldn’t stop. She tried to tell herself pregnant women were just weepy.
But there was no escaping the pain in her heart.
* * *
Ryder stormed out to the barn where he watched rain drizzle through a roof he itched to repair. He made sure the tarp adequately protected the stuff in the bed of the pickup, then wandered around looking for something, anything to do.
But the rain had been heavy enough to drench him on his pilgrimage to this male bastion, and soon he noticed he was sopping, that he was starting to shiver and that he was a damn fool.
All the woman had done was try to say something nice to him. To tell him she thought he was a good man and that maybe logic was right when it said that the fault had lain with Brandy’s illness. Crap, Brandy and her doctors had been telling him that for a long time. He’d been arguing with himself about that forever.
Finally he found an old, moldy bale of hay and just sat on it, ignoring his shivering. Okay, what if the docs were right? What if it was all her illness? Why was he fighting that possibility so hard?
Because he hated not being in control.
Because he hated being helpless.
And Brandy had made him feel both of those things acutely.
He’d built a small business empire from the ground up, starting with framing. By the time he had begun his own contracting business, there wasn’t a thing he didn’t know about the building trade, not a thing he couldn’t do with his own hands if necessary.
And then he’d discovered that by moving up he’d lost some control. He couldn’t be everywhere at once. He couldn’t watch every single worker. He’d had to run on a certain amount of trust, and it had left him always uneasy.
That was why he’d never been really happy with having his own business and why he was thinking about returning to cabinetry. Because he would control every single detail.
But he couldn’t control Brandy. He couldn’t control her illness no matter how many pills or how many doctors. He couldn’t help her much either, which made him feel useless. And then she’d taken the last bit of control away by killing herself.
His problem, he realized as he sat there shaking ever more violently, was that he couldn’t deal with the fact that in life you actually had very little control over most things.
Bad things happened no matter how hard you tried to prevent them. All the best laid plans, all the buffers, all the struggles and sometimes life was just going to get the better of you.
He knew Ben blamed him. And that was exactly the reason he was going to visit him: so someone could lay the blame squarely on him where he felt it belonged, unlike the doctors who kept telling him he’d done everything he could.
He didn’t want forgiveness, he wanted blame. And why? Because he wasn’t God?
He swore, the words lost in the pounding of the rain and a rumble of thunder.
Damn, he’d left Marti all alone in there when she was terrified of this storm. What the hell was wrong with him? Maybe he hadn’t failed Brandy, but he was going to prove his worthlessness anyway by leaving that woman alone to deal with her terror?
Furious at himself, he headed back for the house, the rain beating on him almost as hard as if it were hail.
When he stepped inside, he knew he’d made a huge mistake. The radio was blasting the emergency warning.
* * *
Marti had dropped her feet to the floor and was sitting hunched over, trembling from the instant she heard the unmistakable beeping. Not another tornado, please.
Flood warnings. Wind warnings, lightning warnings, but no tornadoes even mentioned. She was trying to uncramp her hands and force herself to lean back when she heard Ryder come through the door.
He looked like a wildman. Water was dripping from him like a private downpour, and a puddle began to rapidly form around his booted feet.
“How bad is it?” he demanded.
She waved to the radio as the electronic voice began its repetition of current warnings.
“That’s not so bad,” he said as the beeping returned.
“You’re soaked,” she said, hoping she sounded more relaxed than she felt. “Go change. If only we had some hot water…”
“Back in a sec,” he said, and she listened to the heavy thuds as he ran up the stairs. It took more than a second, of course, because not even a quick-change artist could doff clingy drenched clothes fast.
With effort, she made herself lean back and put her feet up again. Then she loosened her hands and laid them on the arms of her chair, hoping Ryder couldn’t see how tightly she was clinging to them.
Just a storm, she repeated like a mantra. Just a stupid storm, not a catastrophe. She wondered how it was possible for one incident to give her such an enduring fear. It had to pass. It had to.
At long last she heard Ryder come hurrying down the stairs, his tread lighter now that he had ditched his work boots. He appeared wearing dry jeans and a flannel shirt, and his hair looked a little wild from toweling.
“You okay?” was the first thing he asked.
“Better,” she lied. Or maybe it wasn’t a lie because just seeing him made her feel better. No longer was she alone with the storm and the unreasoning terror. The radio beeped annoyingly again, but the warnings hadn’t changed.
“I need something hot to drink,” he said. “Can I get you anything?”
He would disappear again, and she decided she wasn’t going to allow that for even as long as it took to make a pot of coffee. Sitting here waiting for her roof to cave in, ridiculous as it was to anticipate such a thing without a tornado, wasn’t helping at all.
She pushed herself up and followed him to the kitchen. There she insisted on making the coffee herself, and he didn’t protest, as if he understood her need to do something.
“I’m sorry I ran out like that,” he said.
“I’m sorry I made you. I was poking my nose into things I know nothing about.”
“No, actually, I think what got to me was that you might be right.”
She turned to look at him. He pushed a chair out from the table. “Sit,” he said. “Please. Let me get the hassock for you.”
“I’m okay for a few minutes.” But as the coffee began to heat behind her, she decided to sit anyway.
He spoke again. “You know, that barn of yours needs some work or it’ll collapse in a few years.”
She nodded, uncertain about where he wanted to take this but figuring it was well past time to keep her mouth shut.
“It’s a good barn,” he went on. “Useful. I’d hate to see you lose it.”
“Someday,” she said finally. “A lot of things are on a someday status right now. Like Linda Marie’s nursery.”
He nodded. “I was out there thinking. Watching the rain fall inside. It kills me to see something like that. I get all itchy to fix it.”
At that she gave him a small smile. “It offends you?”
“I guess you could say that. But it helped me realize something and so you were right. I’m taking too much on my shoulders because I’m a control freak and I hate to feel helpless. Doesn’t mean I won’t keep on doing it, doesn’t mean I won’t keep blaming myself for Brandy, but there it is. Now you know my worst flaws. Well, I think they’re the worst. Hell, I wasn’t even happy as a contractor because I had to trust other people to
o much.”
“So if you could do anything you wanted now, what would it be?”
“Cabinetry. Skilled, detailed, and very much under my control. Hell, I’d even get to draw up the plans instead of following someone else’s.”
“Then do it. At least you can.” She sighed. “I’m in kind of a bovine state right now.”
“Meaning?”
“Placid in a lot of ways, although maybe you haven’t been able to tell. My doc says it’s normal that I can’t seem to look beyond the birth. I need to stay as calm as possible for the baby. She did warn me I’d probably go on a cleaning binge a few days or weeks before labor, but in the meantime I’m essentially a broody hen sitting on her egg. I should be making plans, figuring out what I’m going to do after Linda Marie arrives, thinking about jobs and all that stuff. But it doesn’t keep my attention for long. It’s as if there’s this red-letter day coming and nothing else matters really.”
She sneaked a look at him and found his expression warm. “Anyway, at least you’re in a position to change your whole life and make decisions. I’m just waiting.”
“You’re waiting for something very important that’s going to shake your whole life up. How can you make plans until you know everything’s okay and what it’s like to be a mom?”
“Good question.”
The coffee finished but he insisted they drink it in the living room where she could put her feet up. Since the warnings on the radio hadn’t changed except for more detailed information about the areas at risk for flash flooding, he turned it off, saying, “We can check again a little later.”
She was glad to have the noise gone and in its absence to be able to tell the storm had weakened. She hoped it kept weakening.
He spoke into a silence that felt as if it were growing awkward. “We’ll get your roof done in the morning if the weather holds.”
And then he’d leave. He’d pick up his backpack and take off for California. She regarded the prospect with aching dismay, a dismay she wouldn’t have believed herself capable of feeling when she had picked him up on the roadside. It was way too early to be feeling that his absence was going to leave a big hole in her life. She hadn’t even felt that when Jeff died.
She closed her eyes and reminded herself she had been doing just fine until Ryder had arrived. If anything, she was better off now because she’d met some of her neighbors and they seemed to be caring people. It would be all right.
She only wished she believed that.
* * *
They dined on leftovers from lunch. This time Marti didn’t argue about doing the dishes but let Ryder do it. What he’d said about being a control freak and feeling helpless with Brandy had struck home with her. If it made him feel better to do dishes, then there was no reason to argue.
After dinner, the storm picked up steam, rumbling loudly and dumping rivers of rain. They checked the radio again, but the warnings remained the same.
“From what I understand,” Marti remarked, “this place isn’t really built for floods. And with all the rain over the past few days, the ground must be saturated.”
“Good for sheep grazing,” Ryder remarked, reminding them of their conversation earlier with Ransom and his son.
“But maybe for nothing else.”
He switched off the radio again and hesitated. She wondered what he was thinking, why he hesitated so visibly. Something that would make her uncomfortable?
Then he spoke. “You said something about the nursery being a ‘someday’ thing. What’s it like?”
He’d definitely hit on one of her favorite preoccupations, even if she couldn’t do much about it. “It’s far from finished,” she answered. “Do you want to see it?”
“I’d like to, actually.”
“I’m warning you, you’ll be distinctly unimpressed.” But she led the way upstairs anyway, to the place in this house that truly held her biggest dream for the future. He followed, carrying both a flashlight and an oil lamp.
The room was in the middle of the upstairs hall, near the bathroom and over the living room. She threw the door open and let him lead the way in with the lights.
“See? Nowhere near done.”
It almost embarrassed her to let someone else look at her meager preparations: the ad hoc changing table with a row of baby oil, baby powder and a box of disposable diapers. A tube of diaper rash ointment. A minuscule hair brush. The small travel bassinet opened on the floor, covered with tiny sheets. The open drawer in which she’d managed to stash a few bits of clothing. Walls that needed paint or paper.
It was definitely a minimum.
“It actually looks like a good start,” he remarked. “What else do you envision in here?”
“Paint. Maybe wallpaper but that seems way more expensive. A crib. Some cheerful curtains.”
“You’re not asking for much.”
“How much is for the baby and how much for me?”
At that he flashed a smile. “It’s mostly for you,” he agreed. “Nothing wrong with that. But it’ll have an effect on Linda Marie, too. That’s what you’re thinking.”
“Are you mind reading?”
“Maybe.” He surprised her by putting the oil lamp down on the dresser alongside the flashlight. Then he came to stand behind her, as if trying to see it from her perspective.
She thought it was adequate but absolutely no more than that.
He slipped his arms around her, warming her instantly with his strength and body heat. “Long ago,” he said, “when I still had a social life, women used to have baby showers. I was never invited to one, but I heard about them anyway, benighted male that I am.”
She gave a little laugh. “Well, I don’t know anyone here so I’m on my own with this.”
He rubbed one of his hands over her belly, as if caressing the baby. “So can I be a sort of uncle and do a bit about it? I mean, I’m starting to take a very personal interest in Linda Marie. I think she likes me, too. She kicks me.”
Another giggle escaped her, but then she turned within the circle of his arms to face him. “Ryder, you don’t have to solve all my problems.”
“I figured that out when I was in the barn. I couldn’t anyway, being only one ordinary guy. But I can do a mean coat of cheerful paint in an afternoon, if you’ll just choose a color. You shouldn’t breathe the fumes anyway.”
Feeling inexplicably shy, she drew away and went to the dresser. “This is my dream room,” she murmured. “It’s like my whole future revolves around this. So I spend a lot of time dreaming in here.” She reached into the second drawer and pulled out paint chips and wallpaper samples. She offered them to him. “As you can see, I dream big when I let myself.”
He took them and fanned his way through them using the whiter light of the flashlight. “This doesn’t look terribly big to me. It’s certainly a job you can’t do yourself, but it’s really not that big. How about putting wallpaper on either the upper or lower half—although the upper half would be more practical—and paint on the other half?”
“I’ve thought about it.” She pulled together a paint sample and a wallpaper sample. “I liked this combination.”
“That’s a good one. I like the minty greens, and the little stuffed animals are cute.”
She lifted them, admiring them together, then sighed and put them back in the drawer. “Someday,” she said.
“Someday,” he agreed as he gently patted her bulging tummy. “Only the best for Linda Marie.”
She laughed at last, letting go of the wistfulness she always felt in here. “The sky’s the limit,” she agreed. Then she paused. “Why should you care about my baby?”
“I just do. I’m developing some affection for that baby bump. Maybe because it seems so special and I could never have one of my own.”
She th
ought that over as the storm raged outside while it remained cozy inside. That was sad, she decided, but she could understand it when his wife had been so sick. Still, it had evidently pained him not to have a family.
Then she had a stray idea that disturbed her. She hoped he wasn’t looking after her just because of the baby.
Because if he just wanted to play the role of a father for a few days, that might wound her more than his departure.
Chapter 7
Claiming to be trying to find his brother’s wife had gotten Ben some very complete directions to the ranch owned by the Marti Chastain Ryder had mentioned.
God, who would want to live in this desolate place? After he left that podunk town that called itself a city, he rarely saw human habitation. Plenty of fences, yeah, some of them falling down, but not houses. Talk about the ends of the Earth!
He saw the tornado track, too, and was reluctantly impressed. They had their weather problems where he lived, too, but nothing like that sweeping path of destruction that looked like some giant vacuum had traveled for miles over the landscape.
The roads had been cleared of debris, but now it was simply stacked in drainage ditches by the road, ditches now full of water. Telephone and power poles were still bent and twisted here and there, and he passed some crews working on them.
What a mess.
But, he decided, with everyone preoccupied by the storm’s aftermath, no one would be paying attention to one guy just driving through, even if he did have Nevada plates on his rental. And that cover story had been a stroke of genius. Nobody had questioned whether Marti Chastain’s late husband had a brother.
Apparently they didn’t know her very well. Another reason to cheer.
He began to realize he had a problem, though, when he drew near the woman’s place and saw how little cover there was for him and the car. Hell. He needed to be able to figure out the setup before he acted, and it would be all to the better if he could get Ryder alone.
It wasn’t going to be easy.
Not that he cared if he had to take out the woman, too. If she proved to be an obstacle, she’d be moved. Or dead. The important thing was to make Ryder pay for Brandy.