“Supplies.”
“Then grab your coat, and shoes, and let’s go.”
She drained the last of her juice and set the glass on the hall table, something she’d never dared do in her life, then slid her feet into a pair of broken-down loafers. They didn’t provide much in the way of support, but getting into her other shoes required more effort than she wanted to expend with an audience this morning.
He walked beside her down the steps, opened the truck door for her and took her arm to help her inside. It was rather an awkward procedure, seeing that she’d never been helped before and didn’t quite know what to do.
“Do you always open doors for women?” she asked once he was settled across the seat from her.
“Or am I trying to impress you?” His smile was dry. “You obviously never knew my mama or you wouldn’t ask. Nadine Harris didn’t raise her boys in a barn. We opened doors for women, gave our seats to anyone older than us, said yes, ma’am, and thank you, sir, and please and you’re welcome. We took our hats off when we went into the house, left our boots at the back door and never, ever cussed in front of a lady.”
“You swear in front of me,” she pointed out.
“Well, hell, Grace, that’s because you’re an exasperating woman,” he said with a boyish grin. “But if it offends you…”
“It doesn’t.” She well knew the difference between being sworn in front of and being sworn at. Her father had sworn at her loudly and often. His final words to her had been unforgivable curses regarding her character, her failures as a daughter and her suitability to be a mother, and they’d made her blood cold.
But Ethan’s curses… She rather liked that a man noticed enough about her to find her exasperating. It was a nice change from the wallflower she’d been all her life.
He parked in the hardware store lot, then came around to help her out. His hand clasping hers felt so much bigger and stronger, and his other hand, resting on her arm, made her feel both steadier and shakier. She knew she wasn’t going to fall in a literal sense, but she wondered if she was in danger of falling in a romantic sense.
Heavens, that was nonsense. The quivery little feelings she felt right now were no different from the quivery little feelings she felt when Reese Barnett was around, or Guthrie Harris, or any of a number of men. She was an incredibly naive twenty-five-year-old woman getting thrills and chills from whatever masculine contact she experienced. Nothing more, nothing less.
The store was quiet and dark, just as it was every morning when she came to open up, but it felt different. It was never open on Sundays, and she’d never felt the freedom to walk down its aisles and pick what she wanted for herself. This morning she did just that, scanning the paint samples, then offering the one she wanted to Ethan.
It was a deep rose, subdued enough to be restful, intense enough to be certain her father never would have allowed it in his house. She could easily envision herself sleeping in a room that color, with curtains at the windows in rose and navy blue, with a bedspread in matching colors, with pillows in every size and shape spilling all over. It would be rich, luxurious and eye-catching—and a world away from the safe, little-girl, pink-and-white decor of her current room.
It would be a room where a man might sleep.
The sly, unbidden thought whispered into her mind, bringing a flush to her cheeks and making it impossible to even look directly at Ethan.
“That room’s probably…” He cocked his head to one side while mentally figuring. “Fifteen by fifteen? Two gallons will be plenty, and leave enough for touch-ups. Why don’t you mix up the paint, and I’ll get the supplies.” But he didn’t head for the brushes immediately. Instead, he waited until she picked out two gallon cans, then took them from her and carried them to the worktable. Then he went to pick out his brushes.
She had finished mixing one gallon and was measuring tint into the second when the bell over the door jingled. Looking up, she saw Reese Barnett come in and, for one shameful instant, hoped that Ethan would have the good sense to stay out of sight. The sheriff was protective enough. She didn’t want Ethan to make him think he had reason to be even more so.
“Reese,” she greeted him as she snapped the lid back on the can, then fitted it into the machine.
“Hey, Grace. I was leaving the café and saw the lights on in here. What are you doing in here on a Sunday morning? Somebody have a paint emergency?”
“No. This is for me.”
“You shouldn’t be painting in your condition. You know that.”
“I’m not. I, uh, I got someone to do it for me.”
“Who?”
She chewed her lower lip, fiddled with her glasses, then looked toward aisle eight where Ethan had disappeared. Finally she folded her arms across her chest and flatly answered, “Ethan James.”
Reese’s laugh was more like a snort. “How’d you manage that? I know he didn’t come around here asking for work. Ethan wouldn’t know how to do an honest day’s work if he was starving. Jeez, Grace, haven’t you heard the stories about him?”
She shrugged stiffly. “They’re just stories.”
“Just stories that are ninety-nine percent true. Get rid of him, Grace, and I’ll do your damned painting.”
“I appreciate the advice and the offer, Reese, but I can handle this.” She ignored his second indelicate snort. “I’m a grown woman, and I’m perfectly capable of making decisions for myself.” She also ignored the next snort.
“Oh, yeah, darlin’, you’ve shown a tremendous capacity for handling things yourself,” he said sarcastically, then relented. “Just don’t be naive enough to believe anything James tells you. Don’t pay him until the job is finished. And don’t leave him alone in your house. The boy’s a first-rate liar, con artist and thief. The family would’ve been better off if his mama had drowned him at birth.”
She tried to think of something, anything, to say on Ethan’s behalf, but her mind was blank.
“If you change your mind, give me a call. I’ll be off Tuesday and Wednesday this week. I’d be happy to help you out.” He headed toward the door, turning once he got there to call a farewell.
Miserably she mumbled goodbye, then stared down at her clenched hands.
A long, still moment later, Ethan came to the counter with a can of white paint for the ceiling and an armload of supplies. He set them down, then reached across to shut off the mixing machine. An eerie quiet settled over the room.
She unknotted her fingers and removed the can from the machine, prying the lid off to check the color. She hardly noticed it, though, before pounding the lid back on and slapping the sticker with the tint formula on the side of the can. Finally still, she shifted her gaze a few inches closer to Ethan, but she couldn’t look at him. She was too embarrassed. “I’m sorry.” She should have said something, should have defended him somehow, but she just couldn’t. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t make her mouth work. Couldn’t find any words that would make a difference.
Anything would have helped, Ethan thought numbly. Even a faked show of skepticism, or a bit of emphasis on the just stories line. If she’d done anything but stand there and look ashamed of her association with him… And this was nothing. What would she do if anyone ever found out that he was the father of her baby?
She would probably rather die.
“Listen…” His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat before trying again. “Why don’t you take him up on his offer? Let him come over Tuesday and do the painting for you. It would be better for you, and, hell, he’d probably do a better job.” That settled, he turned to walk away, but she impulsively caught his wrist.
“No…Ethan, please.”
As soon as he stopped, she drew back and fiddled with the extra-long sleeves of her sweater. “I should have said something. I’m sorry. It’s just…”
Just that everyone in town knew the stories. They knew all about Ethan, and they shared the sheriff’s opinion.
Just that she’d been an outca
st herself for all but a few months of her twenty-five years. With the freedom gained from her father’s leaving, she’d also gained friends and a place in the community for herself. Defending him could jeopardize that.
Just that she didn’t have any defense to offer for him. What did she really know about him? That he was good on the dance floor and decent in bed? That he didn’t mind having sex with a total stranger? With the good people of Heartbreak, tidbits like that wouldn’t exactly place him in a better light.
Still, irrational as it was, he wished she had said something.
“You don’t owe me an apology,” he said at last. If anyone should be sorry for anything, it was him, starting with the bad luck of his birth into the James family and including every sin, real or imagined, he’d ever been damned for.
“I am sorry,” she repeated, and finally she managed to look him in the eye. “If you’re still willing to help me, I— I would appreciate it.”
He smiled, but it was all surface. “Of course I’m willing.”
Appearing genuinely relieved, she wrote out a receipt for the supplies, left it next to the cash register and bagged everything but the paint.
They returned to her house and went upstairs. After setting the paint down, Ethan’s first thought was to take his jacket off. When he realized how cold it was inside, he checked it. “I bet your old man didn’t believe in frittering away money on luxuries like heat, did he?”
She shook her head. “I’ll turn the thermostat up. I’m so used to it that I don’t even notice. And I am carrying a little extra padding these days.”
His gaze slid automatically to her belly. He knew the changes in her body weren’t comfortable for her. He’d watched her maneuver to her feet, had seen her rub the small of her back as if it ached. But there was something oddly appealing about the way she looked. Something womanly. Something damn near sensual.
Scowling at such a sappy thought, he turned his attention to the room. Jed Prescott had apparently taken all his personal belongings with him. Every drawer he removed from the dresser was empty, the walls were bare, and the closet held a spiderweb and nothing else.
The bed was full-size, plenty of room for one, cozy for two. It was made with plain white sheets and a quilt so worn that its fabrics had faded to the same pale shade. While Grace was downstairs, he unmade it, carelessly folding everything together. That done, he grabbed the fabric loops on the mattress sides and carried, dragged and man-handled it into the hallway, where he left it leaning against one wall. The springs followed, then the bed, broken down into headboard, footboard, rails and slats.
He was preparing to slide the dresser away from the wall when Grace returned. “I can help you with that,” she said, going to the opposite end, ready to lift as soon as he did.
Ethan settled his hands on his hips and simply looked at her.
“I’m stronger than I look.” When he made no move, she tried again. “I lift and carry things all the time. It’s not that heavy.”
“If it’s not that heavy, then I don’t need your help, do I?” he asked dryly.
If she’d been anyone but Grace, he would have described the position her mouth settled into as a pout. Hell, no matter who she was, that was exactly what it was. She backed away, hands folded above her stomach, and watched as he half-dragged, half-scooted the dresser into the hallway.
When he came back, she was bent over, working a stubborn drawer out of the nightstand. He caught her around the waist, ignoring the tension that streaked through her, and guided her toward the glider near one window. “Sit.”
“I was just—”
“Sit. Relax. Be lazy.”
The sound that came from her as she sank onto the cushioned seat might have been a snort or a laugh. Never having heard her do either, he wasn’t sure. “Being lazy is a mortal sin in Jed Prescott’s house.”
“But this isn’t Jed Prescott’s house anymore. It’s Grace Prescott’s, and she’s smart enough to realize that even God rested on the Sabbath.”
With a reluctant smile, she settled in and drew the two halves of the cardigan front together over her own front. She’d said she didn’t notice the cold, but that wasn’t true. He hadn’t yet seen her without long sleeves and a sweater, often with a blanket nearby. It was true that she’d grown accustomed to being cold, but she still felt it.
She had become accustomed to a lot of things, it appeared. He wondered if she could adapt to a few more. Like having him around all the time. Not caring what her new friends thought. Not being ashamed of him, his name and his role in her pregnancy.
Maybe, if he had unlimited time. With only two months to prove his worth, probably the best he could hope for was resignation.
Shaking off the grimness of his thoughts, he moved the nightstand from the room, then began taking drawers from the tall bureau.
“It feels weird, sitting here doing nothing and watching you work,” she commented.
He flashed her a grin. “Enjoy it. I know people who would pay for the opportunity. Most of this town, including my brother, thinks I wouldn’t know how to do an honest day’s work if I was starving, remember?”
The instant the blush darkened her cheeks, he regretted the comment. “Reese never would have said that if he’d known you were there.”
The defense she couldn’t come up with for him in the store came easily when it was for Barnett. Obviously, after the incident when Jed had struck her, the sheriff had taken some sort of interest in her, maybe purely professional, maybe completely personal. What kind of interest had she taken in him? Did she see him as some sort of white knight who’d rescued her from one bad situation and might, if she was lucky, save her from the rest? Were they friends? Did she harbor hopes of more?
It would have been damn near perfect for her if Barnett had fallen in love with her after saving her from her father. His name alone was enough to earn her respect from the entire county. It was enough to save her child. No one would snicker about the baby’s questionable parentage. No one would dare call the kid names, or automatically expect trouble from him, or judge him on nothing more than the blood that flowed in his veins.
By marrying Barnett, she could gain instant approval and acceptance for herself and Ethan’s child.
And by marrying Ethan, she could ensure that such approval and acceptance would never be theirs.
And he had no one to blame but himself.
“Barnett would have said exactly the same things if I’d been standing right there beside you,” he disagreed. “Which is fine. I have more respect for a man who’ll say to my face what others only whisper behind my back. And he was right. I’m the best liar and con artist to ever come out of Heartbreak. And I’m sure there were times when my mama wished I had disappeared along with my father. She had Guthrie, the perfect son, who’d never disappointed a soul in his life. She didn’t need a second son who was more trouble than he was worth.”
“She never told you that,” Grace scolded him. “If they’d given an award for mother of the year, your mother would have won it every single time. Everyone says she was a wonderful mother, a wonderful friend and a better—”
When she abruptly stopped, Ethan finished for her. “A better wife than Gordon James deserved. You’ll get no argument from me. She was a saint. Guthrie was a saint. They were great fun to live with. They could do no wrong, and I couldn’t do anything right. They were saints, and I was a sinner. They were honest, decent and good friends, and I was…”
Realizing that he’d said too much, he broke off and looked around. While talking, he’d taken down the curtains and rolled up the rug, leaving them all in a pile in the hallway. There was nothing left to do but a little cleaning and then work.
“You were what?” Grace’s soft, hesitant question came from behind him. Maybe because she’d had so little gentleness in her life, she could put more of it into her voice than any woman he’d known. Not even Nadine, mother extraordinaire, had ever sounded quite so tender with him. Of course
, more often than not, she’d been exasperated with him.
“Nothing,” he muttered. “Do you have a ladder and a vacuum cleaner?”
“In the laundry room downstairs. I’ll help you—”
He held out one hand to stay her. “I can manage. Do you want anything while I’m down there?”
“Just an answer.”
He started to walk out without a response. At least, that was his plan. But at the door he turned back against his will and flatly gave her what she wanted. “They were so damned perfect, so damned good. And I…I was just like my father.”
Chapter 6
As Ethan stirred the paint, Grace left the bedroom, feeling even worse about the way she’d kept her mouth shut with Reese. It wouldn’t have hurt her to simply disagree, to point out that sometimes people changed. It wouldn’t have changed his mind one bit, but she thought it might have made a lot of difference to Ethan.
If anyone had suggested before this past week that things that had happened when he was growing up still affected him, she wouldn’t have believed it. He hadn’t had a sober thought in his life. He’d skated his way through school, never buckling down, never taking anything seriously, including himself. In the bar last summer, he’d been funny, charming and thoroughly insincere, but even that had been part of the charm. She’d never met anyone with so few regrets, so little emotional baggage, with such a casual attitude. It had been refreshing, appealing. Exactly what she wanted.
But he had regrets and baggage, more than most people. He just hid them well.
The hallway was filled at the near end with furniture. She had to suck in a deep breath and turn sideways to squeeze through the narrow space left by the dresser, but she was only going as far as the next room. She eased as far inside as the clutter would allow, took a long look around and considered going to her own room to take a nap. Instead she stiffened her spine and went to work.
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