by Lois Richer
He acceded easily enough, the twinkle of mischief back in his eyes. And to his credit he said nothing when she teetered on the rungs of the ladder, reaching for the crease along the stippled ceiling. He merely stood below, his lips pursed in a tight, straight line, holding the ladder. Nor did he comment when she dripped paint into his hair. Or when she wavered with dizziness on the second from the top rung.
But when she finally came down off the ladder, he was there with a cold glass of water.
“Sit down and drink this,” he ordered.
As she watched, his face assumed that tight mask of control, devoid of any visible emotion. She hated that look.
“I’ll take my turn now.” He took the roller from her without asking and climbed the ladder, his lips pinched together.
Caitlin drank the cool refreshing water thankfully. And when it became clear that Jordan had no intention of relinquishing his hold on the roller or the ladder, she took the brush to the corners, filling the seamed areas his roller didn’t cover.
They worked in silence as the fresh autumn breeze blew in the windows. It helped carry away some of the nontoxic paint smell and Caitlin was grateful.
But eventually she had to get out of the room. Her aching head and queasy stomach refused to subside and since Jordan had insisted the bedroom door remain closed to seal off the rest of the house, it was impossible to get totally away from the odor as long as she remained in the room.
“I think I’ll go make some tea.” She left with an admonition for him to call her when he needed help. Once downstairs, Caitlin headed for the front door to check the mailbox.
“Hi. What’s up?” Maryann stood in the front hall, the area that divided their apartments. “Got company?”
“Jordan.” Caitlin made a face. “I’m trying to paint the nursery and he insists I leave it to him. That man is so bossy.” She grinned. “But to tell you the truth, I don’t know what I’d do without him. At the moment I’ve got a splitting headache.”
“There’s nothing wrong with having someone care about you, Caitlin,” Maryann murmured.
“Yes, I know. It’s just that Jordan sort of bulldozes me into things. And I don’t even realize it until he’s left.” She frowned. “I’ve got an idea for that room and I intend to carry it out.”
The doorbell rang then, cutting into their conversation.
“That’s for me,” Maryann said. “Amy and I are going out.”
“Oh.” Caitlin’s interest perked at the mention of Maryann’s daughter. “Going with anyone I know?”
“Everybody seems to know everything around here,” Maryann chuckled as she tugged open the front door. “Come on in, Peter. I’ll just get Amy. Peter’s Amy’s skating coach for ringette.”
“Okay. Hello, Mrs. Andrews.” Peter Bloomfield stepped into the hall, his smile white and gleaming.
Caitlin nodded absently, wished him a good day and then turned back into her apartment. She closed the door carefully, her mind busy. Seconds later she had the phone next to her ear.
“Clayton? Maryann and Amy are going out with Peter Bloomfield. I thought we agreed that you would ask her out. Dancing, you said.”
The bachelor’s quiet tones rumbled down the phone line. “Oh. Yeah. Well, I tried. But I just couldn’t do it, Caitlin. Maybe after a few more practice sessions.”
All that time she’d spent encouraging him and he still wasn’t sure? “All right, Clayton. If you’re certain?”
“Yes. Yes, I am. Can I come over for lessons again?”
“Yes, all right. Monday night. Bye, Clayton.” Caitlin hung up the phone with another sigh.
“He’s coming over again?” Jordan stood frowning at the bottom of the stairs. “What’s it for this time?”
“He’s not quite confident yet. He feels he needs a few more sessions before he makes a move.”
“What kind of sessions?” Jordan’s face was dark. “Are you counseling this guy or something, Lyn?”
“No. If you must know, I’m trying to teach him to dance.” She held up a hand. “Please, Jordan, I can’t say any more. He made me promise, so don’t ask. Just make sure your mother doesn’t happen to drop over for coffee on Monday evening, okay?”
Jordan didn’t say yes. But then he didn’t say no, either. He just stood there, glaring at her, before he turned and went back up the stairs.
“Did you want something?” she called.
“Yes,” she heard him mutter, his voice grumpy. “But I don’t think I’m going to get it.” Seconds later the nursery door slammed shut.
Caitlin shrugged and walked out into her tiny kitchen. She watered the herbs that had started to sprout in the windowsill planter and realized her headache was easing.
Some time out of that room was all she needed she told herself, ignoring the muscles that protested from the effort of too much unaccustomed reaching.
Time out and some time away from Jordan Andrews was the best possible solution to her problems. Lately he had a way of looking at her that made her strangely nervous. A quiver would start in her tummy and zap to her brain, rendering her mental functions virtually useless.
It was a schoolgirl reaction and she ordered herself to get over it. Jordan was handsome and kind and sweet. He’d help out anyone in her predicament. And, after all, she was his sister-in-law.
At twelve she went to call him for the small lunch she had prepared. She found Jordan whistling as he rolled on the last few strokes.
“You’re finished, already?” she said, amazed at the difference a paint job could make. The walls glowed smooth and creamy in their new coats of velvet gloss.
“It’s not that big an area and the surface is in good shape.”
“It should be. I paid a small fortune for a plasterer.”
He avoided her eyes as he covered an area she’d already painted earlier. His smooth even strokes blended out the lines left by her hurried determination to do it herself.
“This is where I’m going to put the duck decals,” she told him happily, holding up her hands to frame the area.
It was amazing how quickly the feature wall evolved after that. Jordan suggested a light-blue background for the space behind Mrs. Puddleduck.
They walked downstairs, still discussing the nursery.
“She needs a pond,” he told her seriously, his eyes gleaming through the paint-spattered metal rims of his glasses as he stood in the kitchen. He washed out the roller while she served the soup.
A pond sounded reasonable.
“Okay,” she acquiesced. “But that’s all. No more frills. I want to do ruffly curtains and with the border I bought today, that should be enough accents. The furniture I ordered will complete it.”
They ate without speaking, enjoying the relative calm of their lunchtime, munching on the cold cuts and rolls she served.
They sat for a while and then Caitlin moved to the sofa where she could feel herself drifting to sleep. When she awoke, she realized Jordan had covered her with the teal afghan from the living room.
The dishes lay stacked neatly in the kitchen sink. And there was a faint sound of whistling from upstairs. She followed that sound and found Jordan in the nursery, surrounded by small colored cans of paint. She also saw that the mural had expanded from a simple pond to include three white, puffy clouds floating in a pale blue sky.
“Atmosphere,” he told her. His eyes were fixed on the wall, studying it as if something were about to emerge.
Shaking her head, Caitlin went to get him some coffee. When she returned, an array of bright-yellow daffodils waved on thin green stalks from a clump of warm-brown dirt on the edge of the lake.
She hadn’t finished admiring those when he added two thick green trees and a patch of high reedy grass. She called a halt then.
“Jordan, you can’t put on any more. There won’t be room for Jemima Puddleduck or her brood!”
His eyes were glazed as he stood back, studying his efforts, paintbrush in hand. “A boat,” he murmured. �
�A little sailboat with a bright-red sail, maybe.”
“No, no more. It looks wonderful just as it is.”
He didn’t appear to hear her. “I think if I…”
Caitlin took the brush from his hand and tossed it into the garbage bag. “If you’ve got so much energy, you can help me put up the border along the ceiling edge,” she muttered. He agreed readily enough and once he’d finished his coffee, they began pasting the bands of color onto the newly painted walls.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t wait before doing this?” she asked him for the sixth time. Her hand swept over the wall, assessing its condition. “This paint does seem dry enough.”
“It was dry ages ago,” he reassured her. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have started that.” One long finger pointed to the scene he’d created.
“Here’s another one. We’re almost done,” she cried exultantly as he placed the last bit carefully against the wall.
They picked up the bits of paper and glue that clung here and there to the pale-gray carpet Finally Jordan went to wash while she called the baby store to request a rush delivery of the furniture. It suddenly seemed urgent to get the room finished.
To her surprise, the store manager said they could bring everything within the hour. Caitlin could hardly control her anticipation as she surveyed the room, mentally placing the items she had chosen earlier in the week.
When she couldn’t wait any longer and Jordan had returned, she insisted that the walls were dry enough. They lifted up the sticky characters and applied them, using great care to avoid smudging the freshly painted mural. Jordan continued to speculate.
“Perhaps a beach ball,” he deliberated. “And a pail and shovel.”
“No, Jordan.”
“But Lyn, if it’s a boy, he’ll want some boy toys.”
Caitlin was losing her patience. “Jordan, we’re talking about a newborn baby here. Toys will come a little later, okay?”
He nodded absently, his mind obviously somewhere else. “I really think a boat…”
“Jordan,” Caitlin muttered, tugging the change table Robyn had given her through the door to its place under the wall lamp. “Jordan?”
He was on his hands and knees staring at the bottom of the grass. “You know—” his dark eyes beamed up at her “—if we just put a little garter snake here…”
“No,” she bellowed, repulsed by the very idea of a snake in her baby’s room. “No reptiles!”
His merry chuckles made her flush with embarrassment.
“I was only teasing,” he muttered, unabashed when she fired off a glare.
They worked together with the delivery man, her directing and the men lifting as they moved the oak crib and an antique rocking chair Caitlin had purchased to just the right place and then moved them again because the ambience wasn’t quite right.
The chair she finally placed near the window so she could see outside. A tall bureau found its home strategically situated near the change table to allow her handy diaper swaps.
At last everything was where she wanted it. Caitlin gazed round the room with satisfaction. It was a beautiful room. And it had taken half the time she had expected to ready the nursery. Thanks to Jordan. She turned to meet his dark gaze.
“Thank you.” She felt as if her whole body was smiling with the relief of having this job done. “I appreciate the time you’ve spent here, helping me.” She smiled softly. “You’ve made this room very special. I value your help.”
He grinned back, bowing at the waist. “My pleasure, Caitlin. I enjoyed every minute.”
His face grew more serious as he studied her through his spattered lenses. “I think you’re going to enjoy sitting in here. And the baby will love it.”
A wistful look covered his face. Then, like a cloud, darkness flooded his eyes. “I just wish you would consider allowing the rest of the family to help a little more. Mom and Dad would love to be on call for whatever you need.”
The goodwill and harmony they had just shared evaporated now like the sun behind those dark wintry clouds that had started blowing in from the north. Caitlin turned to leave, tugging the black garbage bag behind her. When Jordan took it from her, she let him, not saying a word. Her footsteps were weary as she plodded slowly down the stairs. He followed silently.
But Jordan wouldn’t leave it alone. She knew him well enough to know that he was like a dog with a bone once he got hold of an idea. And right now, the last thing she needed was more tension. Life already seemed like she was walking a tightrope. Quarreling with Jordan would only make it worse.
“I promise, I’ll involve them in the baby’s life. They’ll be so tired of me, they’ll beg off. But not right now, okay?”
“But Lyn, they’d love to…” He took a second look at her face and stopped talking.
As she sank into the big armchair, Caitlin’s brain searched for a way out of her dilemma. She did not want to have this discussion again. How could she tactfully explain that she was afraid their interest wouldn’t last, that she’d become a burden on them, that they reminded her of what she’d lost?
Nothing momentous occurred to her by the time he broke the silence.
“Why don’t you come over to Mom and Dad’s for supper tonight? The girls are planning Dad’s birthday on Sunday. They’d love to see you again.”
Caitlin recognized the veiled reference to the fact that she had studiously avoided his family. Jordan, it seemed, was intent on making up for lost time. Two visits in one week?
“I know they’re a bit talkative and my mother does have a slight tendency to stride in where angels fear to tread.” Jordan winked. “But if it gets to be too much, I promise I’ll take you straight home. Inquisition or not.”
“Okay,” she agreed softly after several moments of rapid thought, eventually admitting the real reason for agreeing to his plans. She wanted to see them again, revel in the love and caring. “But only if you phone your mother first and tell her I’m coming.”
“Fine,” Jordan grunted, obviously satisfied if not mystified by her sudden capitulation. “I’ll phone her, but you know perfectly well that she loves company. The more the merrier.”
“And tell her we’ll bring over some chicken, too.”
Jordan groaned his dismay, his face curled up in disgust.
A scant hour later they were waiting at a local fastfood establishment to pick up the fried chicken Caitlin insisted on ordering. Jordan climbed out of his car with reluctance, only to poke his head back in at her.
“I hate chicken, you know,” he muttered, his wide mouth curving down in distaste.
“I do know, Jordan.” Caitlin grinned at him without apology. “And even if I didn’t, you’ve reminded me at least six times since we left home.”
“Why couldn’t we just pick up some steaks and barbecue?”
“Because I feel like eating fried chicken. I’m sure your dad will have something else, just in case. He doesn’t seem to enjoy this particular delicacy any more than you do.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he groaned. “Dad likes some really wild things. What if it’s bear sausage?”
She grinned. “Maybe it will be roasted pelican or unruffled duck. Will you stop wasting time and just get the chicken?”
“Fine. I’ll go, but I don’t like it.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, his hair flopping down over one quirked eyebrow. “How come you don’t eat pickles and ice cream like the books say?”
“You read books about pregnancy?” The very idea sent her eyes winging to his.
“I’m interested. Okay?” Jordan flushed a deep, dark, embarrassed red. He sauntered into the store, mumbling to himself all the way.
Caitlin sat in his car and considered this newfound knowledge. Jordan was reading up on pregnancy. It was…endearing. Imagine taking the time to study her condition! The knowing warmed her inside until she considered the folly of what she was doing.
She was letting them in. Little by little Jordan and his family w
ere eating away at the protective wall she’d built around her heart.
“But it’s only temporary,” she assured her nagging conscience. “Just till after I get settled with the baby. Surely it’s not wrong to be friends with Jordan. Is it?”
But is it friendship you want from him? Or are you looking for a replacement for Michael? Is Jordan just a way of avoiding the truth?
“I know I’m alone here, God,” she muttered, dashing the tears from her eyes. “You don’t have to hit me over the head. I know that there’s only me I can count on.”
I’m here.
The words resounded through her head like a train whistle in a tunnel.
You can depend on me, Caitlin.
“No, I can’t,” she whispered, twisting her hands miserably.
I will never leave you. I’m always here.
Could she believe that?
Chapter Six
A half hour later, ensconced in his mother’s front room, Jordan allowed his eyes to rest on Caitlin once more. Her hair curled down her back in a riot of dark russet that refused to be confined. Her clear profile was both elegant and arresting. She was as beautiful as she had ever been.
Caitlin’s eyes, dark and mossy, almost hid the fears and secrets she never talked about. He’d been acquainted with her for years and yet Jordan realized he had never really known her at all. When she was hurt or worried, Caitlin pulled inside herself. That was exactly what had happened when Mike died. She had closed herself off to everyone.
Those same eyes seemed duller now. The dimples remained though, hidden away at the corner of her mouth until she grinned that impishly heartrending smile that stretched her wide full mouth and tore at his heart.
Jordan turned away, calling himself a prize fool. Caitlin was his brother’s widow. She was lost and alone because his brother had died while driving Jordan’ s car.
Rationally, in some part of his brain, Jordan knew it wasn’t his fault. Michael had always driven fast. And the terribly cold conditions last winter made black ice a sure thing. But nothing he told himself, and nothing anyone else could ever say, took away that niggling bit of doubt at the back of his mind.