“No? Is he excited about the baby?”
Cassie’s heart leapt into her throat. What should she say? Did she dare tell her the truth? Yet letting her think it was Sonny’s wasn’t right either. Shelby had been very straightforward with her, talking to her more like a friend than an employee.
“No.” Cassie scraped nervously at the potato. “It’s, uh, it’s not his.”
After a long silence Shelby finally said, “Oh.”
“Sort of confusing, huh?”
Shelby shrugged her shoulders. “No more than me and Shane. The reasons don’t have to be discussed.”
“Maybe someday,” Cassie said.
“Exactly.” Shelby picked up the headphones and put them on, resuming her work with the computer.
Cassie added the cut up potatoes to her stew and pondered when she would see Sonny again.
Grant McIan couldn’t sleep. He lay on the old brass bed that had once belonged to his grandparents and stared into the darkness around him. Shane had come to find him and Larry at the end of the day to say they had Shelby’s permission to tap her trees. Her only stipulation was that once they were boiling, they must bring her to the sugarhouse and let her experience the whole thing. They had shaken Shane’s hand and asked him to thank her, saying they would be happy to show both Shane and Shelby around when the time came. Then they had taken Suzanne and the baby out for dinner and toasted their expanded operation with a bottle of champagne.
Now, the thought of adding five hundred new taps in the next two months was keeping him awake. Five hundred was the most they would be able to afford this year; without the windfall of this winter job at Dayton’s they wouldn’t even have been able to do that. Of course, the job also occupied their daylight hours and would complicate the achievement of five hundred new taps before sugar season began. It was a catch-22 situation, and they might have to work out a compromise with Blake in order to get everything done.
Blake brought to mind Dawson, and Dawson led to Cassie. Grant wondered why he hadn’t noticed her sooner. Something about her had really appealed to him today, something about the way she carried herself. She possessed a quiet dignity he admired, yet she was neither haughty nor stand-offish. There was just something in her bearing that inspired respect, a calm sense of being in control. He also liked the country way she dressed, favoring longish skirts and peasant blouses to blue jeans and fancy sweaters. She had her own style and sense of self; it was obvious she was not influenced by what others dictated she should be. What was not obvious was how she ever became involved with a raunchy character like Claude Bennerup or, even more important, why. She had been going out with Sonny Penfield on and off for at least eight years. There had also been others from time to time, but none who could keep her from being there for Sonny. It didn’t follow that she would demean herself with the likes of Bennerup, and then why not take precautions against getting pregnant? None of it made sense, and the more he thought about it, the more disturbing it became. Cassie deserved better than the life she was headed for, and he could only hope that her association with Shelby Weaver-North might alter her course.
And then there was Shelby. Thoughts of her brought that haunted feeling to his guts, the hollow ache around his heart. What a tragic example of life’s cruelty she was. From the wedding band she wore and her hyphenated name, he assumed she had been married. Most likely her husband had died in the same accident that had so horribly disfigured her. Her relationship with Shane Freeman was a hard one to figure. Shane had recently made a comment that indicated he intended to occupy one of the apartments in the barn. They could hardly be lovers then, so what where they? Relatives? Just friends? The latter seemed hard to fathom. They were obviously quite affectionate with one another, or was he only playing a part? Could Larry be right about him? As handsome as he was, he could probably seduce any girl he wanted; why would he choose someone who was disfigured as well as disabled and who couldn’t even see how good-looking he was? Of course, they might have been childhood friends or high school sweethearts who were reunited after her accident.
Sort of like his fantasies about Corey and himself. The second chance. Not that he wished an early demise on Allen Sloan. But maybe he would take off someday with another woman, or he and Corey would mutually agree that they no longer wanted to be married to one another. Of course, there were no outward signs that anything was wrong between them. They had just built their new split level, and they always looked happy enough together. Still, Corey had lingered as long as possible on Sunday evening and had seemed genuinely happy to be with Grant again. While he would never make a move on her while she was married, she must realize that he hadn’t stayed single all these years because of lack of opportunity.
Yet, why had he stayed single? Did he truly believe she would leave Allen and come back to him? Why should she? Grant had bullied and badgered and driven her to marry Allen, and she had basically been avoiding Grant ever since. Seven years. Why would she come back now after seven years?
His mind went to that June evening in this very cabin when she had first told him she was pregnant. How uncharacteristically distracted she had been when they had made love, rigid and unresponsive as they lay together on the tattered old bunk that had then occupied this room. He had seen fear in her eyes, those aqua blue eyes, and she was shaking when she should have been relaxed. And then his disbelief that they could have made such a mistake, his accusations that she had purposely become pregnant in order to keep him from going back to UVM in the fall. And then, the cold reality of Allen Sloan and the revelation of her bedding them both the previous April. How cruel he had been to her then, how precariously short of brutal. Never mind that he had also screwed a coed or two at school; they were nothing to him. She cared about Allen Sloan, even though she professed to love Grant.
He rolled onto his side as the ache in his chest increased. Why was he doing this to himself, reliving all his regrets? Forget Corey. He needed to actively pursue someone else, but who? Cassie? She was stuck on Sonny and pregnant by Bennerup. Nice combination. No one else even came to mind. Slim pickings in a small town. On the other hand, he didn’t really need anyone most of the time. And how many women would be willing to put up with his lifestyle? The cabin with no inside plumbing and only wood heat. His life was governed by the seasons: deer season, ice fishing season, sugar season, trout season. He lived off the land as much as possible and only earned as much money as he needed to support his seasonal pursuits. When his sexual needs become foremost in his mind, he rarely had difficulty finding a willing partner. But he never took chances anymore; he never left the precautions up to them. The next time he was faced with a pregnancy, it was going to be one of his choice.
He fell asleep wondering if he would ever have the chance.
Chapter Seven
Dawson never had a piece of paper on him when he needed one; over the years it had become his habit to simply write on a hunk of wood. He stood now with a scrap of two by four in his hand and recorded the dimensions Blake read off, then replaced the pencil behind his ear and went to the table saw. Afternoon sunshine was slanting through the row of windows they had cut on the back side of the barn, and golden streams of fine airborne sawdust swirled about him as he worked.
They were finally at the part that he liked best, the finish work. These were the parts that showed, where precision joinery mattered, and he could exercise his perfectionist bent. Let the others bang away at framing walls and nailing down the floors . He was a cabinetmaker, not a carpenter. Unfortunately, the majority of jobs available recently had involved only the rough work. If these people decided to have the Penfield Brothers renovate the house as well, he would truly be in his glory.
He had yet to see the woman, although she had now been around for over a week. He supposed she had no reason to come out to the barn if she couldn’t see what they were doing. The plans did include wheelchair access, however, to the studios and the apartments. No doubt that might be necessary for future
students, as well, but most likely the woman wanted to be able to visit once the school was in progress.
Apparently, room and board was going to include meals served to the group, for among his future projects was a table that would seat twelve. Cassie was going to have plenty to do, cooking and baking for twelve. Thinking of Cassie sent a pang of guilt through him. He had been avoiding her since she moved in without really knowing why. Of course, now he didn’t feel free to simply drop in on her in the evening, nor was it as easy to reach this house from his without his truck. Still, the desire to see her had not been there. Perhaps it was the growing evidence of her liaison with Claude Bennerup. Perhaps it was the knowledge that many people assumed the kid was his, when he had purposely avoided having sex with her, sometimes at great personal sacrifice, in order to avoid being put in that situation. “Like father, like son” was the last insult he had ever wanted applied to him, and now everyone was saying it, and Dawson was furious.
He cut the window casings Blake had measured and carried them to one of the newly cut windows. Blake took a piece from his hands and lined it up over the window framing. “Seems Freeman’s decided they need a live-in handyman. He doesn’t think the two ladies should be left alone up here when he’s gone overnight,” he said.
“Why not? Who’s going to bother them?”
“He’s from the city. He worries about shit like that.”
“I thought he was going to have a barn full of students.”
“I guess they’ll be coming and going and he can’t depend on them. Besides, the place could use a handyman, don’t you think? There’s enough work here to keep somebody busy for forty years.”
Dawson shrugged, his eyes on the wood he was laying out. “Could be.”
“He asked me who could do the job, and I said you.”
Dawson shot him a sideways glance. “Me? What the hell for? I’m not interested in mowing his lawn.”
“I don’t think that’s what he’s talking about. You probably wouldn’t even have to be here during the day. I think he’s talking nights and just to fix stuff when it breaks, so the ladies are taken care of. Hey, it would take you away from Pa. You’d have your own place and a regular paycheck. And Cassie’s cooking every night.”
Dawson chose to ignore the reference to Cassie. “Our business is just getting off the ground. I don’t want to leave it now.”
“You’re not hearing me, Sonny. You could still go to work. Plus when he wants a table or a door or something, he’d count on you.”
“Why are you pushing this, Blake?”
“Because, asshole, we’d have an automatic first option on every job they want done. And I’ve got a feeling there are going to lots of ‘em. The work here will last for years.”
Dawson pondered this last; it was the only reasonable argument Blake had made. Living at home had not been that big a problem lately. Pa had been down with pleurisy most of the winter and spent a lot of time sleeping in a chair because he couldn’t sleep at night. Dawson had been doing better at keeping sober, what with this job and all, and Pa had been leaving him alone. As far as Cassie’s cooking was concerned, his ma’s cooking was just fine with him.
“We’ve already got a good foot in the door. Freeman seems happy enough.”
Blake shrugged his shoulders. “Suit yourself. He’s going to offer you the job before he advertises it. That’s all I know. I’m going downstairs to see how they’re doing with that storeroom.”
Shane came into the barn an hour later, gave the new window casings a cursory glance, then asked Dawson to join him at the house. Dawson reluctantly followed him through the long ell and into the kitchen, wondering if Cassie wasn’t behind this as well. She was nowhere in sight, nor was Shelby Weaver-North. Shane poured them each a cup of coffee from a glass carafe and sat down at the kitchen table opposite Dawson.
He said basically the same things Blake had said about his reasons for wanting a male on the premises at night. He avoided any persuasive rhetoric, however, and simply offered Dawson the position.
“Think about it,” he said. “I don’t need to know until the end of the week. If you don’t want it, I’d appreciate any recommendations you might make for someone else. It’s not the sort of thing I’d offer to just anyone without references.”
“Where would the person live?” Dawson asked. “I assume they wouldn’t live in the house or any of the student apartments.”
“What would you think of that far outbuilding as an apartment?”
Dawson looked out the kitchen window toward the free-standing storage shed that stood across the dooryard at right angles to the barn. It appeared to be in fairly good shape and was of reasonable size.
“It’s hard to say from here, but it looks like a possibility.”
His concentration was interrupted by the sound of rhythmic thumping on the floor. Dawson turned from the window to see a tall young woman traveling the length of the kitchen with the aid of an aluminum walker. As she approached, Dawson studied her face. He did not find the scars as terrible as everyone said they were. Rather, he saw the fineness of her features, the delicate nose, the large gray eyes shaded by long dark lashes. Her body was slim and strong; even with the walker she appeared athletic and fit. A small smile came to her face, and he had to remind himself that she could not see him.
Shane rose to meet her, slipping his hand behind her elbow to grasp her arm when she reached the table. “Shelby, this is Dawson Penfield. He and his brother are our contractors. Dawson, this is Shelby Weaver-North.”
Shelby’s smile widened as she extended her hand, and Dawson reached out to shake it.
“I’m glad to meet you, Dawson. Cassie has told me about you.”
I’ll bet, Dawson thought as he withdrew his hand.
“Dawson is considering the position as live-in handyman,” Shane said to her.
Shelby nodded. “That would be good. I think I’d feel a lot better about being here when you’re gone.”
Shane pulled out the chair at the end of the table, and she eased herself into it, flinching ever so slightly as she sat. Dawson watched her, intrigued by the contrasts he saw. She seemed fit yet extremely fragile, strong but vulnerable. She needed to be taken care of, yet she was not weak, and he did not see her as a tragic figure. She was a victim of circumstance, but she did not act like a victim. Instead, she gave him the feeling she was totally in control.
He turned his attention back to Shane and was surprised to see the man staring at him, his strange pale eyes icy cold. Dawson’s first thought was that he had been rude, staring at her like that. But there was something more than irritation in Freeman’s eyes; it was a warning. She’s mine, the look said. Don’t get any ideas. Dawson saw no need to challenge the man; she simply aroused his protective instincts. He looked away, submitting to the other’s warning as a wolf submits to the leader of the pack. She would be safe with him and safe from him, as well. He’d had plenty of practice at that.
Shelby rested her hands on the table, and Dawson glanced at them. Her fingers were long and slim, and on her left hand she wore a plain rose gold wedding band. He recognized the coppery color of the rose gold, for it was the color of a brooch his ma always wore that had come, in turn, from her mother. Surprised to see the wedding band, he was reminded of Cassie’s statement in the dooryard that Shane and Shelby did not sleep together. But that could mean different things. He and Marcia Boardman did not sleep together either, but that didn’t mean they never had sex.
Shelby crossed one slim hand over the other and asked Shane if he would leave the two of them alone for a few minutes. Shane’s face did not register any emotion as he said, “Sure” and left by way of the back door.
Shelby tilted her head in Dawson’s direction, but kept her sightless eyes trained on the window at the other end of the table. “I just want to make sure that you don’t feel obligated to take this job, and that you would be comfortable being here,” she said quietly. “I understand that the situatio
n with Cassie’s baby has strained things between you, and while I don’t intend to get into your business, I also want to make sure that both of you could live with these arrangements.”
“Does Cassie know I’ve been offered the job?”
Shelby nodded. “When Shane told me this morning that your brother had suggested you, I felt I needed to ask Cassie first how she felt. I hope you understand. She already lives here, and I feel she has a right to say how she wants things to be.”
Dawson nodded, then remembered she could not see. “I appreciate that.”
“She’s not against it, by any means, but she said she thought you might feel that the two of you were being thrown together. That’s why I want you to make sure you think it over carefully and give yourself a few days to consider all the ramifications.”
Dawson pondered that for a moment, then said, “What about yourself? Don’t you have any reservations about me?”
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