In Blackhawk's Bed

by Barbara Mccauley

  He poked his head in the bathroom. She’d bought new white-and-black tiles for the floor and around the existing tub, but she hadn’t the money to pay anyone to set them yet.

  He knelt and looked at the boxed brass ceiling fan Hannah had bought on a closeout from the hardware store. “For your bed-and-breakfast?”

  She nodded. “I hope to be open by Christmas.”

  “So what’s stopping you?”

  She really didn’t care to discuss her financial situation with Seth. The last thing she wanted from him was pity or sympathy. “My grandparents left this house to my mother and my aunt Martha. When my mom passed away six years ago, the house became half mine. It was rented out until the girls and I moved in three years ago, after—”

  When she paused, he glanced up. “After your divorce?”

  “Separation,” she said, then climbed back up the ladder and rubbed the sanding block over the spackle. “The divorce wasn’t final for another year after that.”

  He’d ask now, she thought. People always wanted to know what happened and why. It shouldn’t bother her, she knew. What difference should it make now? And in her heart, she knew that both she and the girls were better off because of it.

  But the fact was, it did bother her. And with Seth, even more so.

  “So this aunt of yours,” he said, “does she live in Ridgewater?”

  Hannah slowly released the breath she’d been holding. He hadn’t asked, she thought with relief, and felt the tension ease from her shoulders.

  “She was raised here, but she got married and moved to Boston when I was a little girl.”

  “She wasn’t happy with you yesterday, was she?” he asked. “When she called.”

  Once again, the memory of Seth’s kiss flooded her senses. Hannah bit the inside of her mouth, forced the feelings and the image from her mind. With a shrug, she blew at the dust on the wall. “She’s been lonely since my uncle died a couple of years ago, but she keeps busy with the Cambridge Revolutionary Society, and she’s president of the Boston Women’s Cultural League.”

  At the two short blasts from a car’s horn, Hannah climbed down the ladder and glanced out the window. Maddie and Missy had just jumped out of Lori’s big black Yukon and were running up the front walk.

  “Up here,” Hannah yelled down when she heard the front door slam open.

  “Mommy! Mommy!” the girls both called to her at the same time as they pounded up the stairs. “We’re famous!”

  Hannah looked apologetically at Seth, who simply folded his arms and leaned back against the wall.

  Maddie and Missy bounded into the room and ran to her. “Look, Mommy, look!” Maddie said as she waved the newspaper around. “Me and Missy got our pictures in the paper!”

  “Missy and I,” Hannah corrected her daughter.

  “No, not you. Just Missy and me,” Maddie said excitedly, then ran to Seth. “And you, Mr. Granger. Look at this. You’re on the front page and everything!”

  “How ’bout that?” Seth knelt and glanced at the picture as if he’d never seen it before. The wince in his eyes was barely noticeable, Hannah thought.

  Hannah appreciated the smile Seth gave her daughters, though she was certain it took tremendous effort on his part. She watched her daughters jumping up and down with excitement as they pointed to their pictures and told Seth how their teacher had asked them both to come up and tell the class what had happened. The paper had even mentioned the girls’ birthday in a couple of weeks, which delighted them both to no end. When he bent down to their level, Maddie and Missy put their hands on Seth’s shoulders and leaned against him, would have climbed in his lap if they could have.

  It amazed Hannah how easily her daughters had accepted Seth. Over the past year, Hannah had gone out on an occasional date, usually when Lori or one of the other well-meaning women in Ridgewater had set her up with an eligible bachelor. And though all her dates had been extremely friendly to both her daughters, neither Maddie or Missy had ever warmed up to even one of the men.

  But then neither had she, Hannah noted.

  Of all the men to “warm up” to, Hannah thought with a sigh, Seth Granger was the worse possible choice. For her and her daughters.

  “Girls.” Hannah set the sanding block down and reached for a rag to wipe off her hands. “Go wash your hands and I’ll be down in a minute to make you a snack.”

  “Okay,” they both said at the same time. Maddie grabbed one of Seth’s hands, Missy, the other. “Can you have a snack with us, Mr. Granger?”

  Hannah saw the hesitation in Seth’s eyes, but the girls didn’t give him a chance to answer. They tugged him toward the doorway, chattering the entire time about the newspaper article. She saw him glance over his shoulder, a look of bewilderment on his face, and couldn’t help but smile at him when Maddie asked if he liked peanut butter and bananas on toast.

  Maddie and Missy stopped abruptly at the doorway and turned. “Oh, Aunt Lori said to tell you that we’re leaving for camp at three tomorrow instead of four ’cause the dentist cancelled her appointment.”

  Before Hannah could say anything, they were gone, like two dancing bubbles of pure energy.

  Camp? What camp?

  Hannah felt her heart skip as she remembered. Camp Wickamackee. With everything that had happened this week, she’d forgotten that Lori was taking Maddie and Missy to weekend camp at the lake. Lori had been a counselor there for ten years and she’d taken the girls twice a year since they were three.

  She heard the sound of her daughters’ laughing, then the splash of running water from the bathroom.

  Alone.

  She stared blindly at the rag in her hand, then drew in a long, slow breath.

  She and Seth were going to be alone this weekend.

  Seven

  “Ten days! You’ve got to be kidding. What could possibly take ten days!”

  Teeth clenched, Seth listened while Ned Morgan, from Morgan’s Frame and Auto Body, explained the damage that had been done to Seth’s motorcycle and the estimate. The parts were on back order and would be shipped from California in four days, Ned told Seth, then said that he and his son, Ed, would be “fixing” to start disassembly right away.

  Ned and Ed. Terrific.

  Just terrific.

  Seth hung up the phone in Hannah’s living room and swore for five minutes straight.

  He’d already been here five days, now he was looking at another ten. He knew he wasn’t ready to get back on his motorcycle just yet; his ankle was still swollen, and if he put too much pressure on it, little rockets of pain shot through his leg. But ten days! He dragged a hand through his hair and groaned. He couldn’t stay here that long.

  Dammit, he couldn’t.

  At the sound of Beau’s excited barking, Seth grabbed a wrapped chocolate mint from a crystal bowl on the coffee table and moved to the window. He looked out as Hannah pulled her minivan into the driveway. He unwrapped the mint and popped it in his mouth, watched her park, then slide out of her front seat and greet the dog.

  She’d made herself scarce since Maddie and Missy had left yesterday to go to camp with Lori and her family. After she’d cooked him that awesome dinner last night—chicken with some kind of herbs, little red potatoes and peas—she’d put on a wine-colored sheath dress, clipped her hair up on her head, then said goodbye at around seven and told him to enjoy the quiet. She hadn’t come home until after midnight.

  Midnight, for crying out loud.

  Today, she’d left the house around eleven, dressed in a long yellow floral skirt and white tank top with a matching short-sleeved sweater. He was used to seeing her in jeans and overalls, and he couldn’t help but wonder what she’d gotten all dressed up for.

  Or who.

  He wouldn’t ask, though. It certainly wasn’t any of his business. Why wouldn’t she go out? Her daughters were away for the weekend. With two five-year-olds, he supposed she didn’t have an opportunity to get out of the house and have fun very often. It
wasn’t like she had to hang around just because he was here.

  There hadn’t been any guys at the house since he’d been here, but Seth had no doubts there were more than a few single men sniffing around. Hannah was a beautiful woman, intelligent, sexy. When she smiled, she went from beautiful to dazzling.

  She was smiling now, talking to Beau and petting the big dog’s head. He felt a tug in his chest as he watched her, a strange longing that tightened at the sound of her laugh.

  Lust, he told himself. Plain and simple lust.

  He might have a sore ankle, but the rest of his body was working just fine. After he’d heard Hannah come in last night, he’d spent the next two hours tossing and turning, thinking about her, imagined her taking off that pretty little dress she had on, then sliding off her bra and pulling on her short nightgown. He’d seen her legs under that nightgown, long and curvy, made to wrap around a man’s waist. That thought, and the realization that her bedroom was directly over his, that she was alone upstairs in her bed, was enough to make him break out in a sweat. It had taken him another hour after that before he’d finally fallen asleep.

  He was truly beginning to regret the fact he’d promised not to touch her. Two days ago, when she’d been on that ladder and he’d moved in so close to her, he’d nearly broken that promise. It had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed not to kiss her the way he’d wanted, not to unbuckle the overalls she had on and cup her breasts in his hands, then take the tip of each soft mound in his mouth and taste her there.

  Just thinking about that made his pulse quicken and his blood heat up. He’d wanted her naked and underneath him so badly he’d ached. He ached now, dammit. He watched that pretty skirt flow around those long legs of hers and wondered how many buttons he’d have to undo before it slid down over her hips, and what it would feel like to—

  Stop, he told himself. If he went any further with this line of thinking, he would most likely embarrass himself when Hannah walked in the house.

  He moved away from the window, heard the back door off the laundry room open, then Hannah’s soft humming as she entered the living room with a small wrapped brown package in one arm. He watched her slip her black shoulder purse onto the sofa end table, then turn and stare at the hallway which led to his bedroom. She stood there for a long moment, a thoughtful look on her face, took a step toward the hall. She stopped, bit her bottom lip, then shook her head.

  When she turned back around and saw him, she jumped back.

  “Seth!” She slapped a hand to her chest. “You startled me.”

  “Sorry.” Was she heading for his bedroom when she’d obviously thought better of it? “You look nice.”

  “What? Oh.” Her eyelashes fluttered down, and she smoothed a hand over her skirt. “Thank you.”

  She looked tired, he thought, and once again found himself wondering exactly what she’d been doing last night and today, and who she’d been doing it with.

  It’s none of your business.

  “Your phone rang several times today,” he said, deciding to stay in neutral conversational territory. “And the mailman had me sign for a letter. I set it on the coffee table.”

  She glanced at the letter, then stepped to the table and picked it up. A smile touched the corners of her mouth as she gripped the letter tightly to her. “Thank you.”

  He wasn’t certain whether she was thanking him or a higher deity, but the relief on her face was evident. The letter was obviously one she’d been waiting for.

  “I’ll make some dinner,” she said, turning as she opened the letter. “I might even have a bottle of wine in the—”

  She had her back to him when she stopped abruptly at the kitchen door and stared at the letter.

  “Something wrong?”

  When she didn’t answer, just stood there, her back perfectly straight and her shoulders stiff, he moved toward her.

  “What’s wrong, Hannah?”

  “I—he—” She looked up, her expression of relief was gone now, in its place a look of confusion. She closed her eyes, opened them again, then quickly stuffed the letter back into the envelope. “Nothing’s wrong. I’ve got some steaks and baked potatoes for tonight. I hope that’s all right. I’ll just throw a salad together and—”

  “Hannah.” He moved into the dining room. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Everything is fine, Seth. Really.” She smiled tightly at him. “It’s been a long day, that’s all. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d just like a few minutes by myself.”

  He watched her disappear into the kitchen. He wouldn’t follow her, dammit. She’d made it clear she wanted to be alone. He’d respect that. Give her some space.

  He listened for some kind of sound from the kitchen, but there was nothing. Absolute quiet.

  None of your business, he reminded himself again, then went out onto the front porch and stared at the sun as it slowly sank into the horizon.

  Hannah stood at the kitchen counter and stared at the crisp, white envelope in her hand. The paper burned her fingers; heat radiated up her arm and through her body. He hadn’t even called, hadn’t had the nerve to prepare her for this.

  Her hand shook as she pulled the check from her ex-husband out of the envelope. The amount blurred in front of her eyes: one hundred and fifty dollars.

  She stared at the figure, praying another zero would magically appear so the number would be just a little bit closer to what it was supposed to be. The number she needed to pay her aunt the three months rent she was behind; the number she needed to pay the electric bill due now; the number she needed to make the credit-card payment that was already one month late.

  But the number, like Brent, would never change. She’d been a fool and an idiot to think it would. He’d done this for the past three years, promised her he’d be on time, promised her that the amount would be correct. But it never was. Last week, when she’d threatened to take further action, he’d assured her that a real-estate deal had finally closed and he would make up for the past few months he’d missed.

  Sure he would, she thought and stared at the check again. When pigs fly.

  She bit her lip and blinked furiously. She wouldn’t cry, darn it.

  She wouldn’t.

  If she could, she’d shred the check, grind it up in the garbage disposal and wash it down the drain. For that one moment, at least, she’d feel better.

  But the moment would pass quickly, she knew, and the fact was, one hundred and fifty dollars was better than nothing. Not much, she thought miserably, but it would put a few groceries on the table, at least, and maybe pay the electric bill.

  Tossing the letter aside, Hannah closed her eyes when she felt the burn of tears. “Damn you, Brent Michaels,” she said, gripping the kitchen counter.

  A lump rose in her throat; she did her best to swallow it back. She wouldn’t think about this now, she told herself. She was too emotional at the moment. If she kept busy, she’d be all right. She needed to wash the potatoes, chop up some carrots…

  The first tear slid down her cheek and splashed on the white tile. Furious with herself, she wiped at her face, but it did no good. That single tear had opened a floodgate she couldn’t seem to close.

  Oh, what the hell.

  With a sob, she dropped her face into her hands and did something she never allowed herself to do.

  She cried.

  Seth found her like that two minutes later. Standing at the counter, with her head in her hands, her shoulders racked with sobs. He nearly walked back out of the kitchen. She’d asked to be alone, hadn’t she? Who was he to intrude?

  He turned to leave, but a small sound she made, a sound filled with such anguish, had him turning back around again.

  “Hannah.” He stood behind her, called her name softly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Her shoulders hunched forward, and she shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said between sobs.

  Seth had never known how to handle a woman’s tears. He’d never been a
ny good at this stuff, never knew what to say or what to do. This time, with Hannah, was no different. He warred with himself over staying or leaving, then swore silently and reached for a paper towel.

  “Here.” He shoved the makeshift tissue in front of her.

  “Thank you.” She took the paper towel and wiped at her face. “I’ll be all right. I’ll start dinner in a—”

  “Forget dinner, dammit.” He dragged a hand through his hair, then said more gently, “I want to help, Hannah. At least tell me what’s wrong.”

  She was silent for a long moment, then she sighed heavily and handed him the letter sitting on the counter, the one she’d opened in the living room. She kept her back to him while he glanced at it.

  “Hannah,” Seth read,

  I know I told you that this check would be for more, but this is all I can manage for now. I’m still waiting on the fee from the Owen property sale. Should be in any day, sweetheart, so here’s a token of my good faith until the real money comes in. Give me a month or two and I’ll catch up on the back payments.

  Love, Brent.

  “I take it that this is your ex-husband,” Seth said tightly after glancing at the check.

  She nodded.

  “Child support?” he asked, and when she nodded again, he felt a muscle jump in his jaw. It was bad enough the bastard wasn’t sending the money he was supposed to, he had the nerve to call Hannah “sweetheart” and sign the letter “love.”

  Sight unseen, Seth would like to punch the guy in the mouth.

  “How many months is he behind?”

  Hannah sighed, then wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “It doesn’t matter, Seth.”

  “Like hell it doesn’t matter,” he said sharply. “Of course it matters.”

  She turned to look at him. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “What happens if you don’t?”

  She drew in a long, slow breath, then pressed her lips tightly together. “My aunt is half owner of this house. Unless I can pay my share of the rent or buy her out, I’ll have to sell.”