by Barbara Lohr
“Now, son. Buck up. No one said wooing was easy.” More furious chewing.
He almost laughed when his father used that word. Wooing? Really? Ryder struggled with a sense of failure. “I had no idea it was going to be this hard. She’s sashaying around in her bikini top and a short skirt that barely covers her privates, as you would say. It's enough to make a grown man cry.”
Damn. He cleared his throat. Must be exhaustion. Phoebe Hunicutt was wearing him out. This wasn’t the way he liked to get exhausted with Phoebe.
Crossing his arms over the chest Ryder had inherited, his father frowned. “Ryder, you never did have any patience. If your mother mentioned popsicles, you wanted one now, not after dinner.”
Stroking his chin, Ryder smiled. “Haven't had any in a long time. Banana popsicles, I mean. Well, that and things I like better than a banana popsicle.” Longing twisted in his gut. Phoebe was killing him with her flimsy summer outfits.
His dad burst out laughing, which didn’t help anything. Holding a finger to his own lips Ryder shushed him. “Stop it! You’ll get her out here.”
Stanley’s eyes bulged. Ryder was afraid he might choke on his gum. “Sorry, son. I never thought I’d see you in this predicament.”
“You? What about me? I'm spending my summer slaving away. All I get are sweet smiles at dinner right before she sends me off to brush my teeth and go to bed.”
Well, that got his dad laughing again. This time Ryder chuckled along with him. Laughing was better than crying and he felt damn close.
“So what's your game plan? How are you going about this?” Oh yeah. His father would dig for details.
“Going about it?” Ryder swept a hand down his paint-stained shirt and jeans. “I’m painting.”
His father nodded. “And what else? You can’t just be outside every day. This has to be an inside job.” Suddenly his father had switched from military man to bank robber.
Casting another glance at the back door and screen porch, Ryder gave a brief rundown. “We get up and I make the coffee.”
“Yeah. Right. Go on.”
“We eat…whatever. Sometimes I go out and get doughnuts.” He smiled. Phoebe had really liked that.
“Good, son. That’s real good. Bringing a woman sweet stuff never hurts.”
“Then I get to work and Phoebe does whatever she’s doing. She makes me lunch. We eat on opposite sides of the table. In the kitchen or on the porch, we’re across from each other.” Crap. He was using his hands just like his dad.
“Across from each other?” The hand movements continued when his dad sketched a bridge in the air.
“Do I need to draw a map?” Ryder exploded. “Look, it’s better than me eating out here alone under a tree with the mosquitos.”
“Ryder, you have to engage that girl.” More frantic hand movements. “Can’t you sit next to her?”
His father didn’t understand. “You think I have a choice? Frankly, I think she's getting bored. Phoebe says she doesn’t want to go into her salon. And I sure don't want her there all day. That would not be in my favor to have her laughing it up with the girls.”
The grin fading, his dad got serious fast. “A group of women in a hairstyle salon. Now that’s trouble.” More chewing of the gum.
“Tell me about it. After lunch, it's back to work for me and she takes a nap.” He rolled his eyes. That part killed him. He remembered all too well how cuddly Phoebe could be when she woke up from a nap. “Alone.”
Hand to his chin, Stanley considered that. “Poor girl. A cast is a heavy thing to lug around.”
“So are blue balls,” Ryder mumbled.
Cupping a hand to his ear, Stanley said, “What was that?”
“Nothing.” His mother had been gone a long time. How had his father coped after her death? Ryder had been thirteen when his mom died. He didn’t remember his father ever dating, even though a lot of casseroles had come through the door. But his folks had the perfect marriage. His father probably figured no one could top that.
“What about dinner? You're not letting her cook or anything like that?”
He gave his dad a stern look. “Did you just meet me today? Phoebe never liked to cook, remember? It’s not her thing. Usually I grab something from Whistle Stop or the Roadhouse.”
That pursing of the lips usually meant his father's wheels were turning. “What about fixing a romantic dinner? Candlelight. A little wine, a little music.”
“Isn’t that going overboard, Dad?”
The comment won Ryder a sharp poke to his chest. “That's one of your problems. You can never see past your nose. Women like to be romanced. Don’t forget, you’re...”
“Wooing her. Right.” Ryder glanced at his watch. “I should get back to work.”
His father wasn’t leaving. “Wooing. That is your mission. And don't forget it.”
“Oh, Dad. Get real. I’m tired.” He slapped another mosquito.
“You’re spoiled,” his father shot back. “That’s your problem. Your mother and those two sisters of yours spoiled you.”
“That’s not true.” But it was. His dad threw an eye lock that felt more like a headlock.
“Don’t give me that. You know that’s the way it was. Your mother was always picking up those smelly football jerseys you left all over the house. When she got sick, Stephanie cleaned up your room on the sly. And when it was your turn to do the dishes, Lisa subbed for you. You always used football practice to get out of work.”
By this time spittle was flying from his dad’s lips. Ryder stepped back. “It was a goddamned conspiracy. That’s what,” his father said.
Yep. Ryder would have to shower.
“Okay, they were my older sisters and they helped out.” He threw out the words as if they were nothing, but that’s not how it was. His big sisters had pampered him after his mother passed away. They felt sorry for him so they filled in.
His father's disgust met Ryder’s despair. The two clashed like Fourth of July fireworks before fading away. Ryder was about to give up.
“You need help, son,” his dad said in that matter-of-fact tone.
“You don’t get it. She’s treating me like a brother.” His father had probably never been to one of those “girlie shows,” as he called them. But if he ever did, he’d probably analyze the girls’ dancing capabilities. That's how much he missed the point.
“That’s because you’re not wooing her.” His father’s frustration stretched through the summer air like taffy being pulled. “I got a plan.”
The words struck fear into Ryder’s heart. But man, he needed something. Anything. Listening to his dad outline the stupidest idea he’d ever heard, Ryder decided maybe his dad knew what he was doing after all. Ryder never would have thought of this. Maybe he’d been too busy on the roof.
Plans were finalized. “The end of the driveway? Around five? What if she sees you?”
But as he listened for Stanley’s answer, the screen door slammed. “Stanley! Papa, I thought I heard your voice. What are you doing here?” Crutch tucked under her arm, Phoebe hopped toward them through the tall grass. Stepping out from behind the truck, Ryder tried to look as if they weren’t hiding.
Of course his father melted at Phoebe’s pet name for him. Papa. Looking at the two of them together, Ryder felt so guilty. Before the divorce, Stanley would sometimes fix Sunday dinner for them in the little house up in Bridgman, where he’d grown up. Stanley and Phoebe had been tight. Ryder rarely saw Stanley Branson get gushy. But Phoebe had made a different man of his father.
The two hugged. “Just checking to make sure Ryder’s taking care of you,” his dad said.
Batting her eyelashes, Phoebe purred, “He most certainly is. I got me some real good help here.”
And she smiled at him over her shoulder. The distance in that smile sucker-punched him. That's about how she was treating him. To Phoebe, he was a hired hand and it was killing him. Stanley’s smile froze on his face.
Taking his
dad's hand, Phoebe batted her lashes at Papa. “Why don’t you come visit me more often?”
His father shifted. “Well I always mean to, but I figure you’re real busy with your hair place and all.” They weren’t comfortable with each other anymore. And that was all Ryder’s fault.
“Guess I better get back to work now. Boss lady might get mad at me.” Ryder backed away from pain he couldn’t heal. He left the two of them with their heads together. Not long after that he heard the pickup truck leave.
After he’d dipped his brush in the putrid pink paint, as he called it, Ryder’s mind moved right along with the brush. Of course he knew how to be romantic. Hadn’t he been romantic with Phoebe for two years? Maybe not. The brush moved faster. Maybe his dad was right. Doubt bombarded him. The brush got heavy and his arm moved slower. Maybe once they got married, Ryder just fell back into his bachelor ways.
His way hadn’t worked. Maybe his dad’s would.
Chapter 13
“Sure was nice seeing your dad today,” Phoebe said as they sat down to eat that night. She was wearing that Saugatuck cutoff shirt again. He remembered buying her blue moon ice cream that day. They took turns licking the cone, knowing damn well what they were going to do once they got back to the bed and breakfast.
“Ryder? You hear me?”
He faced her over the burgers he’d picked up at the Roadhouse. “Why don’t you let me fix you a nice dinner tomorrow?”
Her face flushed. “You mean something you cook yourself? No frozen meal, not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
“Yeah, that’s what I mean.” Sort of.
“So, you’ve taken up cooking?” Phoebe batted those long lashes at him.
“I’ve been honing my skills as a single man.” Horse pucky, as his dad would say.
“Hmm.” She was probably thinking back to the coleslaw and beans. Her lips were pursed, plump and shiny with that stuff she used. He could hardly stand it. His tongue swiped out, imagining how her lips would taste. In the summer she used to wear lip gloss that tasted like watermelon.
“You’d do that for me?”
Head and hormones pumping, he exploded. “I’d do anything for you...”
Distrust darkened her eyes. He’d gone too far.
“I mean, of course I would,” he said softly. Ryder hardly recognized himself anymore.
They stared at each other for what felt like forever. He saw the shift from total disbelief to uneasy acceptance. “That sounds real nice.”
Picking up a french fry, she dangled it in front of him before swirling it through the ketchup on her plate. When had she taken up playing with her food? He wished she’d cut it out. This wasn’t eating. This was food sex.
And she didn’t stop. He had to endure this for the entire dinner. One french fry after another. Dipping, munching. While he gulped his burger in huge bites so he could end this disgusting show that was turning him on, she nibbled her bun. Nipped at the burger, the way she once nipped at his neck. He groaned.
She looked over, all innocence. “You feeling okay, Ryder?”
Hell no. But he nodded. “Sure thing.”
“Oh, good.” Phoebe went back to her nibbling. He dug in and tried to concentrate on anything but her sighs of satisfaction. He’d heard those pleased whimpers before. And they hadn’t been at the kitchen table.
Well, okay. There had been that one time.
Sure. Right. And that memory took him right back where he started. This could take all night. When he finally finished eating, she wasn’t even halfway through. Time to move things along. “How about that trip to the beach tonight?”
~.~
Her full stomach brought contentment as Ryder carried Phoebe down to the beach. At least, she told herself it was the food and not his strong arms around her. Not the steady thud of his heart that she could feel in her own chest. She didn’t even care if the neighbors saw them. Most of them were renters anyway. They wouldn’t know this hunk was the man she’d kicked out. No hurtful gossip would circulate through Gull Harbor, and there had been plenty when they split up.
A beach blanket folded on her lap, Phoebe had her arms around his neck. No crutch tonight, which was just fine with her. She wound her arms tighter. This was just for tonight.
Just a trip to the beach.
An act of kindness, nothing more.
“Are you sure I’m not too heavy?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Ryder was so darn close. She could smell the onion from his burger. And Phoebe didn’t even think she liked onions. Sucking in a deep breath, she grinned like the fool that she was.
“What are you smiling about?” Ryder fixed her with a penetrating gray gaze.
“Oh, nothing.”
But he smiled too.
When they reached the top of the stairs, the sight of the beach blew her away. “Oh, Ryder, isn’t this just the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?” He set her down on the wooden bench. They both took in the broad expanse of sand and the lake that stretched to Chicago.
“It is pretty, isn’t it?” He almost sounded surprised. “Living over the garage, I don’t get to see the beach much.”
“You mean, you don’t go to Silver Beach at St. Joe, or up to Saugatuck?” Okay, she was fishing and he probably knew it.
“Nope.” And he swept her up again. End of conversation. The stairs were steep but Ryder negotiated them with ease. For a big guy, he was graceful. When they reached the bottom, he managed to kick off his moccasins, leaving them in the dune grass.
The beach looked deserted. A red bucket sat in the sand next to a green shovel, ready for the next day. So simple, so perfect––the scene took her breath away. Sometimes you don’t realize how beautiful things are until you can’t have them anymore. If not for Ryder, this could have been the summer without a beach. The man had his good points.
Hands linked, a couple strolled along the shore. They looked so comfortable together, two silhouettes merging into one against an orange sun. When the pair stopped for a lingering kiss, she had to look away.
As it fell toward the water, the sun set fire to strings of clouds. Setting her down for a second, Ryder shook out the blanket and settled it over the sand. With his help, she managed to sit down, although the cast complicated things. To get comfortable, she leaned back on her elbows. Her gauzy green dress lifted and fell with the lake breeze, and she was glad she’d brought her white cardigan. Once the sun went down, the beach got chilly fast.
As she watched the waves tumbling into shore, she realized Ryder wasn’t looking at the lake. He was staring at her.
Flustered, she said, “It’s so beautiful down here, right?”
“Yes, yes. You are.”
“The lake, silly.” She jabbed a finger toward the water.
“Oh. Right.” Turning back to the horizon, he faced the spectacular sunset. His profile was caught in the ruddy glow of the setting sun. At that moment Ryder did look like a Greek god. She ran a hand over the sand. “Feel how warm the sand is from the sun.” When she turned with a handful, he held out his palms. Smiling, she poured the sand into them and he held it like a present.
After letting it trickle slowly back to the beach, he dusted off his hands. “It was hot today. This sand isn’t going to cool off for a while.”
Concern prickled her conscience. “Is it too hot, Ryder? To be painting and all that?”
“Nope. Not at all.” Breaking off a piece of dune grass, he bit down on it. Only Ryder could look rugged but playful, a piece of dune grass between his teeth.
“You’re being so sweet, Ryder.” And she meant it. He was.
“Aw, come on. It’s nothing.”
Was he blushing? “Helping me with the house isn’t ‘nothing.’” Maybe this was the time to weasel the truth from him. Find out what his intentions really were.
But the evening felt so peaceful. She didn’t want to ruin it. Sometimes the truth hurt. Maybe she didn’t want to hear his answer. For tonight? He was a nice guy
who’d brought her down to watch the sunset. No way would she ruin these moments with suspicion.
Right now? She wanted to be here. With him. The realization rocked her.
“What is it?” Rolling toward her, he stretched out and leaned his head on one hand.
“Huh?” She’d lost track of the conversation. What was dreamier? The sunset or this man?
Right now, nature was losing.
“You jumped,” he said, still working that strand of beach grass. “You know, the way you do. Like you remembered you left the stove on or something.”
They both laughed. One Easter, they were headed up to her folks’ place in Escanaba for the holiday. They were almost to Petoskey when Phoebe insisted she’d left the oven on. The whole thing was crazy. She hardly ever used the oven. But the night before she’d cooked pot pies, and she couldn’t remember turning it off. They headed back. Of course, the oven wasn’t on. The loop back added about eight hours to the trip but they’d laughed it off.
When had Ryder become so observant? Twisting onto her side to face him wasn’t easy, but she managed. Over the slope of his shoulder, Phoebe still faced the sun. Nothing would make her miss the moment when the day slipped away. “Gosh I’ve missed this. Thank you.”
Ryder shrugged. “It’s nothing. I should have thought of this myself. We never used to sit up at the house all the time.”
“No we didn’t. We came down here.”
“That’s why we bought the place, remember.” Eyes lazy, he swept the tender skin under her chin with the grass. “You loved the beach.”
“And you didn’t?” She swatted at the grass. “Hey, that tickles.”
So he stopped. Now in the past, Ryder might have kept up the teasing. But not now. He was keeping his distance. She should feel relieved. Instead, his detachment sometimes made her crazy. Lifting a shoulder, he said, “I liked what you liked. Wanted to make you happy.”
“But...” She couldn’t say it. He’d made her sad. So very sad.
His silence told her he realized that. Suddenly, he pulled in like a startled turtle and stared off into the distance. Up above, gulls screeched, diving for bread an older couple had brought down. The two looked so happy. Sometimes Phoebe and Ryder had carried leftover bread down with them. His eyes followed the cute pair down the beach. Was he remembering those times together? Then his attention swung back and Ryder gave a deep sigh.