by Sherry Lewis
This time, the compliment left her uneasy. “Thank you.” She tried, again unsuccessfully, to step away from him. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I just wanted a minute alone with you. I’ve missed you.”
Even in the dim light she could see his eyes darken. She’d seen that look often, and it left no doubt where he wanted to lead the conversation. She took a determined step back from him and started toward the door. “I need to get inside.”
“I’ve missed you,” Gil insisted. “More than I ever thought I would.”
“We’re divorced, Gil. I’m not interested.”
“In what?” He used his innocent voice—the one he’d used so often over the years when he’d stayed late drinking at the Lucky Jack, or come home late for supper, or had forgotten something important to her. The one he’d used whenever she confronted him with the incessant rumors about other women that unfailingly made their way to her ears.
But his strategy didn’t have the same effect on her it once had. “I know what you’re trying to do,” she said. “I’m not interested.”
“I’m not trying to do anything,” Gil asserted, and reached for her again. “I’ve missed you. Honest to God, I have.”
“If that’s true, then I’m sorry.” She evaded his reach and moved closer to the door. “But I’ve never been happier.”
“That’s cruel.”
“It’s true.”
Gil sighed heavily. “Marti, don’t be like this. I still love you. I guess I always will.”
Her pulse slowed and her mouth dried. Never in her wildest dreams had she anticipated having this conversation, and she did not want to have it now. “We’re divorced, Gil,” she repeated. “We have been for three years.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s right. Look at Cameron. Look at the trouble he’s been getting into. Obviously, the divorce hasn’t done him any good. Or me.”
“Don’t do this,” she warned.
But Gil didn’t listen. “I want you back, Marti.”
“No.”
“Cameron needs us to get back together.”
She glared at him. “That’s cruel.”
“It’s also true. I’ll bet you half the ranch he’d straighten up in a heartbeat if you came back home and we got married again.”
Pushing his arms away, she yanked open the storm door. “It’s not going to happen.”
“Things would be different this time,” he said. “I’ve got things going...” He let his voice trail away, but his lips curved into a smile.
“You always had things going,” Marti reminded him. “You never were content with the way things were.”
“There’s nothing wrong with dreaming, Marti. Or with being ambitious.”
“No, there isn’t,” she admitted. “But you were never prepared to work for anything. You weren’t interested in going back to school or getting some training. You kept looking for an easy fortune around the next corner. Life doesn’t work that way.”
He held her arms again and spoke softly. “I know that now. I finally understand what you’ve been trying to tell me.”
She stiffened automatically and met his gaze. “For your sake, Gil, I hope that’s true. But it’s too late for us.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” He released her reluctantly and stepped off the porch into the snow. “Once you see how different I am, you’ll change your mind.”
Marti shook her head slowly and closed the door between them, then crossed the room so he couldn’t see her through the window. Thankfully, her father and Cameron were gone, so she sat at the kitchen table and buried her face in her hands.
She’d hoped to find peace and contentment here, but she’d been home less than four hours and already she’d found nothing but trouble. Gil’s image floated before her for an instant, but in the next breath it changed. The hair and eyes darkened, and the smile grew friendly and genuine. Rick Dennehy? Why was she thinking of him at a time like this?
Because, she realized, he’d helped her out of bad situations twice during that same four hours. Without doing or saying anything that left her feeling inadequate, he’d come to her assistance. If Gil had ever offered help without leaving her feeling deficient, she couldn’t remember.
She shivered in the cold air that had come inside with her and pushed Rick’s image away. She had other things to think about. Important things. She didn’t need distractions.
Uncovering her face, she stared around the empty room. Gunnison was home, and she wished more than anything that she could stay. Funny, but she’d left Colorado to find herself.
In the process, had she lost her son for good?
RICK ROLLED OVER in bed and squinted at the numbers on the alarm clock glowing red in the dim light of daybreak. He reached for the snooze button and groaned softly when the newly familiar ache of hard work tore through his muscles. Not only did he hurt everywhere, but Jocelyn had invaded his dreams for the first time in months and kept him from sleeping well.
After two solid days of working on the cabins with Cameron, they’d managed to fix the roof and do a few minor repairs on one of the cabins, but Rick still had a lot to do if he hoped to have everything ready to sell by the end of the month. No matter how tired he was, he couldn’t afford to let even one day slip by without accomplishing something. But he could afford another five minutes’ sleep.
As he turned his back on the alarm and closed his eyes again, his blanket rode up and exposed his backside to the chilly morning air. Muttering under his breath, he tugged the blanket into place once more. He’d certainly be more comfortable in the large bed he and Jocelyn had shared, but he’d avoided the master bedroom since his arrival.
Groaning, he tried to find a more comfortable position on the single mattress they’d found at a garage sale one weekend in Gunnison. No doubt about it, if he intended to sleep in this room he’d have to replace the mattress—soon.
Before he could relax again, his alarm buzzed for the second time. Forcing himself to sit on the edge of the bed, he stretched carefully to work the kinks from his back. After several minutes, he stood slowly and crossed to the window. But what he saw outside did nothing to lift his spirits.
A fresh blanket of white covered everything in sight, which meant he and Cameron would have to spend the first few hours of the morning plowing the access road and parking area and shoveling paths to the cabins before they could start any of the other jobs that begged for attention.
He started toward the bathroom, but when the bare floorboards sent icy fingers up his legs, he doubled back and stepped into his slippers. He hurried downstairs to stoke the fire, put on a pot of coffee, then climbed the stairs again and started the shower.
Stripping off the sweats he’d slept in, he stepped into the shower and let the hot spray take away the morning’s chill and relax his tired muscles. Resolutely locking memories of Jocelyn away, he turned his thoughts to the present.
He wondered idly if Cameron was anywhere near as stiff as he was, or if the twenty-year difference in their ages meant the boy suffered less. And he wondered if the physical exertion had worked away a little of Cameron’s hostility toward Marti. Hopefully so, for both their sakes.
Soaping himself liberally, he sighed with contentment, closed his eyes and turned to face the spray. But for some reason, a woman’s image floated through his imagination as he stood there.
For half a second, he thought she was Jocelyn—until she turned to look at him and he saw the golden halo of hair and the clear blue of her eyes. Her lips curved into a slow, seductive smile, and Rick’s heart began to beat a little too fast. Startled, he blinked his eyes open and stared at the tile wall in front of him. What was the matter with him? Why on earth would he conjure an image of Marti—especially one like that?
After shutting off the water, he stepped onto the bath mat, toweled himself dry and picked up his razor. But when he looked into the steamy mirror and gazed at his reflection with its stubble of black whiskers, he changed his mind. It did
n’t matter how he looked. He had no one to impress. He put away the razor, pulled on the ratty terry-cloth bathrobe Jocelyn had nagged him to throw away two years ago and hurried back to the bedroom.
There, he picked up his jeans from the chair where he’d dropped them the night before. But when the cold denim hit his legs, he dropped the jeans again. If he thought they were cold now, he could just imagine how miserable he’d be outside. He needed thermal underwear.
Tugging open the bottom drawer of the small dresser, he started to look for the thermals he knew he’d left here when he moved out. Almost immediately, he realized they wouldn’t be in the spare room. He’d have to go into the master bedroom.
He told himself to forget about them. He didn’t want to think about Jocelyn again. But common sense won out. Steeling himself, he hurried across the hallway and opened the thick pine door. Pale sunlight streamed through the eastern windows onto the bed still covered with the quilt Jocelyn’s grandmother had made for their wedding.
Rick refused to look at it. He kept his mind focused on his task. Thermals. One pair. That’s all he needed. Then he’d get out of this room and stay out until the memories and guilt had faded a bit more.
He opened the bottom dresser drawer and smiled grimly. There they were, just as he’d left them. He pulled out one pair, then realized he’d be far wiser to take all of them so he wouldn’t have to come back later. He lifted two other folded sets from the drawer and started to straighten, but something at the bottom of the drawer caught his attention.
He didn’t need to touch it to remember. He didn’t have to pick it up to recall what Jocelyn had looked like wearing it. He could still remember the day he’d found it at that little shop south of Denver, his excitement when he’d placed the wrapped package under the tree, and the joy on her face when she’d opened it.
He lifted it carefully and slowly unfolded it. Black had always been her favorite color. Lighthouses had fascinated her. And the black sweater with the lighthouse pattern knit into it brought Jocelyn back to his memory so clearly she might have been standing beside him.
For the space of a heartbeat, he thought he could hear her voice chatting about her plans for the day. He closed his eyes and strained to make out her words, but the sound evaporated like morning mist in the sunlight. He tried to see her, but only a faint, shadowy figure formed in the recesses of his memory.
Blinking back the sting of tears, he lifted the sweater to his face and inhaled. Yes, there it was. The faintest suggestion of her scent still lingered on the wool. But like everything else, it would be gone soon.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, savoring the feel of the soft wool against his stubbled cheek, before someone knocked on the door downstairs and jerked him back to reality.
Cameron. Just in time.
Grateful for the interruption, he lowered the sweater into the drawer. Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he hurried from the bedroom as the knock sounded again—louder this time.
He shut the door firmly, as if he could lock the past inside, and shouted down the stairs that he’d be there in a minute. He hurried into the spare bedroom, tossed the thermals onto his unmade bed and pulled on his jeans and his Denver Broncos sweatshirt.
Grabbing his shoes and a pair of socks, he ran down the stairs and told himself to keep his mind on the present. On leaky roofs and broken pipes and holes in walls.
Smiling grimly, he yanked open the front door and started to motion Cameron inside. Too late, he realized it wasn’t Cameron standing there.
CHAPTER FOUR
“MARTI?” Rick’s voice cracked a little, but he forced a smile. He knew he looked a mess—hair still wet from the shower, chin and cheeks dark with whiskers. So much for having no one to impress.
She took in his appearance slowly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...” Her voice faltered. “Did I wake you?”
He glanced down at the socks and shoes in his hand and smiled back up at her. “No. Sorry. I thought you were Cameron.”
She backed a step away. “I came by too early.”
“No, you’re fine. I’m just running late.” He pushed open the door and stepped aside so she could enter. “Come on in.”
She hesitated for an instant, then stepped through the door. “I’ve been meaning to stop by for the past couple of days to thank you for what you’re doing for Cameron, but it hasn’t been easy to find time.”
Rick shrugged lightly and closed the door behind them. “There’s no need to thank me. I need the help.”
“Is it going well? I mean...is he working out all right?” She looked desperate for reassurance.
He tried to give it to her. “He’s doing great. He’s a good kid—you should be proud of him.”
“It’s been a long time since anyone said something like that. Usually, I’m told how much trouble he is. I might suspect you of just saying what I want to hear, but I’ve seen how differently Cameron behaves around you.”
Rick motioned her toward the couch and sat on an overstuffed chair across from her. “He does seem to have a little pent-up hostility.”
“A little?” She let out a brittle laugh. “It’s more than a little when he’s around me.”
Rick leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I’ve noticed that. It must be rough on you.”
Her smile faded. “It is at times. But I didn’t come here to vent or whine, just to thank you and make sure Cameron is showing up on time and doing what he’d agreed to do.”
“He is,” Rick assured her again. He laced his fingers together and sent her an uneasy smile. “I’d like to say I understand what you’re going through with him, but I’d be lying. Jocelyn and I didn’t have any kids, so I can only imagine how tough it is.”
“Being a parent can be wonderful, too.”
He’d heard that platitude before. He didn’t bother responding to it. “How long have you been divorced?”
“Three years.”
“Maybe I’m wrong, but isn’t that a long time for Cameron to still feel so bitter about it?”
“I think so,” she said, “but nobody else agrees with me.”
“Is there something other than the divorce bothering him?”
Marti hesitated, probably wondering about the wisdom of discussing her son with a relative stranger. When she finally spoke again, her voice sounded uncertain. “We moved to California right after the divorce. Cameron says he hates it there. He wants to live here.”
“And he’s mad at you because you won’t let him.”
“You guessed it.” She sighed softly. “I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong anymore. After the divorce, I really couldn’t see any other option. I couldn’t stay here...” She let her voice trail away, then went on. But maybe I should have stayed for a while and let him adjust to the divorce first.”
“Maybe,” Rick said slowly. “It’s hard to know. Hindsight’s perfect, you know.” Another platitude, he thought. Not knowing how to comfort her, he pushed to his feet and tried to steer the conversation in another direction. “I haven’t had my morning coffee yet. Would you like a cup?”
Surprise darted across her face, but she stood to face him and shook her head quickly. “No. Thanks. I don’t want to put you out.”
“You won’t be putting me out.” He smiled gently and put a hand on her arm. “As a matter of fact, I’d like the company.”
She looked as if she might protest again, but when her eyes met his, she seemed to change her mind. He wondered for a moment if she’d seen how much he wanted her to stay, but if she had, she gave no sign. “All right, then,” she said with a smile. “I’d love some coffee.”
Relieved, he took her arm. He realized his mistake immediately. Warmth curled in his stomach and spread through him slowly. He tried to ignore the sensation. He knew what it was—he hadn’t been alone that long. But he didn’t want to be attracted to Marti Johansson— or to any woman, for that matter. Still, even after they reached the kitchen,
he couldn’t make himself withdraw his hand.
Determined to remain immune to her, he forced himself to speak. “How about breakfast? Will you join me?”
She shook her head, but she didn’t look away. “I ate before I left home. But please, fix something for yourself.”
Somehow, he managed to let go of her arm. He crossed the kitchen quickly to put some distance between them and pulled a frying pan from a low cupboard. “You’re sure I can’t talk you into sharing an omelette with me?”
“I’m sure.” She sat at the table and gazed out the window. “You know,” she said after a moment, “when I walked in here the other night and saw Cameron, I couldn’t believe it. I haven’t seen him looking so relaxed in a long time.”
The obvious hurt in her voice touched something inside Rick. He tried to ignore it and took eggs, ham and cheese from the refrigerator. “He is a bit tense.”
“A bit?” She laughed again. “You really are a master at understatement.” Her smile faded slowly. “Actually, that was a horrible night for me. I finally had to admit that he hates me.”
Rick’s heart went out to her, but he didn’t think she wanted sympathy. He pulled two mugs from a rack on the wall, rinsed them under the faucet and filled them with coffee. Crossing the room again, he handed one to her. “Hate’s a strong word. He’s angry, but I think he’s angry with the situation, not you.”
“I wish I could agree with you,” Marti said. “Does he talk to you about it?”
“He doesn’t really say much,” Rick said, turning back to the counter and cracking eggs into a bowl. He tossed the shells into the sink and added, “But I do know he’s upset about your divorce.”
“Everyone’s upset about the divorce.”
“Who’s everyone?”
“Cameron. My dad. My ex-husband.”
Rick glanced quickly at her. “Gil Johansson.”
She pulled back slightly, eyes wary, and lowered her mug to the table. “You know Gil?”
Rick shrugged casually, poured the eggs into a pan and turned on the burner. “Cameron told me who he is. I’ve seen him in town, but I don’t really know him.”