by Lyz Kelley
“Poems,” he whispered as she walked past.
The desire to leave the room wavered, and she took a half-step back. “What did you say?”
“I like to write poems.” Emotions and the firelight danced in his eyes.
“Do you have a favorite?”
“There’s a poem by Rudyard Kipling I like. It’s about what it takes to be a man.”
A thimbleful of reminiscence got lodged in her throat, making it hard to swallow. “My dad has a framed print of it hanging in the garage. It’s his favorite. Have you ever read Maya Angelou’s poem, Alone?”
Chase shook his head.
Nobody can make it out here alone. “Look it up on the internet sometime. You might like it.”
Her body reacted to his openness, desire welled inside her. The heat and intensity of his gaze created a flow of sensation that seeped from her every pore. She stood mesmerized by his handsome face, remembering how his demanding, yet giving, lips felt against hers. She fought the impulse to walk over to him and curl up in his arms. Lucky shifted in his sleep, thankfully, and broke the connection.
Chase lifted from the chair. “I’d better go. It’s late. Can I borrow your truck?”
“Stay.” The single word came out so fast, she couldn’t snatch it back, so she went with her gut. “There's plenty of room here, and I might need help with Lucky.” She pointed at the dog, grasping for any excuse to avoid being alone in the giant house.
When attending her mother, she’d longed for the solitude, only to find once she got her wish, solitude wasn’t really what she wanted. With her mother gone, the house felt like a crypt. She hadn’t known how loud quiet could be until she even missed the sound of her mother’s congested wheeze.
“You sure?” He took a step closer. “Earlier you didn’t even want me to know this was your house.”
“I can explain.”
His warm fingers closed around her hand. “You don’t have to. You like your privacy. I get that.”
“It’s not about privacy. It’s about being judged. People see this house and they immediately decide my life’s caviar. But it’s not like that. My parents stretched to build this house. My mom wanted a perfect life, and decorated like she was aiming for a layout in a designer magazine. In the end, we couldn’t even afford to heat the place, much less pay the mortgage. As a result, I learned that a house, a car, a nice wardrobe can be unnecessary accessories.”
“I hear you. There are a lot of things in life people think they need, but they really don’t. I get the part about being judged. People have put labels on me my whole life.”
She crossed her arms to prevent her from fidgeting. “Try having an unconventional family.”
“Try having a mother who’s an addict. I don’t tell many people because, like you’ve found, people make assumptions. My mother doesn’t define me, either.”
The cold tension she’d been holding turned warm. “So you do get it.”
“I do. I take it your mom was sick.”
She bit her lip contemplating what to share. How much to share. Or, whether she should share at all. She took a gutty breath. “Multiple sclerosis. But pneumonia took her life.”
“Is that why you want me to stay? Because you don’t want to be alone?”
She uncrossed her arms and took a step forward. “Are you asking because you don’t want me to jump you again?” She tried pumping some humor into the serious conversation, but didn’t quite reach her target.
“Seriously, I wouldn’t mind, but I think you would. You don’t seem the type to do casual.”
“I’m glad you think so.” She infused the statement with a bit of irony. “When I was in high school, I was willing to do anything to get under my dad’s skin, and being sexually promiscuous worked best. Back then, I blamed him for being stuck here.” For not wanting me. “Making friends was hard. Every kid wanted to one-up the next. Having lived other places, I had a broader view of the world and gave the impression I was different. Different wasn’t good.”
“I sorta like different.”
The sweet honesty sent a sugarcoated thrill tingling up and down her arms. “I’m glad, but not every one does. To fit in, the dares got bigger and riskier. My dresses got shorter, the parties got wilder, and my grades hit bottom.”
“Doesn’t seem like you stayed there for long.”
“Things changed in my sophomore year, when Harold dragged me out of a car filled with college boys who’d come to town for a good time. That night, Harold and Claudia sat my butt at their kitchen table and gave me a good talking-to.”
“I’ve had a few of those in my life. Mostly from coaches and sergeants.”
“It was a good wake-up call. I was in over my head and I knew it, but I couldn’t get out of the self-abusing downward spiral. The thing is, Harold didn’t lecture or make me feel small, like my mom used to do sometimes. Claudia only listened.”
He nodded. “I’ve met Harold. He’s good people.”
Couldn’t agree more. “Both he, and Claudia, helped me visualize where my life was going, which was nowhere. The next day, I dumped my boring boyfriend and discarded my red lipstick and four-inch heels for education, and indulged in my passion for art.”
The weight of guilt holding her down lifted. Saying those things about her past was a reminder that history wasn’t a predictor of the future. She wasn’t that girl anymore. She was a woman who had a plan, even if fairly lame, which was now disrupted by a guy and a dog.
“Guess you didn’t expect a confession.” A self-conscious laugh accompanied the burn in her cheeks. Fooled you, didn’t I.
“Like I said. No judgment here. Pastor Chris and Coach John would tell you a similar story about me. I was such an angry kid, always getting into fights, stealing things, pretty much flipping the middle finger to the world. You might live in a big house, but you and I aren’t so different. We made something of ourselves.”
His eyes turned dark and a soft smile curved his mouth. “And for the record, you didn’t jump me. Plus, like I said, if you feel inclined, be my guest. There’s no one here pressuring you to do, or be, something you’re not. You have choices. And they’re yours to make.”
That’s the problem. Mom always narrowed my choices to fit in with her wishes. Now how do I make good, healthy choices for myself?
“Has anyone ever told you you’re addicting?” she asked.
He took a step toward her, but she stopped him with her palm out.
Keep those knees together, young lady. Her mother’s soapbox diatribe blared.
“Marines can be lethal. My dad. He'd returned home—a week here or there, never on my birthday, maybe for Christmas if I got lucky. I miss him, and also despise him for not coming home to help.” The emotions tangled together to the point she didn’t know where one began and the other left off. It was negativity she didn’t want in her life, and Chase was a reminder. She pointed at the ceiling. “At the top of the stairs, you’ll find a guest room. I’ll stay with Lucky and call if I need something. Good night, Chase.” She hoped the forced fortitude would create the illusion that her life wasn’t falling apart.
He hesitated and then took a step back. “Good night, then.”
As soon as he disappeared, the vulnerabilities she’d been feeling most of the day doubled. She could have told him a lot more about her dysfunctional family, but how did you communicate such things without the other person wondering if maybe the dysfunction had rubbed off somehow?
Having him under the same roof could be easy. Or damn hard.
She’d learned long ago that living in a large house didn’t necessarily mean having to cross paths. But Chase had a way of cutting a path directly in front of her. He’d be hard to ignore. He pushed her, making her think about things she hadn’t thought of in a very long time. Like being with a man, and knitting pink or blue baby booties. And she didn’t even know how to knit.
The floorboards creaked in the room above her head. “Good night, soldier man,”
she whispered.
Chapter Eight
It was six in the morning when Ashley slowly awoke to find Lucky curled at her side, breathing easily. She delivered a silent prayer of thanks. After midnight, she’d helped the shepherd outside and managed to get him to swallow a pain pill, an antibiotic, and a couple of syringes of beef-flavored baby food.
Dragging her hand through his thick, matted fur, she’d discovered open sores that couldn’t be comfortable. A warm bath today would do his muscles and her nose some good. After a couple more hours of restless sleep, she made her way to the basement storage closet.
Exhausted from a lack of sleep, she shivered, rubbing her arms and trying to generate some warmth. Sliding a box on the top shelf down so she could see the box hidden behind, she didn’t see the lamp teetering on the edge of the shelf. When she grabbed to save the lamp, the ladder bumped into the shelf and created a domino effect of sliding boxes crashing to the floor.
Well, that’s just typical, isn’t it?
She let out a frustrated, teeth-clenching growl. It was meant to make her feel better, but it didn’t. She climbed down the ladder and lifted the first box to look at the label, “metal working.” And then the next, “jewelry making.” Each additional label created a skip down memory lane. Grade school class pictures, progress reports, and adolescent drawings her mother kept. Too bad it was all destined for the landfill. She scaled the ladder to place the boxes back on the shelf. “All right, Dad. Where did you put your electronics?”
“Need some help?” Chase asked.
She jerked and hit her head on an overhead beam. Grimacing, her eyes watering, she rubbed the tender spot while she turned around…to behold an unshaven and tousled Chase in the doorway, both hands on the doorframe holding him up.
“You scared me. Make some noise when you move around.” She swatted a cobweb away from her face.
“I scared you? When I heard the ruckus down here, I figured I’d better get my ass downstairs in case the house was caving in. I could have used a blow horn to announce myself, but you wouldn’t have heard me above all the racket you’re making.”
“I’m being quiet as a mouse.”
“You mean a moose.”
Damn that sexy brow. It raised ever so temptingly, challenging her, but he said not one more word. Evidently, she’d startled him awake because he’d arrived wearing nothing but his boxers, which sat low on his hips, every muscle on his chest thrown into relief from the indirect lighting. His arms and legs, too.
She also had a good idea about the rest since they’d spent hours on the sled together, and one couldn’t quite avoid bumping into a few body parts now and then. When she’d felt the results, she considered popping in the boot camp workout video a bit more often, but decided that type of yumminess only came from physical labor and hours of hard work. Thinking about him wrapped around her and keeping her warm distracted her, and she shivered, not from the cold, but from the glorious, muscular splendor.
“Sorry I woke you.” She forced herself to turn back toward the boxes. “Look at all this crap. You’d think an entire military division lived here.”
The eight-foot shelves, four on each side and three in the back, looked overwhelming. No way would she be able to sort through the stuff in the next few weeks, so she planned to leave the chore for her dad’s movers, whoever that might be. He couldn’t expect her to take care of him like her mother had done most of their married life.
Her mother had pampered her father, doted on him when he came home. She’d loved him unconditionally until the day she died. An outsider might not see the love, but Ashley reluctantly had to admit her mother adored the man. The ache of wanting to see him and knowing she couldn’t drove her mom into depression. On the few occasions her dad came home, her mother was bright as the sun. She’d fix fancy meals and open special bottles of wine, even throw intimate parties. Then when he left, because he always did, her mother would barely get out of bed, preferring to pull the covers up over her head and ignore anything and everything, including her daughter. Another reason not to get involved with a soldier.
“Can I help?” he asked.
She opened another box. “If you want. I’m looking for a small hair trimmer to shave Lucky.”
“Who used the shaver last?”
She discontinued searching to think of the last time she’d seen the razor. “Mom, I believe. When Dad came home, Mom liked to wash and cut his hair. Why?”
He pointed at the writing on the boxes. “You’re looking through your dad’s stuff. If your mom used the trimmer last, maybe it’s with her things.”
“Leave it to a Marine to use logic.” She shoved the box back on top of the metal shelf. “Thanks.”
“What’s in this box?” He pointed to a plastic bin with her name on the side. His curious eyes held hers.
“It’s nothing.”
“Right.” He turned to leave.
She hopped down from the ladder and hooked his arm, stopping him, remembering how annoyed she’d been when he refused to share his poems. His muscles contracted under her fingers and his body went still. He wasn’t the only one shutting the door on inquisitive questions, but something inside her didn’t want to hold back. She reached for the bin, set it on the floor, and unlocked the lid of her treasure box. She picked up the first box of china and opened it, revealing her first and favorite miniature tea set, complete with cups, saucers and teapot.
She picked up a cup and placed it into his outstretched hand.
“It’s so small.” He stared at the tiny object with wonder and nudged the porcelain with his finger. He looked into the box. “You have more.”
“There are seven sets here. I’ve sold the others, but these are my favorites. I’ll have to part with them eventually, but I wanted to hold on a little while longer. These miniature sets were the first things I looked for when we went to yard sales and auctions.”
And now she’d have to let them go. Sell them and scatter them to the far corners of North America and beyond because she didn’t have a place to keep them safe. She reached for the cup and swaddled the tiny porcelain object in tissue to put it back in the box.
He thumped the box with his knuckle. “I bet each one has a story to tell.”
Her breath caught. Oh. My. God. He understood. He gripped the lid, locking it in place, and then gently put the bin back on the shelf like it contained the Holy Grail. Then he scanned the rows of bins.
“I got a little crazy.”
“Crazy to collect something you love? No. That’s not crazy. Letting a guy you just met kiss you? That’s maybe a little out there.”
He winked. He actually winked. Why did he have to be so adorable as well as hunky?
Spontaneity hadn’t been part of her life for years, but it didn’t matter because already her eyes were irresistibly drawn to his mouth. She wanted to collect some more of those luscious memories. The arousing heat overwhelmed the cold shivers from moments earlier. She wouldn’t, couldn’t go there.
Ashley never expected much from men. Her mom suggested their lack of brain matter was because the other sex made decisions with their stomachs and crotches, which also used up all their energy and brain power. But somehow Chase was different. He worked hard, didn’t say much, but did say the things that mattered.
He finally gave her an electrifying smile. Besides the gold specks, his eyes ignited with a twinkle of humor as well.
Tipping a bit off-center, she decided to get back to the task at hand. Otherwise she would surely succumb to the way he was looking at her—like he wanted to crawl back in bed with her on top.
“When do you want to go into town to get your truck?” Ashley crossed her arms and looked past his shoulder.
“I was hoping to help with Lucky and then maybe go for a run, and then see where the day takes us.”
“Us. Like you and me.”
He picked up a strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. “You have a lot of work to do, and I’m an extr
a set of free hands. All you need to do is point and provide instructions. Unless you have a problem with me helping.”
Man, oh man, the guy could make a woman sizzle. If she touched him, she’d get baked. She wanted to feel his early morning stubble scrape across her skin. Feel his callused hands wrapped around her waist.
“Do you have a problem with me helping?”
“No.”
His eyes made her grab onto the ladder to keep from falling over. The way he leaned in gave the impression he wanted some early morning fun.
“No? Then is there something you need?”
She tightened her grip because a whole lot of other things got weak, especially her willpower. But her brain engaged in the nick of time. She didn’t need a man in her life who made her want to run her fingers over his glorious body while figuring out a way to wipe the smug smirk off his handsome face.
She appreciated his restraint. The white-knuckled grip on the doorframe was proof he was working overtime to keep from executing his desires.
“I need to shower,” she said. “And before you ask, no, I don’t need my back washed.”
She swore his body pouted before he straightened and stepped aside.
As she passed, he asked, “Do you think your dad would mind if I used his tools?”
The image of him standing in her bedroom doorway wearing nothing but a tool belt slapped her in the face. The fantasy would have worked even with clothes on, but off...oh, my! She concentrated on closing the storage room door on the mess she’d made, but the image stuck. Her cheeks felt hot, like a lighter had been flicked into flame next to her ear.
“Need to keep your mind occupied?” she asked.
He narrowed the gap to within a slight lean on her part. “Tell me you don’t want to kiss me, Ashley.”
She lifted her hand and placed her fingers on his lips. “No.”
He took a sampling nip at her fingers. “Is ‘no’ the only word in your vocabulary?”
“No.”