by Mae Nunn
“How do you like the fan?” He used the cajoling tone that never failed to work with his sisters.
She turned her face toward the slowly rotating blades, giving him a moment to appreciate her clear skin, the natural blush of her cheeks that were round, like her son’s.
Abby studied the new fixture. Except for the twinkling piece of stained glass dangling from the end of the chain, it looked just like the picture on the box.
“Not bad,” she muttered. Not exactly praise for a job well done but it was the best she intended to give under the circumstances. Abby knew she’d never be able to speak her mind with her father sitting there like this interloper’s begrudging champion.
“Dad, would you mind getting me a change of clothes for Dillon?” She needed to get him out of the room. “That little pair of denim overalls and a clean T-shirt would be nice.”
“Where is he? Is anything wrong?”
“Everything’s fine,” she assured her father. “The day care called and he got fruit punch down the front of his shirt today. I thought I’d pick you up first then we’d change Dillon at the day care and go to the hospital before dinner.”
“Sure. That’ll be a nice surprise for Sarah.”
“Speaking of nice surprises,” she turned to Guy. “That certainly was a breathtaking arrangement the store sent yesterday, and I noticed you personally signed the card. Of course, you hardly know our family, or you’d understand we’re simple folks. The five-dollar bouquet we took her made my mother just as happy.”
“Abby’s right. My bride has always appreciated small pleasures. A good thing since that’s about all we’ve been able to afford most of our lives. So she was tickled pink by that big crystal vase of flowers.” Her father held out his hand. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
Guy accepted the grip. “Absolutely. We need to get started on that list if you want everything shipshape before Mrs. Reagan comes home.”
“I’ll just get Dillon’s things together, then.”
When her daddy was out of earshot, Abby turned to Guy, no longer putting on a happy face.
“You can drop the helpful hardware man act. I’m on to you.”
“Meaning?” He leveled wide, innocent eyes on her that she bet worked like a charm with the adoring females in his life.
“Meaning, I know you’re not just an H&H employee, you’re the owner. And you’re not just worried about my family, you’re covering for your own.”
“Guilty as charged on all counts.” He nodded.
The speech she’d practiced on the drive home flew out the window on the breeze from the new fan.
“That’s right. My family owns the stores and it’s my job to protect our investment.”
“So you admit all this help you’ve been offering is just an act.”
“No way.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me who you were when we first met?”
“I didn’t really think it was important to give you my résumé when your mother was lying on the floor of my store.”
Ouch, he had her there.
“Besides my parents have raised us to keep our personal business private, so it’s not like I have OWNER on the license plate of my company car. The employees know who I am, it’s not necessary for every customer to know, too.”
She still had reason for her righteous indignation. Didn’t she?
“But your customers should know your promise to take care of my mother’s medical needs was just PR. She believed you when you said everything would be covered by Hearth and Home or she’d never have agreed to that expensive private ambulance service.”
“Abby.” He lowered his chin; his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry I’ve given you the impression that I’m a dishonest person, but I assure you I didn’t lie about the medical coverage. You don’t need to worry about the bills. I give you my word on that.” He held his hand out as he’d done with her father a couple of minutes earlier.
She felt like a day-old balloon with a pinprick, as all the air seeped out of her argument that he was up to no good. She accepted his hand. A man’s grip, warm and solid and strong. A very different touch than she’d ever felt holding hands with Phillip.
“I apologize,” she said simply, lost for the proper words after impugning his integrity.
“Apology accepted.” He let her off the hook but held on to her hand. “And please accept mine for not introducing myself properly. Dad’s taught us to keep a low profile with customers, but it was never my intention to hide my identity.”
“I see.” She nodded and eased her hand out of his warm grip. “Now what’s all this about a list?” She changed the subject.
He fished an index card covered in her father’s handwriting from his back pocket.
“Shorty and I wrote up a list of all the repairs you two have been planning to make. I really need to get out of the new store manager’s way and let her run things on her own, so I have some time on my hands before I have to turn over the quality phase of the project to my kid sister, Casey. Believe it or not I really enjoy your dad’s company. He reminds me a lot of one of my uncles and I’d like to help take care of these repairs, if you don’t disapprove.”
Abby glanced at the list, all things she had good intentions of doing one day. Her heart sank just a bit at the thought of missing out on spending this time with her father. The MS was so unpredictable. He could be able one day and bedridden the next. She’d already found out what it was to forever lose precious time with a man she’d loved. She didn’t want to waste a single day of the allotment she had left with her father.
“These are all things my daddy and I wanted to do together.” She pouted, knowing she probably sounded like a brat.
“Even better. If you have any free time to join us, just grab a hammer and help out.”
Now that things were going his way again, his engaging blue eyes sparkled with mischief, and Abby began to understand why the women in his family had spoiled this guy rotten.
CHAPTER FOUR
“SO, I CAN HAVE everything wrapped up and be in Austin next week. It’s almost time to start the handoff, you know.” Casey’s voice buzzed across the phone line reminding Guy of their time line.
Not that he needed reminding.
He looked at the calendar above his desk. As usual, the Warden, as the Hardy clan called Casey, was in control and ahead of schedule. She couldn’t let a deadline slip. Ooooh noooo. How was it possible that the baby sister he loved more than life could leave him warmhearted and clenched-fisted at the same time? She’d been breathing down his neck since they were kids, competing with him at every turn, determined to best him at his own game.
His parents had never had to challenge their only son. That was Casey’s personal mission.
He’d joined the swim team and she’d taken up high diving. He’d gotten voted most likely to succeed; she’d been elected class president. He’d gotten some assistance at the local community college; she’d earned a full scholarship to the University of Iowa. The board had offered him an executive position after seven years; she’d won her title after five.
But he had the plum, the job she’d wanted. When the board had voted on expansion, Guy’s business degrees and years of experience had made him their first choice. Casey had taken it remarkably well, then had promptly set a course to study world-class quality processes. He knew it was just a matter of time before she proposed a new security structure that would shake up the way they did bus
iness. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but it would be as much to nip at Guy’s heels and impress their father as it was to improve corporate work processes.
His youngest sister thrived on competition. Guy had sympathy for any man who fell for her quick wit and easy smile. The combination masked the sharpshooter nature and workaholic tendency that would undoubtedly intimidate the poor guy who found himself in love with Rebecca Thelma Casey Hardy one day.
He picked up his cup of ice, rattled a cube into his mouth and chewed with gusto.
“Alexander Theodore Guy Hardy, stop crunching ice in my ear. Are you even listening to me?”
“You’ve given me this lecture so many times I can recite it in my sleep. Gimme a second here, I’m looking at my schedule.”
Scanning the calendar, he grabbed an orange marker off his desk and drew a dotted line through the next four weeks and circled Mother’s Day. At best Sarah Reagan would be out of rehab by that time. He and Shorty had crossed a small project off their list every few days. Now it was time to tackle the big stuff that would make the decades-old, drab little home more accessible for Shorty’s old wheelchair and the walker Sarah would undoubtedly need for a while.
“Thanks for being ready to move things up but I don’t need you that soon,” he muttered into the handset cradled between his ear and shoulder. “In fact, I’m thinking of pushing my departure date out a bit.”
Casey was silent. A bad sign. Guy hurried on.
“I’m enjoying the weather here. I might take a few days off and do some fishing.”
“Where?” She snorted, an unflattering sound that had always annoyed their mother. “Since when does any game fish besides a trout or a red appeal to a saltwater snob like you? Aren’t you all hot to get to Galveston to try out the new waders I gave you for your birthday?”
“Hey, there’s some decent-size largemouth in Lake Travis. Thought I’d spend a week checking out the local honey holes.”
“Then I should come on down early to keep an eye on things while you’re away.”
“Casey, give it a rest.” He knew she wouldn’t be placated easily. Well, he wasn’t prepared to give her all the details, just enough to make her back off. “I need to hang around until the woman who broke her hip in the store is out of the rehab hospital and back on her feet. It just wouldn’t be right for me to leave before this situation is settled.”
“It figures.” He could hear the disapproval in her voice. “You’ve found another cause. Dr. Guy has a new patient to save.” While his other sisters praised his willingness to give his time to help people in need, Casey saw it as a weakness. A veil over the voids in his own life. Sometimes he thought she might be onto something. But mostly he realized it was just one more of her tactics to goad him into a challenge.
“This cause is probably in her seventies and she found me, remember?” he reminded Casey, knowing she already had the details noted and memorized.
“Meanwhile I’m just supposed to cool my heels, I suppose?”
“Why don’t you call the gaggle and scare up a shopping trip?” He referred to the term their mother used for her five daughters. “I’m sure there must be yet another navy-blue Brooks Brothers suit out there reserved for you, Warden. But why don’t you try a departure from the Iowa Department of Corrections uniform for a change?”
“Very funny, but it so happens I’ve lost a few pounds and could use some new clothes. Maybe I will see what the girls are up to.”
“That’s the spirit. Part with some of that obscene salary the company is paying you.”
“Mind your own business.” It was the same answer she gave him every time he suggested that she enjoy life a bit and put some of the small fortune she was earning to good use. Heaven forbid she should do anything fun or philanthropic.
“It was just a suggestion, corkscrew,” he poked her sore spot.
“That’s it. This conversation has come to an end.”
He smiled, mission accomplished. “Talk to you tomorrow night. I love you, Thelma.”
“Love you too, Theodore.”
Guy dropped the phone in the cradle, folded his hands behind his head and propped his feet against the edge of an open desk drawer in the Heart and Home security office. He pushed the toes of his boots and rocked back in his leather chair to stare at the ceiling.
What he’d said was accurate. Mostly. He couldn’t leave town until Sarah and Shorty’s situation had improved. They were nice folks who needed a break and Guy had a responsibility to lend a helping hand.
But there was more. He wanted to do the same for their daughter, the real person in need from what he could tell. So far that had been next to impossible. He’d seen very little of Abby the past two weeks. Judging by what Shorty said, she put in a lot of hours between her teaching position and the volunteer work she did. What little free time she had was devoted to her son and parents. Guy did what he could to help by staying out from under her feet and cleaning up after their repair efforts. This weekend that might be difficult since he and Shorty planned to get started on the new deck and wheelchair ramp.
Guy suspected Abby would likely be around the house. Surely she’d be taking a little downtime. He dropped his boots to the floor, rolled the chair back and pushed to his feet. Just in case, he’d make a few peace offerings to leave around the house.
* * *
THERE WAS NO DENYING IT. Abby wasn’t cutting the mustard in some area of life. What other reason could there be for all the troubles that had heaped upon her for the past two years?
Uncharacteristically grumpy on a sunny weekend morning, she stooped to pull a pair of jeans from the dryer. She smoothed and folded them atop the laundry-room counter, then placed them neatly on the stack.
“Oh, cut the pity party, Abigail,” Abby mimicked her mother’s stern voice as she reached into the warm appliance and drew out another item.
A nylon jersey had turned inside out during the wash. She flipped the maroon shirt so its right side was visible and hugged it to her body. She buried her face in the soft fading fabric, and swallowed down the sadness that threatened.
Phillip’s high-school football jersey. She wore it on nights when sleep was elusive. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply and recognized a stirring of the anger she would forever feel at his decision to sign up for active duty. It still stung all these months later. How could he put himself in harm’s way in the name of duty to his country when she’d needed him so? When she’d been carrying their first child?
She pressed her face into the jersey and inhaled again. Her shoulders sagged with disappointment. Just like Phillip, his scent on the shirt was gone forever.
She should put it in a trunk and save it for Dillon along with the team photos of Phillip, the big number 30 on his chest. Some day Dillon would want to hear all about his daddy and Abby would be ready to tell her son everything about the shy young man who’d been her best friend for as long as she could remember.
She brushed the silky cloth against her cheek and exhaled a sigh. It was still too soon to lock her reminders of Phillip away in a box. She couldn’t do it. Not yet.
The thwack of wood striking wood resounded through the laundry-room window that led to the backyard. Abby laid the shirt gently on the counter and swept the curtain back, revealing the scene outside. A white pickup with an H&H sign on the door was backed into the yard, tailgate down. A load of lumber jutted from the bed.
Guy slid the planks out two at a
time and tossed them into a pile by the driveway. The orange T-shirt was tight across his broad shoulders as he worked. He turned, swiped the back of a leather-gloved hand across his forehead. He was attractive, she had to admit it. But not in the youthful way Phillip had been. This man was at least fifteen years older, a slim version of Garth Brooks with his almost-shaved haircut and close-clipped goatee.
He bent to grasp two more boards, tipping his head to expose his crown. Abby felt a smile twist the corners of her mouth. Listening to her father replay the work done around their house by Guy Hardy for almost two weeks was wearing thin. Just like his hair. The discovery coaxed a chuckle that got her over the emotional moment. She turned back to her laundry, tossed the folded load into a plastic hamper and carried it across the oak floor into her bedroom.
As she did every weekend, she tucked clean clothes into drawers and opened her closet to hang her few dresses. Today she indulged her nostalgic mood a bit longer, taking a moment to admire the trophies on her top shelf. She trailed fingertips over a shiny engraved surface.
Barrel Racing Champion, High School Women’s Division.
Those were better days, long gone. She pressed the door closed on her memories and turned back to the hallway and her list of chores.
As she passed Dillon’s room, a quick glance confirmed he was still enjoying his morning nap, snuggled with Cookie Monster for company. Envious of his carefree slumber, she crept past his crib decorated with Sesame Street characters, flipped on the radio monitor and hooked it to the waistband of her favorite cutoff jeans. She pulled the door closed and headed for the dishes that perpetually waited in the kitchen. Through the sheer curtains above the sink, the men outside were visible.
Her daddy actually smiled, tilted his head back, clearly enjoying a private joke with his newfound helper. Abby tried to make out the words they exchanged. Even as she identified the feeling in the pit of her stomach, she knew it was unfair. Resentment. She resented the common ground the two had found. If her daddy regaled her with one more tale of their shared accomplishments, she’d cut loose with a scream that would send the neighbor’s dog running for cover.