More Room for Love

by Mae Nunn

  She squashed the thought, knowing she should be grateful. Each time her dad most needed a distraction, Guy seemed to show up. But somehow that didn’t sit well with her.

  She turned both taps on full force and slipped her hands into bright yellow latex gloves. A squirt of lemon-scented soap produced a mound of bubbles. Some sprung free, floated above the water and danced on the gentle breeze from the fan overhead. The one Guy had hung.

  A loud sigh escaped as Abby dragged the back of her forearm across her face to move sweat-dampened curls out of her eyes. Several heavy thumps on the steps outside preceded the creak of the garage door as it opened into the kitchen. She didn’t look up from her sudsy work.

  “Good morning, Abby.” His friendly greeting seemed hesitant, as if he worried about intruding.

  Good, he needed to respect her space. It was Saturday, the only day she had to be home alone with her men. She was busy, and she acknowledged again, bummed. Not at all in the mood for an interruption.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he apologized. “I see you’re busy.”

  Her head snapped up, eyes wide. Had she actually muttered that last thought out loud or was mind reading another one of his talents? Either way, it was creepy, which only seemed to agitate already sensitive nerves.

  “Shorty would like a refill and I offered to get it for him.”

  She turned to see Guy holding out her dad’s favorite mug.

  “Mom would have cut his caffeine off hours ago, but I don’t see what it can hurt.” She angled her head toward the percolator where a red light blinked indicating the pot was still hot.

  Guy leaned in the door, and set the mug on a nearby countertop. He tugged off his boots before stepping foot inside the kitchen, white crew socks peeking beneath his snug jeans.

  “Backyard’s a little muddy after yesterday’s rain,” he explained.

  She should appreciate his courtesy, but she clung to her martyrdom like a security blanket, turned her eyes back to the suds.

  “Where’s Junior?”

  “Napping. And it’s Dillon. He’s not named after his father,” she corrected, more sharply than necessary, sounding for all the world like her mother.

  “Sorry,” Guy apologized. “It’s just the tag we use for the firstborn. Some days my oldest sister actually prefers Junior to her given name. It’s quite a mouthful.”

  “And her name would be…?” She took the bait.

  “Martha Elizabeth Meg Hardy-Waverly.”

  “I agree. That is a mouthful.”

  “My folks come from big families where it’s customary to pay tribute by recycling names. So all of us got saddled with a heavy load. The good news is we only tend to hear them back home.”

  “And back home is…?” Abby waited, wondering why in the world she was encouraging a conversation she didn’t want.

  “Keokuk, Iowa. The geode capital of the world.”

  “Excuse me?” She rested her wrists against the edge of the sink and turned to him, an eyebrow cocked in question.

  “You know, those lumpy round rocks with quartz crystals inside.” He expanded his chest with exaggerated pride. “It’s our state rock.”

  She had to give in to a small smile. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, way.” He shook his head. “We even have a special celebration called…and I’m serious about this…Rocktober Fest. To join the hunt, you have to register and get a permit.”

  “To find rocks?”

  “Hey, these are cool, thousands of years old. I’ll get some for Dillon.” Guy poured coffee into the mug marked #1 Grandpa and padded in his socks across the kitchen floor to the refrigerator.

  Then he poured just the right amount of milk and added a half teaspoon of sugar from the bowl on the table. He’d obviously done it before when she wasn’t around, knew exactly how her daddy took his coffee. She looked away, the brief smile fading as she attacked a well-worn cast-iron skillet with a scouring pad. Something about the simple but familiar act of fixing that cup of coffee was a little stab to her heart. She should be doing that. But the truth was she couldn’t be everywhere at once no matter how hard she tried and she really could use some time off.

  “Abby, how would you feel about me taking Shorty to visit your mom this evening? Just to give you a little break.”

  Was he reading her mind, again? Doubtful.

  “My daddy’s been talking, hasn’t he?”

  “Nonstop.” She heard the chuckle in Guy’s voice. “But I enjoy his company so I don’t mind. He misses your mother something fierce and I think it helps him to talk about her, about you.”

  She scrubbed harder.

  “You’re going to wear the bottom off that thing,” he observed.

  “Yeah, well, it won’t get clean just sitting in the sink.”

  “So, what do you say about tonight?”

  “No, thanks. Mama’s expecting me and I don’t dare disappoint her.”

  Dillon’s wakeup wail echoed from the monitor on her waistband. He’d never been one to rouse quietly or be content to lie in his crib and amuse himself. Not her son. The instant he was fully awake, he demanded attention.

  “Let me get him,” Guy offered, sitting the mug on the table, turning toward the door.

  “No,” Abby insisted. Even though the man meant well, he was making himself entirely too handy. The kind of handy her folks could get attached to. The kind of attachment that would lead to heartbreak once he was gone. And Abby knew that kind of heartbreak all too well.

  “Take my daddy his coffee. I’ll get Dillon.” She peeled off the rubber gloves, tossed them in the dish rack and brushed past Guy.

  Dillon stopped his blubbering the instant she appeared. A wobbly smile creased the small face that was perpetually absent of tears.

  “You little stinker,” she muttered against his soft head as she stepped into his waiting arms and lifted him from the crib. “You’re so sure I’ll come running that you haven’t bothered with real tears since you were a newborn.”

  She’d read somewhere that a person teaches others how to treat them. It was true. She’d taught everyone in her life to depend upon her to the point of taking her for granted. They’d also learned she’d toe the line no matter the circumstances out of fear of disapproval. How perplexing that when somebody like Guy stepped in to help, she resented it. It was crazy. A self-inflicted, double-edged sword.

  Something had to give.

  * * *

  “GUY?”

  Above the whir of the circular saw, he heard her call his name. He cut the power and slid the protective goggles up to his forehead. Tipping his head back, he took in the vision of Abby Cramer in a quick sweep that he hoped didn’t make him seem like a frat boy. Worn sneakers, bare legs, frayed and faded jean shorts, and a loose Texas Longhorns T-shirt. A riot of wild blond curls surrounded a face enchantingly pink from her work in the warm kitchen.

  Wow, she’s adorable.

  “Is that offer to give Dad a lift to the hospital this evening still good?”

  “Sure is.” Guy had made other plans when she’d turned him down hours earlier, but he could shift some things around to free up the time. He was glad for the chance to check for himself on Sarah Reagan’s progress. Still, he was amazed Abby had changed her mind. Shorty had said she wouldn’t go for the offer and he wasn’t surprised when his daughter shot down the request.

  Guy stood, stretching the kinks out of his long legs while effectively removing the pot
ential for another glance at hers. “Is anything wrong?”

  “No, I just realized I was looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

  “Well, I guess a gift horse is certainly an improvement over a horse’s behind,” he couldn’t resist teasing.

  Her gaze dropped. “So you did hear that the other day. Sorry.” She nudged a little pile of sawdust between the boards to the grass below. “And I apologize about my grumpy mood earlier.”

  “Hey, everybody’s allowed to have a bad day now and again.” Boy, had living in a house full of women ever taught him that. As well as never to make that observation out loud unless he wanted a punch to his gut.

  “Thanks for letting me off the hook.” Her gaze met his. “But I don’t deserve it. If Mama heard me being ungracious in her kitchen, she’d send me to my room without dinner.”

  He smiled at the thought, realizing there was probably more than a kernel of truth in the statement. By all observation, the mistress of this house ran a tight ship and that included the crew as well as the vessel.

  “I personally think you should go shopping instead of to your room.”

  Her brows pulled together as she seemed to consider his suggestion. From the appealing way she puckered her lips as she thought, he guessed shopping was not the stress reliever of choice for Abby that it was for members of the gaggle.

  “As tempting as that sounds, I have a dozen phone calls to make before my playground committee meeting tomorrow so I think I’ll catch up on that. I’m working with the Mother’s-Day-Out group to build a playground. Our funds are limited so we’re doing the landscaping ourselves with used railroad timbers and buying secondhand equipment a piece at a time when we run across it on sale. It’s slow going but everybody pitches in when they can.”

  “Sounds like a great bunch of folks. After your committee stuff tomorrow do you want to make a run out to Lake Travis with me? Your dad says he had a favorite largemouth spot up there at one time and you know how to find it.”

  “You’re a bass rat?” She squinted, looked at him differently, like he’d finally said something that might be of interest to her.

  “I was raised on the Mississippi, fished every chance I got just to get away from my sisters.”

  “They didn’t fish?”

  “Casey did.” Of course. “But I haven’t fished in freshwater for years. I mostly compete in tournaments offshore when I work a job on the coast. Which is why I can’t wait to get down to Galveston on the next site.”

  Abby smiled. A real smile that plumped her cheeks and lit her cocoa-brown eyes. “That sounds like so much fun. I used to go with Daddy all the time but we haven’t been in several years.”

  Guy already knew that. Knew lots of stuff he probably shouldn’t, but there was no stopping Shorty when he was in the mood to talk about his baby girl.

  “Then it’s a deal?” Guy offered his hand.

  “Deal.” She gave him a quick, no-nonsense shake, jammed her hands into the hip pockets of her cutoffs and turned back to the house.

  The screen door banged behind her. With a shudder Guy realized he’d almost said date instead of deal. Shorty had dropped a warning, the mention of dating around Abby was a waste of breath. Something to be avoided at all cost.

  As if Guy hadn’t recognized the challenge by the cagey old daddy that his daughter wouldn’t agree to a date with the owner of Heart and Home in a hundred years, anyway.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ABBY’S NOSE TWITCHED. Guy smelled so nice.

  Like lumber and leather and lemon oil. Which made perfectly good sense considering he spent most of his time in a store that sold those things.

  A trip to the lake was not a bad way to spend a car ride after a busy day of meetings.

  To focus on something other than how amazing Guy smelled, she thought about the recently planted beds of blooming day lilies. Their playground effort was starting to become visible. There was a metal frame donated by the salvage shop where new swings would eventually hang, a dome-shaped network of monkey bars that needed sanding and fresh paint, and a low fence surrounding a two-year-old pecan tree planted in Phillip’s memory.

  An embarrassing flush seeped throughout her body. Her palms grew moist as her face went hot with shame. The playground would be a tribute to the selfless young man who’d willingly given his very life so the children in another country might experience the freedom his son would likely take for granted.

  Phillip, her dearest friend, had made the ultimate sacrifice and here she was, admiring the scent of another man.

  What is wrong with me? I have enough shortcomings without adding lustfulness to the list.

  * * *

  GUY HEARD ABBY’S SIGH from the passenger seat. Something stirred inside him. He didn’t want to call it envy. Envy was longing for what someone else had. He had a close relationship with his own parents so that couldn’t be it.

  Was it protectiveness? No, he’d felt that for the gaggle all his life. Was used to it, had been defending a sister’s honor or helping out a wannabe girlfriend for as long as he could remember. That wasn’t it. Still, something niggled at him, something to do with Abby.

  She was different from the women he’d casually dated or the Hardy girls who were self-confident and secure. They’d had their share of worry what with their mom’s Parkinson’s and their dad’s bypass surgery, but there were a slew of them to stick together. Abby was alone, vulnerable in ways that a big family couldn’t relate to. But she appeared not to notice, even determined not to let him help her the way most women in his life naturally did.

  It had been “Guy to the rescue!” for as long as he could remember. It was gratifying, like his habit of giving blood once a month. He liked it, took pride in doing good deeds. And he realized with a wry smile that it was bugging him no end to accept that Abby Cramer didn’t much want his services or advice. In fact, she was still questioning his motives as the store owner, no matter what he’d said to reassure her. Smart cookie. Guy’s gut stirred again, this time with guilt. She had reason to remain suspicious but he was on a mission to change that.

  He glanced down at the freshly buffed toes of his boots, his mind casting back to the previous evening. Abby had been on the telephone when he’d returned for Shorty. She hadn’t even looked up from the notes she’d been taking on a yellow pad by the kitchen sink, had just waved over her shoulder and continued her phone conversation when her father had called goodbye.

  The trip to the rehab center had been an enlightening one, but all time spent with Shorty was informational. The irascible old fella had been confined to his wheelchair with limited access to his own house and community for so long that he was starved for conversation. Well, you couldn’t exactly call it conversation since it was mostly one-sided, with Shorty sharing tales of his life and his two womenfolk. Guy had already heard more about Abby’s marriage to Phillip Cramer than he had a right to know. He cringed imagining how angry Kate or Andrea would be if their father rattled off personal stories about their husbands the way Shorty did about Phillip.

  What had he said just last night about the boy being so shy he could hardly string three words together without stammering? “But being around my baby girl caused the knot to slip right out of that kid’s tongue. Why, he would talk for hours to Abby without tripping over a T or being snared by an S.”

  Shorty had grumbled aloud on several occasions over the past couple of weeks that he hoped his daughter would find a “grown man
” to take care of her and Dillon the next time around. Then he’d leveled dark eyes at Guy and added, “But not anytime soon.”

  The unnecessary warning was loud and clear.

  But Guy had dodged entanglements for thirty-eight years and had no intention of a committed relationship at this juncture in his life. There were stores to open, board members, foreign investors and stockholders to answer to, plenty of family to care for without being saddled with one of his own. In short, his life was full and he was happy. No matter how much he sympathized, a woman wasn’t part of the plan. And certainly not one so young, caught in the vise between a small child and aging parents.

  No, Shorty’s cautions weren’t needed. Guy had a plan, and work to do that would protect Hearth and Home. He’d made progress with Shorty and even Sarah had invited him to sit in the chair beside her bed and tell her all about his family. That just left Abby.

  He’d win her over if it was the last thing he did. And he had to do it before Casey showed up and started crowding him.

  As usual.

  * * *

  ABBY’S COMMITTEE MEETING had dragged on forever. It was almost noon when she’d called to say she was free. Then after he’d arrived at the house, she’d kept him waiting in the driveway while she no doubt gave a long list of instructions to the H&H employee who’d volunteered to spend the afternoon with Dillon and Shorty.

  Now, with the sun high overhead in a brilliant blue Texas canopy they headed northwest, left the traffic-congested city limits of Austin behind and picked up the trail of the Colorado River. According to Abby, Travis was the longest of the Texas Highland Lakes, winding its way for over sixty miles through the famed Hill Country. The drive was leisurely and breathtaking, as they marveled over views of the pristine water and surrounding hills.