Something to Prove

by Kimberly Lang

  She’d fallen behind on work in the past couple of weeks, but she’d told herself she’d get caught up once Grannie was home. That hadn’t worked out. Instead, she had an in-box full of messages from unhappy clients, many of whom had already found someone else to take on the project since she was so far behind. That sucked. She’d worked so hard to build a satisfied client list in a business that lived and died on word-of-mouth recommendations, and while her clients claimed understanding of her situation, they still needed their stuff yesterday, and she couldn’t deliver. She didn’t blame them, but it still sucked.

  The phone rang with people calling to check on Grannie to the point where Helena was about to yank the thing out of the wall. Plenty of people stopped by, which, in a perfect world, would have given Helena a respite, but they only stayed ten to fifteen minutes at a time, claiming they didn’t want to wear Grannie out. That was nice, and very considerate of them, but the “Come in, nice to see you, can I get you a drink” was barely finished before it was time for the “Thanks for coming and you take care.” Then twenty minutes later, she got to start it all over again. Helena never had a chance to settle anywhere for longer than a few minutes and was developing an eye twitch from the constant interruptions.

  She’d seen half the church’s congregation, Grannie’s entire bridge club, and every neighbor in a four-block radius, but she hadn’t seen Tate or Molly—much less Ryan, although the fact she included him on that list was a whole other issue of craziness she didn’t have the energy to explore right now—at all. And while they sent support via text message, they didn’t have any more experience with this kind of thing than she did, so she kept her full frustration and looming breakdown to herself.

  It’s a period of adjustment. I’ll adjust.

  On Monday, when Grannie had been home for five days and after another e-mail from a client pulling their project had her taking a hard look at her bank balance, Helena reached her breaking point. She needed advice, guidance, help. She needed an actual grown-up. Leaving Grannie napping in the recliner with the phone close by and a note of her whereabouts, she went next door to see Mrs. Wilson.

  She took a deep breath and rang the bell before she could chicken out.

  Mrs. Wilson didn’t look happy to see her. Helena’s initial instinct was proven wrong, though, as Mrs. Wilson opened the screen with a concerned, “Is everything all right?”

  “Grannie’s fine. She’s resting right now.”

  “That’s good,” she said, and sighed audibly with relief. “She needs to rest to get her strength back. And, no offense, Helena, but you look like you could use some rest, too.”

  The kindly tone nearly broke her composure. “I’m in over my head,” she confessed.

  “Of course you are.”

  Helena’s jaw tightened. She should have known better. Screw this. She was about to walk away when Mrs. Wilson opened the door farther and stepped out onto the porch. “It’s a hell of a system when a patient has a whole team of trained professionals looking after them while they’re in the hospital, yet as soon as they’re released, suddenly a couple of family members are supposed to be able to handle it. I remember when Jack came home from the hospital after his bypass. After a day or two, I was about to run screaming into the streets. Come on,” she said, heading toward Grannie’s. “We’ll have a glass of tea and talk this through.”

  Helena was still frozen in place on Mrs. Wilson’s porch.

  “Well, come on. I’ll need to see what the situation is before I can help you. That is why you came to me, right?”

  “Right.” Could it really be this simple? She still felt uneasy about the whole situation, but she felt better at the same time. She might be a failure, but at least she wasn’t going to fail spectacularly and damage Grannie in the process. She followed Mrs. Wilson back toward Grannie’s porch.

  At the door, Mrs. Wilson paused. “You’ve come a long way, Helena, and proved a lot of people wrong. You’ve done the right thing by your grandmother, and that means something.” Helena started to nod, oddly touched, when Mrs. Wilson continued. “You’ve still got a long way to go, though.”

  She squared her shoulders. “I do need help, and I’m not too proud to ask for it. I can’t change the past, but I don’t have time now to worry about what other people think of me. My only concern is for Grannie and making sure she gets what she needs. I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure that, and if I’m proving people’s assumptions about me wrong at the same time, that’s great. But that’s a side benefit, not the goal.”

  Mrs. Wilson’s eyes widened, but then she nodded, seeming to accept that statement at face value. “That’s not the approach I would take, but it’s fair enough. People will come around eventually, I guess.”

  It wasn’t exactly a rousing endorsement for the new Helena Wheeler, but it did feel like a milestone of sorts. Mrs. Wilson had always disapproved of her, but as Grannie’s friend, she hadn’t outright condemned her. As she followed Mrs. Wilson inside, Grannie was just waking from her nap.

  “Margaret! So good to see you. Come in and have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”

  Taking her cue, Helena headed for the kitchen and poured two glasses of tea, and returned to the living room with Grannie’s afternoon pills as well. Mrs. Wilson was seated at Grannie’s antique writing desk, pen in hand.

  “Oh, Margaret, we don’t want to be a bother to anyone,” Grannie was saying.

  “That girl is run ragged, Louise.”

  Grannie looked up at her. “Is that true, Helena?”

  Damn. That was a hard question to answer when Grannie was looking at her like that. “I’m just really behind on work and such. . . .”

  “Then go do some work, honey. I’ll be fine right here.”

  “Grannie, it’s—”

  Mrs. Wilson laid the pen down and smiled sweetly. “Helena, why don’t you run down to the diner and get your grandmother a piece of Maude’s cherry pie?”

  Even though there were three different kinds of pie still in the fridge, Helena didn’t have to be told twice. She recognized that sweet smile for what it really was—a warning. She might not be able to take her grandmother to task, but Mrs. Wilson sure could. Grabbing her phone and wallet, she bolted for the door.

  She felt a tiny bit guilty, but not guilty enough to stay. She’d give Mrs. Wilson twenty minutes or so to get Grannie on the right page, and then they could come up with a plan.

  For the first time in five days, she felt like this might actually work out okay.

  Chapter 12

  This is plain foolish.

  Ryan wasn’t the sneaky type. He never had been. Never really saw the need. Yet, here he was, a grown man sneaking around to Helena’s house at nine o’clock at night.

  And all because she’d sent him a text. It didn’t exactly speak highly of his maturity level that a simple text reduced him to behavior most teenagers had outgrown, but his hormones were running the show, canceling out higher brain functions and reasoning abilities at the prospect of getting naked with Helena again.

  Mrs. Leary’s poodle poked his head over the fence and began to raise the alarm as Ryan cut through the side yard into the shadows of Ms. Louise’s backyard. The Learys’ porch light flipped on, but he was safely past its reach. Nonetheless, he still sprinted the last few yards to the back porch. Pausing to catch his breath, and feeling utterly ridiculous, he tapped quietly on the back door.

  Helena had the door open almost immediately, and he slipped inside. “You are not at all stealthy,” she whispered, shaking her head at him.

  “My apologies. It’s not a skill I felt the need to hone before now.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Pity, but you’ll need to try harder. Grannie’s on pain meds, but she’s still not the heaviest of sleepers. So quietly, please. Oh, and the third stair squeaks.”

  The door to Ms. Louise’s bedro
om was closed, but a thin strip of dim light shone under the door. A nightlight, maybe? Following Helena’s lead, he tiptoed past, carefully avoided the third stair, and crept down the hall to Helena’s room.

  After carefully closing the door, Helena launched herself at him, wrapping her legs around his waist and pressing her lips against his in a hot, hungry kiss. Just as quickly, she released her legs and landed on her feet to grin up at him. “I’m glad you came.” She was already tugging at his shirt.

  “Missed me, huh?”

  “Oh, don’t get all cocky,” she said as he took over, pulling the shirt up and over his head and grinning at her, happy to hear her admit it. “A woman has needs, you know.”

  “So you think you can just snap your fingers, and I’ll come running to take care of those needs?”

  Helena leaned against the door, arms crossed over her chest, and slowly surveyed him from head to toe. That eyebrow went up and her mouth twitched. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  He braced his hands outside her shoulders, caging her, and leaned in. “Oh, now who’s getting cocky?”

  Eyes locked on his, Helena placed a hand in the center of his chest, then trailed it slowly down over his stomach to the bulge in his jeans. “I’m still going to say it’s you.”

  The steady pressure and gentle, purposeful movement pulled a groan from deep in his chest. It seemed he had needs, too.

  “Shh.” Her hands worked the snap and zipper quickly, releasing him into her grasp. He dropped his forehead to hers as he sucked in his breath.

  A hand under her chin easily lifted her face to his for a kiss. “Well, I missed you.”

  He got a smile for his honesty, followed by kisses that seared a path down his neck, then over his chest and belly as Helena slid to her knees.

  The ringing of a bell snapped both their heads up. Helena cursed under her breath and scrambled to her feet, adjusting her clothes and running a hand through her hair. “I’ll be right back,” she said, slipping under his arm and out the door. He heard her feet on the stairs, then indistinct voices as Helena answered Ms. Louise’s summons.

  No wonder Helena had been shushing him. Sounds carried a little too well in this house.

  There wasn’t anything to do but wait, so he sat on the edge of Helena’s bed and ran a hand over his face to try to compose himself. Thank God Ms. Louise had called out now, because a few minutes later, Helena’s sudden but required departure might have killed him.

  At least Ms. Louise was unable to climb the stairs, unable to open the door and find her granddaughter on her knees. . . .

  What the hell was wrong with him? Sneaking around, glad Ms. Louise’s injuries kept her to the first floor? Grumbling because an injured woman’s needs trumped his wants?

  Good Lord. This was crazy.

  He’d spent too much time over the last five days thinking about her. While he’d hauled ass over here like a teenage boy on a booty call, that hadn’t been the only focus of his thoughts. The simple fact was he liked her. Liked talking to her, sparring with her. . . . She was funny, equally prickly and sweet, and while the sex was good, he’d have jumped at the opportunity to come over, regardless. He wouldn’t admit it to Helena, though.

  If she wasn’t so worried about what everyone else might think about what they might or might not be doing, he wouldn’t have had to wait five days to see her and be forced to cut through backyards in the cover of darkness in order to do so.

  Helena was definitely messing with his head, and tonight just proved it.

  He zipped his jeans and reached for his shirt. A moment later, Helena returned. “Sorry about that. She just needed some water, but the meds are really kicking in now, so she’ll be fast asleep in no time. . . . Why are you getting dressed?”

  “This is insane, so I’m going to go.”

  “But—”

  “This is insulting to both of us.” Helena motioned him to be quiet, and he lowered his voice. “We’re adults, for God’s sake, and I really have no desire to hone my stealth skills so you can grab a little nookie behind everyone’s back.”

  “What? You want me to tell my grandmother that I’d like to have a boy up to my room to have sex? Jeez, she just got out of the hospital. I don’t want to send her back right away. I thought we had an understanding.”

  “I agreed to discretion. I didn’t realize it would equal skulking. I’ve got too much respect—for you and myself—to keep this up.”

  “Respect.” She sounded confused.

  “Yes, respect. I’m not asking you to marry me. Hell, I’m not even asking you to go steady. I just refuse to act like I’m ashamed of myself when I’m not.”

  That seemed to suck the wind out of Helena’s sails. She opened and closed her mouth a few times before perching on the edge of her bed and studying him. “You don’t want to . . . see me anymore?”

  “Of course I do. But not like this. It’s ridiculous.”

  “So . . . what, then? You want to go on a date?” she said sarcastically.

  He hadn’t really thought about it, but . . . “Yes.”

  Helena blinked in surprise. After a moment, she finally said, “People would freak.”

  “I think you’re wrong.”

  “Suspicion and rumor are one thing. Flaunting it is another.”

  “I’m talking about dinner, Helena, not public sex acts. That’s hardly ‘flaunting’ anything.”

  “That could be worse, actually,” she argued. “Just sleeping together could be explained by my wicked seduction skills. A date really calls your judgment into question.”

  “But not yours?”

  “For once, people would think I was making a good choice. But the thing is, you have to live here. I don’t. You’ll be dealing with the fallout long after I’m gone.”

  That set him back a pace. “You’re really worried about me?”

  “Duh. Have you not been listening to anything I’ve been saying? You may be golden in this town, but you’re not untouchable.”

  That wasn’t exactly an admission of affection, but it was pretty damn close. “Why don’t you let me worry about my next election.”

  “Heads will explode. You know that, right?”

  “Then think how much fun it will be—both watching them lose their minds and rubbing my nose in the fact you were right all along.”

  She laughed softly, then shook her head. “You really are a nice guy, aren’t you?”

  Helena made it sound like a bad thing. “’Fraid so.”

  Helena mumbled something. He couldn’t say for sure, but it sounded like “Frickin’ Boy Scout.” She sighed. “Fine. But I don’t want to make a big deal of it. We just go about our business, and people see what they see.”

  He sighed. “I wasn’t planning on hiring a skywriter, Helena.”

  “Good. Those are annoying.”

  “So, tomorrow night, then. Seven o’clock.”

  Helena’s eyes widened. “That soon?”

  “I know women can take a lot of time to get ready for a date, but surely you can shower and dress yourself in the next twenty hours or so.”

  “Smart-ass. Now you have to pay for my dinner.”

  “It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t.”

  She shook her head. “You’re getting some kind of weird kick out of this, aren’t you?”

  Most men would take offense at Helena’s distinct lack of enthusiasm and the most begrudging acceptance of a dinner date in the history of mankind, but he wasn’t most men and Helena wasn’t like any other woman. He laughed. “Oh, absolutely.”

  She rolled her eyes and flopped back on the bed, muttering under her breath.

  Reaching for her hands, he pulled her to her feet and kissed her until she stopped grumbling and sighed against him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “You’re leaving? Now?
”

  He fought to keep a straight face and nodded.

  “But I agreed to dinner.”

  “I know. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Withholding sex until you get what you want? That’s practically extortion.”

  “It’s absolutely extortion.” At her gasp of outrage, he reached for her waist and pulled her close to nuzzle that sensitive place on her neck that he knew would give her goose bumps. “Maybe I’m not quite the Boy Scout you think I am.”

  “Obviously,” she grumbled.

  “Seven o’clock. G’night, Helena.”

  He was down the stairs—skipping over the third one—and out the door before Helena could mount a stronger counterargument. Like by getting naked or something. He was proud of himself for making a stand, and pleased he’d gotten his way, but he wasn’t made of stone.

  He headed home for a cold shower.

  * * *

  This was utter, complete insanity. Helena wanted to hit her head against something hard for allowing Ryan to bully her into going out with him. She’d made what she thought was a pretty convincing case against the idea, but Ryan was proving to be far more stubborn than she ever would have guessed. After shooting down all of her reasonable, practical objections, he’d left her with only the ridiculous and embarrassing ones, and she’d be damned before she admitted any of those to him. She could only barely tolerate admitting them to herself—and only then when she couldn’t distract herself with something, anything else.

  So now she was going to dinner. With Ryan Tanner.

  God help them both.

  Mrs. Wilson had volunteered to take Grannie to physical therapy this morning, supposedly freeing Helena up to work for a few hours, but this dinner with Ryan pushed more important things into that time slot.

  So while she dreaded it, her first stop today was the office of Dr. Tate Harris—which, on first glance, still looked remarkably like the office of Dr. Masters.

  Helena hadn’t been inside since before Grannie’s Yorkie, Guinevere, died, and that had to have been at least twenty years ago. She remembered the office as a dank place, with yellowing tile and questionable smells, but she was pleased to see that while the outside hadn’t changed much, the inside was completely redone to be both cheerful and professional looking, and smelling clean but not of disinfectant.