by Nancy Radke
Zack considered the possibility and found it likely. “Yes. I’ve known stranger things to happen. It isn’t like John, but it would account for his not taking her tastes into consideration when he told me what he wanted.”
“Hopefully, he’s just thoughtless.”
“Could be. I’m going to find out, that’s for sure! This is the craziest mix-up I’ve ever encountered.”
He sounded angry, but he couldn’t possibly be as devastated as she. “Let’s see, now. That furniture should be arriving...,” she thought a moment, counting, “in four days.”
“You’ll have to store it somewhere. We can’t have it here.”
More expense. She closed her eyes and felt the undertow sucking away the last of her resources. “Couldn’t we store it in one room while we worked in the others?”
“No. You’ll be gone, and I don’t want it in the way of my crew. I don’t know if I’ll use any of it. I wasn’t planning on a Victorian interior.”
“But your design would look well with any—”
“It wasn’t what John requested.”
“But it was what she wanted!” Jennel returned hotly, raising her voice for emphasis. She was getting bolder, arguing her case with him. He didn’t take offense at her comments, like her father always had. If the issue wasn’t so terribly serious, she would’ve enjoyed doing battle with Zack.
He grumbled, muttered something to himself, but finally acknowledged her point. “So we’re at a stalemate it seems, until I can find out. Put the furniture in storage so it won’t get damaged. If they decide on it, I’ll see what I can use. Women!” Still grouchy, muttering forcefully to himself, he limped inside, leaving a semi-victorious Jennel to wonder if that last exasperated word referred to her, to Mrs. Van Chattan, or to their sex in general.
She gave him time to prepare for bed, then went in, put her things away and quietly got ready herself. What if there was a divorce pending? What if Mr. Van Chattan refused to pay any of the bills his wife had accumulated? What would she do then?
Her mind recoiled over the specter of an enormous pile of bills steadily accruing while her tiny business sunk deeper and deeper into debt. The growing stiffness of her neck and shoulders and the dull ache in practically every muscle in her back didn’t help her feel any less weighted down.
Picking out a pair of shorts and a loose sweatshirt to sleep in, Jennel carefully crawled over Zack and slid into her bag. Together, yet separate. Alone. Wanting to touch him, yet afraid to make the move. Each night they had spent side by side, she had felt more and more like crawling in with him, seeking the comfort of his arms. But he wouldn’t be content with hugs and kisses. She’d start a fire she couldn’t possibly handle.
To get emotional about a man who was trying to get her out of his hair was a bona fide way to end up with a broken heart. She had enough troubles with her business, she didn’t need to add that kind of complication. Besides, Zack wanted her gone. Period.
The trouble was, the more she was around him, the more she liked him—his voice, his laughter, and especially his smile. And the more she liked him, the more she wanted to respond to him. The logic, that told her “no”, was about as welcome as a chaperon at a high school dance. In her mind, she knew what was the right thing to do, but the rest of her refused to listen.
Sighing, she turned restlessly in the confining bag. Her whole body ached, and she couldn’t get comfortable. Finally she spoke, deciding it was too early to attempt to sleep, even though she was stiff and exhausted. He was awake, as he had been lying with eyes open, staring introspectively at the low ceiling when she turned out the light.
She asked him about his day, how the work had gone, then about his boat, and finally about himself. She wanted to know more about him so badly...it was almost like she was starving for knowledge.
“How did you get interested in architecture? Did your father do any building?”
“No.” He answered readily enough, his rich-toned voice pleasantly quiet. “He worked as a logger for awhile, then in the mill in Bellingham. He loves making things from wood. I suppose I picked that up from him. When I was a kid, I figured I’d be a logger. But once I designed a house, I knew that was for me. How about you?”
“I was always designing. Instead of dressing dolls, I “dressed” the dollhouse. I’d paint the walls or draw in wallpaper and sew rugs and curtains from cloth scraps.” “I wish my sister would’ve had something like that to keep her busy. She was constantly in trouble.” He paused, then added slowly, “She drowned, water-skiing at night.”
“Oh, Zack, I’m sorry. When was this?”
“Nine years ago. It was my fault. I should’ve made her stay home.”
“But—”
“I should’ve kept an eye on her,” he insisted. It sounded like it still lay heavy on his conscience.
“But you weren’t much older yourself, were you?”
“No. But I knew the crowd she was going with. They drank too much.”
She was silent for a minute, reflecting on his overworked sense of responsibility, then asked, “Do you have any other sisters?”
“Yeah. Michelle. We call her Micki. She’s accident-prone, too.”
“Not serious, I hope?” Uncomfortable, Jennel shifted her body around in the bag. She tended to stiffen up whenever she stayed in one position too long.
“No. She’s always the one who wrecks the car or drops the eggs or forgets to pass on an important message. She doesn’t actually try to get into trouble. She just doesn’t think ahead. Kind of impetuous, like you.”
“I think ahead when I have the information to do so. I’m not at all like Micki. Did she outgrow this trait?”
“No. She married young and found out the fellow didn’t know any more about marriage than she did. Now they both call me for advice. I thought I was finished taking care of her. Instead, I just added another person to my menagerie.”
“There are others?”
“Two brothers. I’m five years older than the rest. The folks were always at work— or so it seemed—so I had the job of raising them. Ham and Rick turned out pretty well, although they still come for advice. And money.”
“Ham? Isn’t that an unusual name?”
“Hamilton. He’s a carpenter. I use him on one of my crews.”
“And Rick?”
“Broderick. He’s currently driving trucks to earn his way through college. He wants to be an accountant.” Zack shifted his arm over his head. “Dad refuses to help. He says it’s best for a young person to struggle so he’ll appreciate what he gets. I had to pay my own way although I had enough talent to win some design awards and scholarships, enough to take care of my education.”
Jennel yawned sleepily. “I had a scholarship, too. Like you, I did it on my designs.”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
“No. Even though you say yours are a lot of bother, I envy you. The house was always lonely with Mom gone. She’s a real estate agent, and it seemed she was always away at work whenever I was home.”
“And your dad?”
“He’s in the Navy. A captain. He’s gone for months, then home for months. It’s awful.” She paused, then continued flatly, “We’d be better off if he’d just stay away.”
“Why?”
“Well, Mom and I would get used to being on our own, then Dad would come home and want to run everything. He’d boss us around and treat us like we were incapable of making our own decisions. I don’t know how he thought we managed when he was gone”
“Does your mother feel this way, too?” Zack asked.
“Sure.”
“She’s said so?”
“No. She never complains while he’s home.”
“Then how do you know she wants her husband to stay away?”
“When he leaves, she has to re-adjust her life all over again. She complains plenty, then,” Jennel declared.
“Humm. Have you ever thought, she’s happier when he’s home?”
“Of course not.”
“She’s under a heavy burden when he’s away. And all alone, now that you’re gone too.”
Jennel remained silent, thinking about what he said. Had she misread her parents’ relationship?
“Ask her sometime. See what she says,” he urged.
“All right. But that’s not the impression I got.”
“Aren’t you ever glad when he’s home?”
“Well...yes. Sometimes it’s hard to know just what to do. And he decides.”
“Right.”
“That’s why your brothers and sister sound you out. I bet they don’t always do what you say, either.”
He chuckled in agreement. “No. But then they usually regret it.”
Jennel shook her head, glad she hadn’t unloaded her trials on Zack. He was too used to giving advice. He’d be just like her father. Men were the same the world around—whether they came from Boston or Bellingham.
“One more thing,” he asked.
“Yes?”
“Is there anything else I need to know...about the house? I’m getting tired of these little surprises.”
She gave his question her full consideration. “No. Not that I know of.” Clyde didn’t come into that category.
With acquired caution, he went on, “They don’t have an old maid aunt that’s going to live with them or a blind caretaker or anything?”
“No. Nothing I know about.”
Still he persisted. “No more new information, no changes?”
“No.” It must’ve been difficult to find himself thinking all was planned, secured, and ready to start building—then have her come and drop a few grenades on things.
“Good.” He sounded immensely relieved and turning over, went right to sleep.
Of course he’d been upset. There was nothing so disconcerting as finding yourself out of control, nothing going right, changes being made you knew nothing about and were unable to stop. She knew exactly how he felt.
Although it was probably harder on him, a man, used to everyone praising his work. A person who owned his own company and gave advice to his family was used to getting his own way. That kind of man would find it extremely hard to adjust to a young lady dropping in—totally unexpectedly—and insisting he change his plans to what she thought was right.
No wonder he wanted to get rid of her. If only their meeting had been different. At a party, perhaps, where they could have been introduced and got a chance to know each other as friends instead of opponents —and then as more than friends.
She slept uncomfortably, hearing Brutus barking several times during the night, probably at rabbits. As the night progressed, her muscles became more and more stiff and unmanageable.
Painfully stiff. She couldn’t get comfortable.
Next morning when Jennel tried to move, she couldn’t. She might as well have been encased in plaster.
If Clyde came for her, they were going to have to carry her onto his boat. Her moan, quickly cut short, nevertheless caught Zack’s attention, and he sat up with a groan, stretching sleepily.
“We’re a fine pair,” he commented, amused. “The walking wounded.”
“Forget the walking,” Jennel replied in a voice that quavered. “I can’t even move my arms. I don’t know how I’ll ever dress or get into Clyde’s boat.”
“He probably won’t come today; not unless this heavy fog lifts. It’s blank city out there. One look and I went back to sleep.” Zack reached a long arm up and casually flicked the curtain further aside so she could see the dense grayness.
“So, your helicopter can’t come?”
“Not in this soup, and not with that rough a landing site.”
“I see. So everything’s on hold ‘till the fog lifts?”
“Some things. I’ll look at your elevations. Now will be a good time to work on those two rooms you mentioned.”
Was he actually going to consider them? She moved her head sideways, one inch, no further, like a robot left out in the rain. “You’ll have to get them. I’m out of order right now...all my circuits are down.”
“Then we’ll take care of you first.”
Just how’d he figure to do that? Prop her up like a wooden doll? Dress her? She felt more curiosity than concern. Zack had stayed true to his promise. He unzipped his sleeping bag enough to free his injured leg, then carefully pulled himself free.
“How’s the knee?” she inquired as he limped around, whistling to himself as he dressed and shaved.
“Stiff, sore, and aches like some fool stopped a chain saw with it. I think the teeth must’ve bruised the bone.”
“That bad?” The doctor hadn’t found any bone chips, but Zack might have washed them out when he was cleaning the wound.
“On a scale of one to ten, it’s a minus two.”
In this position, Jennel could move her head sideways but not up and down. Her head was held at an awkward angle. She was lying on her long hair and couldn’t move herself off. Oh, great, she thought. A full extra day on the island, and she was going to spend it flat on her back! Her luck was running true to form. If only she could move.
Jennel tried again to climb out of the sleeping bag, but her shoulders and back had stiffened up so she couldn’t reach the zipper. Perhaps if she tried to move slower—’walk’ her hands over. There, that worked!
“Coffee or tea?” he asked politely.
“Hot tea sounds good, but you’ll have to sit me up and pour it in. My muscles are non-functioning.”
“We’ll see.”
Sounds came to her: water being poured, the clank of metal on metal, the soft brushing whisper of his boat shoes, the bang of a cabinet door. Testing each limb separately, she discovered her toes wiggled fine and her legs bent easily. But from her lower back upward, nothing worked, except her hands. She could zip the bag down eighteen inches, no further.
This was terrible.
“There, breakfast is started.” He returned, moving with determination into her range of vision, carrying an open bottle of green liniment in one hand. He wore a loose cotton shirt, buttoned halfway up the front, and black walking shorts, making her breath catch at how handsome he appeared.
He smiled, his hazel eyes alight as he viewed her helplessness. “Can you turn over?”
She could fish flop, but she’d take her bag with her. Seeing her futile attempts, he put the bottle where it wouldn’t get knocked over and unzipped her bag. With a quick flip he lifted the covers away, then helped her roll over onto her stomach. His hands were strong and capable, while Jennel felt as unresisting as an unstuffed doll.
“What are you going—” She broke off as her sweatshirt was pulled up to her neck and the cold liniment splashed onto her back. She gasped, then flinched as his work-hardened fingers began to knead the tender muscles of her shoulder, neck and back.
“Ow!” If she’d been able to move, she’d have leaped right off the cushion-covered floor. As it was she groaned loudly and fought back tears. She didn’t want to act the baby, but couldn’t help herself. This hurt almost as much as when he’d washed out her feet.
“Zack. Stop! Please.”
“Be quiet,” he ordered, and kept right on rubbing. “It’ll feel better soon.”
“Maybe,” she protested fervently, “but will I be alive to notice? That hurts! Do you have to go at it so vigorously?”
He laughed in sympathy and eased the pressure until it was almost bearable. “Sorry. I’m not rubbing all that hard. It just feels that way.”
The liniment had a strong peppermint smell, and Zack slopped it on liberally, soothing the liquid in with a firm deep pressure causing the tensed and aching muscles to relax and the pain to gradually ease.
Everything was sore, yet as Zack continued to work the liniment in, Jennel began to believe she might live after all. His hands rubbed gently, almost seductively, and this time Jennel moaned in pleasure.
“Still hurt?”
“No.”
“No?”
He stopped, threw the covers back over her and recapped the bottle. “Then rest for awhile longer.”
She did, dozing for another fifteen minutes until he returned with the tea.
“Can you sit up now?”
“I don’t know...yes, I think I can!” She struggled into a sitting position, helped by his strong arm. “Thanks. Oh, that was marvelous! I never realized...I mean, I had visions of being carried off on a stretcher, set forever in that position.”
His hazel eyes danced with humor, laughing silently as he beheld her excessive gratitude, her astonishment over what must have been to him a simple matter.
Maybe it was, to him, but to her it had been the difference between being helpless or not.
He was still kneeling beside her, his arm around her back, his face scant inches from hers. As she returned his smile, everything was suspended for a moment— all sound, all motion—while their eyes met and held in a wordless search, a question broken only when the tea cup rattled in his hand, and Jennel looked down to take it from him.
The shared moment, so precious and elusive, lasted for only a few seconds, yet Jennel felt as if her life had entered a new phase.
One that included Zachery Waylan.
Chapter Ten
Zack stayed with her, silent; his arm supporting her while she drank her tea. An acute awareness of his presence made her gulp it faster than normal. He was close— too close. She could feel the slow in and out movement of his lungs, the soft whisper of his breath as it moved across her cheek, the hard pressure of muscle under warm skin.
The fog outside added to the sense of isolation, of privacy. She felt in harmony with Zack—far from the smothering worry of her fledgling business, far from civilization, from responsibility, accountability. Was he feeling that way also?
The empty cup clattered when she set it on the saucer, her gaze fixed on the tiny scar across the knuckle of his left thumb. “All done,” she informed him, unnecessarily, and he took the cup and saucer in one hand and helped her to her feet with the other. Conflicting expressions flickered across his face, and she wondered what he was thinking.