“It looks like you’re moving the office.”
“You got it in one.”
“Where to?”
“To my old room in my parents’ house.”
He looked around the cramped space, which had been added on years ago for office space. “You don’t like it here anymore?”
She sighed and rose to her feet. “Why are you here, Justin?”
“I came to talk to you.”
“I told you yesterday, I don’t want or need anything from you.”
“I know you did. I happened to disagree. I think we should talk about it.”
She sighed again and rubbed her forehead. “I’m moving the office to the house because I don’t think the pesticide and herbicide fumes in this place are good for the baby.”
Her answer gave him pause. He’d been right that she was going to need help. This was one of what would probably turn out to be dozens of changes she would undergo during the coming weeks and months.
“I’m sure you’re right,” he told her. “Are any of these boxes ready?”
She looked at him with suspicion. “Why?”
He rolled his eyes. “So I can set fire to them. So I can carry a load over for you.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“As far as I’m concerned you could have. For that matter, I think you should have. But you didn’t. I volunteered. I’ll go get the two-wheeled cart.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Why what?”
“I told you yesterday I didn’t want or need anything from you. Why are you here offering help?”
“Why are you afraid of accepting it?”
Her spine stiffened as if someone had replaced it with a steel rod. “I’m not afraid.”
“Fine.” But he could see in her eyes that she wasn’t sure if her statement was truth, or merely wishful thinking. “Then there’s no reason not to accept my help. If it worries you, pretend I’m just the hired help. Back in a minute.”
He turned and walked out before she could comment. She wanted to send him packing. He could read that much in her eyes. If he could get her to talk to him, trust him, maybe she would tell him why.
He found the two-wheeled cart in the giant storeroom next to the loading dock. How many times had he backed up to that very dock and helped one of Harding’s employees, or Harding himself, stack a load of feed in his truck bed? Too many to count.
Now here he was, manning the cart himself so that the mother of his unborn child could get away from the fumes that lingered in every feed store he’d ever been in.
Blaire’s father watched Justin’s every move with a jaundiced eye.
Blaire herself watched Justin with almost as much distrust, but her look was tempered with a touch of curiosity. She wasn’t sure what he was about. And that was fine with Justin. Better her uncertain curiosity rather than a more negative reaction.
He stacked boxes to the top of the handles on the cart, then followed Blaire as she led the way out into the storage room, down the loading ramp, and across the gravel drive to her parents’ two-bedroom red-brick house twenty yards behind the store.
Mrs. Harding held the door open for them and offered Justin a tentative smile. So far she was the only member of the Harding family who didn’t seem eager to see the last of him.
“It’ll be a tight fit turning into the hall,” she offered, “but we got a triple dresser in there, so these boxes should go all right.”
With a little back-and-forth maneuvering of the two-wheeled cart, he got the boxes to the front bedroom with no trouble.
The room had been stripped of everything except the blinds on the windows. He eyeballed the space and had his doubts about its adequacy.
“Are your desk and file cabinets going to fit in here?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “We’d never get that big desk of mine through the bedroom door. I’m going to work off a folding table for now, until we figure out something else.”
“Did you consider using the garage?” he asked.
“Yes, but we’d have to pipe in heat and air and put a wall up in place of the big door. This is only tem porary, anyway.”
“Is it?” he asked.
Blaire frowned at him. “You think I’m going to be pregnant the rest of my life?”
“No, but if breathing those fumes is not healthy for the baby, it can’t be healthy for an adult, either, even if a baby’s not involved.”
Blaire’s mother patted Justin on the arm, but she spoke to Blaire. “You picked a smart one, honey. He makes good sense.”
Justin could see the muscle flex in Blaire’s jaw as she obviously ground her back teeth together. “I haven’t picked anybody for anything, mother, so just stop it right now.”
“Now, honey, is that any way to talk about Justin?”
An explosion was definitely in the making, if the fire in Blaire’s golden brown eyes was any indication. Since he was, in this case, a coward, and didn’t want to witness a daughter annihilating her mother, or vice versa, he threw himself into the breach.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Harding.” He leaned down and whispered loudly, so Blaire would have no trouble hearing. “She’s not too happy with me right now. I’d just as soon give her a little time to get over that.”
Mrs. Harding’s eyes twinkled with delight. She whispered back. “Flowers.”
“No kidding?”
“A girl can never get too many flowers,” Mrs. Harding confirmed.
“I’ll remember that.”
Blaire rolled her eyes and headed out the door, leaving Justin and her mother behind. “You’ll be wasting your money,” she muttered.
“It’s my money to waste,” he called after her.
Mrs. Harding winked at him. “Let’s get these boxes unloaded so you can go after her.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He caught up with Blaire just as she stepped back into her office. “What’s next?” he asked, looking around. “How about a file cabinet or two?”
“Too much trouble. I can work out of boxes.”
“For the next year? Why?”
“Justin.” She heaved a sigh and shook her head. “Go home.”
“I don’t think so. I think I’ll just wheel this empty file cabinet over to your new office.”
“Justin.”
He tilted the file cabinet to one side and slid the two-wheeler beneath it. In a matter of minutes he had it standing pretty as you please in her old bedroom at the end of the driveway.
“Oh, thank you,” Mrs. Harding said. “That will make things so much easier on her. She’s so stubborn, that girl of mine.”
Since Blaire had refused to accompany him with the file cabinet, since she thought it was merely a nui sance to move it now, then have to move it back in a matter of months, Justin felt free to gather all the info he could about this woman who carried his child.
“Stubborn, is she?”
“Oh, my, yes. And smart. Don’t you think she’s not smart.”
“No, ma’am. I know she’s smart. That’s one of the things I like the most about her.”
“Justin Chisholm, you’re playing me like a fish, and don’t think I don’t know it. If you want to know something about my girl, you just ask me. Better yet, ask her.”
“I plan to ask her, but first I have to get her to talk to me. I’m working on that, too, since she thinks she doesn’t need anything from me.”
“That’s pretty much what she thinks, all right.”
“I better get back over there,” he said with a nod to the store, “before she sneaks out and I have to chase her all over town.”
Mrs. Harding tilted her head and studied him. “Yes,” she said thoughtfully, “I think you would do just that, wouldn’t you.”
“Of course. Oh, and by the way. If I was playing you, it was more like a fine violin rather than a fish on the line.”
Mrs. Harding threw her head back and laughed. “You go on now, and find my daughter. Make
an honest woman out of her, see that you do.”
Justin made no comment, just wheeled his cart down the sidewalk and up the gravel drive. How was he supposed to make an honest woman out of a woman who didn’t want him around?
Besides, to his way of thinking, there was nothing dishonest about her to begin with.
He found her standing in the middle of her torn up office with her hands on her hips, her back to the door, rolling her head back and forth as if to relieve an ache.
“Have you been overdoing it?” He parked the cart beside the door and crossed to her.
She whirled to face him. “You’re back.”
“I’m back.” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. “Here.” He started massaging her neck and shoulders. “You’re one big knot of muscles back here.”
Blaire might have answered—surely would have thought of something coherent to say that would get him to stop touching her—but when she opened her mouth, all that came out was a low moan of pleasure and relief. His hands were magic. She should have remembered that about him. Had remembered, which might explain why she’d been so studious about keeping her distance from him.
She obviously wasn’t very good at that particular task, keeping her distance. Here he was in her office. He’d just been in her parents’ home twice, hauling her office stuff over there. Now he was giving her this mind-numbing massage that threatened to weaken her knees.
When he said, “Have dinner with me,” she was incapable of saying no.
“Okay,” she managed.
“Tomorrow night.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll pick you up about six-thirty. Is that all right?”
“Um-hmm. Fine. No.” She tore herself from his magic hands and whirled, staggering to catch her balance.
“What do you mean, no?”
Blaire swallowed. “I mean, I don’t think we need to be having dinner together. There’s no point in it.”
“How about eating? That’s a point. We both have to do it. Why not do it together?”
She shook her head. “There’s more to it than that. You want something from me.”
Slowly he nodded his head. “You’re right. I want something from you. I want conversation. I want us to talk with each other. You need me, whether you think you do or not. I can help you. Let’s talk about it and see if we can come up with a way to work things out that will satisfy both of us.”
Blaire wanted to say no. Her pride and her fear wanted her to stand on her own two feet with no help from him or anyone else. But thousands of problems were staring her in the face and she wasn’t sure she was up to handling them all on her own.
Maybe it was weak of her, but she finally agreed. “All right.”
“Good,” he said.
“I don’t think there’s any point to it, but all right. Dinner and talk. Nothing more.”
“I’ll see you at six-thirty.”
She watched him go, wondering if she’d just made a serious mistake.
Chapter Four
Justin felt as nervous as a school boy on his first date. He couldn’t remember the last time, even as a teenager, when he had tried on and discarded a half dozen shirts before deciding on one he liked. He would have said he was much too secure in his manhood, or some such self-affirming nonsense, except that the proof of his anxiety lay strewn across his bed. He checked his watch. It was too early to leave.
He checked his hair. It was combed to within an inch of its life.
He checked his boots. Polished to a mirror-bright sheen.
He checked his jeans. The crease was straight and sharp. Thank you, Maria.
He exhaled into his cupped palm, but couldn’t tell anything so popped a breath mint into his mouth for insurance.
Had he used deodorant? Yes, he had used deodorant, and he had on clean underwear, not that Blaire would know about the latter.
He was as ready as he would ever be.
He felt as if his entire future rested on this one single date. It probably wasn’t true. If he didn’t make any headway tonight on getting her to trust him, surely he would get another chance. By his calculations, he had seven months until his child—their child—was born to make certain that he would be a part of the child’s life.
But more than that was going on here. He wanted to be part of Blaire’s life, too. He just didn’t know how large a part or how it would work. They had a great deal to talk about.
And if he kept thinking about it he would end up being late to pick her up.
He wasn’t late. He parked his truck and climbed the stairs to her garage apartment at precisely 6:30 p.m.
When he knocked on the door, nerves had him knocking harder than necessary.
Inside the apartment Blaire flinched at the sudden pounding. She pressed a hand to her stomach and took a final glance in the mirror. He hadn’t said where they were going, so if he’d intended some place fancy, it would be his fault that they couldn’t go. She had opted to wear jeans. She didn’t want to go anywhere fancy. In Rose Rock, a person could eat anywhere, order anything from a corn dog to pizza to a giant, juicy sirloin and not be out of place wearing jeans. She wanted to wear hers as often as possible before she outgrew them in the coming weeks.
With a final nod and a brief prayer that she wasn’t making a terrible mistake in going out with Justin, she left her room and went to answer the door.
“Hi,” he said.
It was impossible not to return his smile. “Thank you for the flowers.” He’d sent her an arrangement of daisies in a decorative coffee mug, with a note wishing her well in her new office. It was cute and thoughtful, even if it had been at her mother’s prodding.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “I generally try to take a mother’s advice on these things.”
Blaire smirked, her bubble of good humor bursting. “You mean when she’s trying to help you soften up her daughter?”
“Absolutely. I’m just grateful to have at least one person on my side around here. Not that I think there should be sides,” he added quickly.
“But there apparently are,” she stated. “Do you still want to eat?”
“I want to spend some time with you. It happens to be dinnertime. I haven’t eaten, and I doubt you have, either. So, yes, I still want to eat. How about you?”
Her stomach chose that moment to growl. She blushed and realized that any answer other than yes would be laughable now.
“Let me get my purse and coat.”
She pulled on her coat and grabbed her purse, then stepped out her door with Justin. He pulled her door closed behind them and made sure it was locked.
The stairs were not wide enough for them to walk side by side, so Justin motioned for her to go first.
“No, wait,” he said. “I’ll go first.” He moved around her and took the first step down.
“Well, that was rude,” she said to the back of his head.
“No,” he said, pausing to look over his shoulder at her. “It’s called chivalry.”
“Excuse me? I thought it was always ladies first.”
“Normally, yes,” he admitted. “But think about it. A man is supposed to walk on the outside when a couple is walking down the street. That’s to protect her from getting splashed, or from some ruffian accosting them.”
“Ruffian?”
“Humor me. It’s all about the man protecting the woman. How can I protect you from falling down the stairs if I’m behind you?”
“What, you think I can’t manage the stairs without help? I’m pregnant, not incapacitated. Who’s supposed to protect me the other dozen times a day I go up and down these stairs? Or am I supposed to wait for some man—maybe you?—to come along and help me?”
“I was thinking of your safety,” he said with what sounded like strained patience. “Are we really going to stand here and argue about who goes down the stairs first?”
When he put it that way, it sounded foolish. “I’d rather not.”
“Are we both idiots?” His lips were quirking.
Her own twitched once or twice. “I can blame it on hormone imbalance. What’s your excuse?”
He smiled at her. “Hunger.”
He stood to the side and allowed her to pass and descend ahead of him. At his pickup he opened the passenger door for her and offered her a hand to give her a boost. It was a high step up into the cab.
When he pulled out onto Main Street, he turned away from town and headed the other way.
“Where are we going?”
“How does Mexican food sound? I thought I remembered hearing you say you liked it.”
“I do. So, where are we going?”
“Norman.”
Blaire blinked in the dimly lit cab. “But that’s thirty miles away.”
“Is that a problem? I promise not to make you walk home.”
Maybe he wouldn’t, she thought. But it certainly took away her option to walk home if she wanted to. Why would he pick someplace so far, unless he had something sneaky in mind?
“You do remember that we agreed on dinner only. Nothing else.”
“Dinner and conversation,” he said. “You don’t trust me enough to believe I mean it?”
“As crazy as it sounds under the circumstances, I really don’t know you all that well, do I?”
He let the country music from the dashboard radio fill the cab for a long moment before he answered. “You trusted me well enough a couple of months ago.”
“Don’t take offense,” she told him, “but that wasn’t trust, it was foolishness.”
“Ouch.”
“Oh, I think your ego is tough enough to take it.”
“You don’t know me well enough to know that, do you?”
She chuckled. “Okay, I had that coming. Sorry. All of this, us, you and me, just feels a little awkward, you know?”
“You mean because of the baby?”
“You don’t seem at all uncomfortable talking about it.”
“I’m not uncomfortable about it,” he admitted. “It wasn’t something either of us planned. In fact, we took steps to prevent it, but they didn’t work. It happened, and here we are. Now we have to deal with the situation the best way we can.”
The Chisholm Brothers:Friends, Lovers... Husbands? Page 44