"They put so much scent in these disposable diapers, it's hard to know what's in them." I picked Sherry up and cuddled her close, feeling sorry for the poor little mite. "Hey, little thing. You couldn't tell us what was wrong could you?" I was using my baby voice to talk to her. As if pursing my lips and raising my tone an octave would magically penetrate her tiny brain.
Then she smiled again transforming her from ticked off to adorable. Guess it worked
James rubbed his temples with his fingers as he leaned back against the couch. "You, my dear, are a lifesaver. I come home and there's Robin holding Sherry, and she shoves the baby in my arms and tells me she's leaving, and then she's gone and Sherry starts crying, and no matter what I do I can't get her to stop and I'm all ticked at my sister who's left me in the lurch. Again."
I cuddled little Sherry close, looking at James, amazed at his verbal spill. "Wow. So many words. And here I thought you were the strong, silent type."
He chuckled, rolling his neck and drawing in a long, slow breath. "Strong maybe, but not too silent." He lifted his head, his smile slowly fading away. "Seriously, thanks a ton. I didn't know what to do with that little thing."
"That little thing" now lay quietly in my arms, her sniffs subsiding. She grew warm and heavy in my arms and I guessed she was falling asleep. My legs were cramping up, but I didn't dare get up. The only chair I could lean against sat at right angles to James. I didn't have a choice, so I moved closer to give my tired back some ease.
"Why hadn't you seen Sherry before?" I asked, as I settled into this new place, too close to James, but better for my back than sitting in the middle of the floor.
James laughed, but it wasn't a funny laugh. More like a snort of disgust. "Robin moved in with my aunt and uncle after our parents died. She was about seven. I worked oilfield and sent money when I could. I guess I should have stayed better in touch with her. After my uncle and aunt found out she was pregnant, Robin took off and I didn't get to hear from her, much less see her until now. She won't tell me who the father is and won't make any plans." James pulled his hands over his face, his callused hands rasping against his whiskers. Obviously not the hands of a knitter. "I didn't even know if Robin had a boy or girl until she showed up at your house. Which I apologize for. I don't know how she found me."
"You're new. People talk, ask questions. In no time at all they've got you pegged and know where you live. All it takes is one trip to the cafe, one conversation with Father Sam and Cor, and anyone can track you down." I rubbed my chin absently over Sherry's feather-soft curls. "Though I think most people will be surprised when you open your wool shop."
James laughed, then rested his wrists on his up-raised knees, letting his hands dangle. "I can knit two, purl three with the best of them." James yawned a jaw-cracking yawn and rubbed the top of his head, making his hair look like a mouse's nest. A kind of attractive mouse's nest, I had to admit.
He rolled his head in my direction. "So, since I saw you at lunchtime, how was the rest of your day?"
"Mine?" And why did he care?
"Yeah. I already know how Sherry's went." His half smile balanced out the bitter tone of his voice.
"My day was the usual. Casey pushing me to do more than most humans are capable of and me trying to do it and keep him happy." I shrugged.
"Ah, a nurturer." His half smile morphed into a sly grin.
I held up a warning hand. "Don't stick me in a box." I didn't like how he sounded so sure of himself. Like he knew me when, really, he knew nothing about me.
"I see how you take care of your brothers. I've never seen such a devoted sister. It's admirable in one way."
"It's not about being a devoted sister, it's pure survival. The house would be a disaster if I didn't maintain control."
"What would happen if you didn't clean and cook and keep your brothers organized?" He picked up a tiny face cloth he had tossed out of the diaper bag and folded it up.
I snorted to myself. "Their lives would fall apart."
He gave me a knowing look. "I wasn't talking about their lives."
Walked right into that one. I looked down at Sherry. Her lashes fanned her cheeks, her button mouth was open--a line of glistening drool pooling on the lapel of my suit jacket.
"Do you want me to take her?" James asked, moving closer.
I hesitated, surprised at my reluctance to let her go.
The little body in my arms brought out fuzzy, warm maternal feelings in me I didn't even know I had. Most of my baby handling would fall under the extreme-babysitting category. Taking children away from neglectful parents in stressful situations. Handling dirty, crying children who hated me for what I was doing to them.
Hardly moments for adorable cuddling time, like now.
But Sherry needed to go to bed, and I needed to go home. The day had been a mixture of hope and depression. Hope for a new job and depression that my old life wouldn't be as easy to shuck off as I thought.
And James was getting all chatty, asking questions that made me feel pushed into a corner I didn't appreciate being in.
I shifted Sherry to hand her over. She stiffened, drew in a quick breath and let out a wail as her head came up.
I willed her to relax and then she slowly stopped crying and slumped back into sleeping mode. "Maybe better wait a while," James said. I nodded my agreement and tried to shift away, but Sherry jumped so I stayed where I was.
About five inches closer to James than I had been before.
I focussed on the baby in my arms, inhaling her soft baby smell. Robin may be a fly-by-night mother, but Sherry's sleeper held that fresh-washed scent of laundry soap.
"So tell me why an attractive woman like you still doesn't have a steady boyfriend." James slouched against his couch. "Your brothers said you've dated a few guys."
Looks like we weren't done with the heart to hearts.
"Men," I corrected primly. "I prefer to stay away from guys."
"I noticed." He yawned again, and blinked, his eyes taking on a languorous look. "Can't find the perfect man in Holmes Crossing?"
I didn't like the challenge in his voice, or the look in his eye. "Not for lack of trying," I said, my voice taking on a chill I didn't care for but couldn't stop. "The guys that drift into this town seem to have an aversion to sticking around or working a job that doesn't require being gone half of the time or risking his life." I didn't like the direction of the conversation or the way my leg was cramping up.
Hard pain stabbed me in the hip. I moved my leg.
"Risking his life?" James asked.
Pain flickered just a moment, then I figured I needed to get this out right now. "Yes. Risking his life. As in climbing on the back of a saddle bronc weekend after weekend-" I stopped there aware that my throat was thickening. There was no way I was letting any emotions out with this guy.
"So you don't like guys who rodeo?"
"No. Not at all."
"So how do you feel about your brothers and their events?"
"I don't like them and I don't watch them."
"But you came to the arena that one day."
"Only because I had to. I would have preferred not to go at all." However if I hadn't who knows when I would have found out the truth about Jigs/James?
“Really." He sounded disappointed which didn't bother me one bit. I could still see him on the back of the saddle bronc, his legs kicking, his arm waving around to maintain his balance. I could still feel the clench in the pit of my stomach at the sight.
Sherry shifted, stiffened, lifted her head and started crying. Thankful for the distraction I stroked her head and leaned back against the chair. At the same time, I wished she would settle so I could leave.
"Can I make you a cup of tea or coffee?" James asked.
"No, thanks." I glanced down at Sherry. "I hope this little mite falls asleep pretty soon. I have to get home."
"I think your dad is sleeping, so he won't need you."
"I have church tomorrow."
>
"Your brothers go too, don't they?'
My usual sorrow over my brothers' lack of commitment followed on the heels of his comment. "Carter goes once in a while. Chip and Neil are still struggling with the whole 'church is for sissies' concept." I held his gaze, wondering if he would side with either Carter or my other brothers. "Do you attend?"
James looked away from me and picked up a terry face cloth that had been discarded in his mad dash for a dry diaper. "Used to. Like I said, my parents died when I was young and Robin stayed at my aunt’s and uncle’s place. So to help out I worked on the rigs, which meant I worked a lot of Sundays." He pressed a fold in the terry cloth with one large finger. "Plus, losing my parents so young, made me figure God didn't care much."
The edge of sorrow in his voice slipped behind the defenses I had raised against him.
"And now?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I've been away from church so long, it would seem weird to suddenly show up."
"I think a God that can count the hairs on someone's head can remember one of his own," I said, surprised at this side of him. "We have church tomorrow, if you're interested in going."
He shrugged. "I'll see."
I don't know why his answer disappointed me so much. For just a moment, a tiny moment, I had caught a glimmer of a faint, hopeful possibility.
Of what? Transformation from guy to man? From rodeo cowboy to ordinary guy?
"When will you hear about this city job?" James asked, moving the conversation to something safer. Safer, I guess, than talking about God and Jesus and faith. Chip and Neil did the same whenever I brought up church or church attendance.
But I was willing to discuss my future. Talking about it might make it more real.
"I was told in about two weeks."
"You would take it?"
"Oh, yes. I need to get away from Holmes Crossing, my current boss and, if I'm going to be honest, my brothers. The city seemed a logical choice."
"But you love your brothers." His voice took a faint upturn at the end of the statement adding the hint of a question.
"Of course I do. But lately 'inconsiderate' is too small a word to describe them."
"Well, it's your own fault, really."
"What?" I stared at him with a mixture of anger and disbelief at his blunt statement. "You will get a hernia leaping to that conclusion."
"You don't ask for their help. You let them get away with being lazy and being inconsiderate."
I let out an unladylike snort. "And isn't that a typical guy response? If women would get our act together, we could get men to do the right thing. And if we do that, we're called nags. It's a lose, lose situation."
"Behind every good man, et cetera." He straightened then leaned forward to emphasize what he was saying. "But the reality is men need a push and if they don't get it, they think everything is fine."
"So what you're telling me is that guys can't think for themselves." My voice rose, Sherry stiffened, and I bit back my next comment.
"They can think," James said, reaching over and gently turning Sherry's head so it lay more comfortably. "What women think they should think about isn't the same thing as what men like to think about."
"Thought that's kind of confusing it also sounds kind of chauvinistic," I whispered, wishing he hadn't left his hand on Sherry's head, so close to my shoulder.
"You complain that your brothers do nothing," he whispered back, "Yet you don't ask them. How are they supposed to know what you want? We're a results-based, problem-solving species, us men. Give us a problem and we'll solve it. If we don't think there's a problem, hey, nothing to solve and we go back into sleep mode. Like a computer."
"So like a computer, guys need to be booted up. Or just plain booted." I tried to focus on what he was saying, but half of my attention was on his hand that feathered Sherry's curls away from her face. Each time he did, his fingers touched my shoulder.
"Don't kid yourself, Danielle. Guys. Men. They are the same animal. Just different hairstyles and clothes so you can keep them apart. Booting might be the thing either of them needs at different times."
He looked directly at me, the movements of his fingers slowing. And then his hand had moved to my shoulder. Very smooth, I thought, but didn't look away. Didn't move away. Time slowed, pulling me to a standstill--creating this momentary bubble.
I held his gaze as my stomach fluttered, my heart beating double time in my chest. Yes, he was attractive. Yes, he appealed to me. I cleared my throat, trying to rid myself of these foolish fancies. I had other plans. Other dreams. Holmes Crossing and this guy and my brothers were not a part of it. Definitely not this guy.
I cleared my throat. "You probably subscribe to the whole Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus concept."
He shook his head, his fingers making slow, gentle circles on my shoulder. "Nope. Men are from earth." He moved a little closer. "Women are from earth," he whispered, his face now inches from mine. "Deal with it."
My heart gave one hard thud. His breath whispered over my cheek. His face had become a blur except for the bright light of his eyes so close to mine.
He was going to kiss me, I thought, my breath growing shallow.
And in spite of all my objections to this guy, I wanted him to.
Brushing away second thoughts, I moved my head to close the gap, and for the briefest of moments our lips touched, brushed each other carefully, slowly, cautiously seeking common ground. His hand tightened on my shoulder as his mouth moved closer. He kissed me again. Longer. Slower. I was melting, disappearing.
Sherry squawked.
James pulled away.
I scurried to my feet, guilt and relief and disappointment battling with each other for the upper hand. As I walked back and forth to settle Sherry, I tried to settle my roiling thoughts.
What had I done? What was I doing?
I cuddled Sherry close, thankful for her intervention. Remember your new job. Remember who James is and what he does.
But was it relief that made my knees so rubbery? Or something else?
Sherry squawked again and this time, instead of using her as an excuse to stick around, I handed her to her uncle, then skedaddled out of there as fast as my tired feet would take me.
Sunday morning was the usual harried affair at the Hemstead household. At midnight, Carter had heated some soup, but had let it boil over. So before I could make myself a cup of tea, I had to hack away a thick gob of baked-on tomato. Chip took too long in the shower. The hot water ran out halfway through Neil's shower so I had to listen to them harping at each other all during breakfast.
Dad was feeling alternately listless and cranky. He had to go for a doctor's appointment tomorrow, and I knew he was nervous. I felt sorry for him but listening to him complain about his boiled eggs, his lack of coffee and the medication he had to take helped me reach maximum guy absorption.
And as a counterpoint to their grumping and griping, lay the feeling that James's kiss was like a brand on my lips I felt my brother's could see.
I don't know why I felt guilty, but I felt like I had been manipulated. I didn't want to like James. I didn't want to re-live his kiss again and again. All the while I nibbled on my toast and sipped at my tea, I grew more self-conscious over my lack of self-control while the boys made plans for another afternoon of working broncs. With James.
A rodeo was coming up they were competing in and they wanted to be ready.
After eating breakfast I retreated to my bedroom before the boys would notice how my cheeks flushed each time they mentioned his name. And how my heart shifted each time they talked about the rodeo.
I was crazy. I was foolish.
I was attracted to him.
As if to shift my thought processes, I put on a gospel CD, then sat in front of my makeup table and tried not to be critical about my looks. Tried not to think what James saw when he looked at me. Tried not to care.
I took my time putting on my makeup, hoping against hope that
maybe the boys would have cleaned up the kitchen while I was busy.
Normally, I hummed along to my favourite songs while I exfoliated, creamed, stroked on eye shadow and put on mascara, but this morning my hand shook as I worked. I kept reliving that moment in James's living room. Wondered why he did it. Why I let him. What he thought of me now.
What I thought of him.
I wasn't sure. I knew I didn't quite trust him and I didn't dare let myself go down the rodeo road again.
Then why did you let him kiss you?
Loneliness. The moment. A feeling of vulnerability.
His good looks.
He is a guy. And if ever you need a reminder of why you should stay away from him, the boys' plans this morning is your best reason. He's like your brothers, and he probably doesn't go to church.
At least Wyatt did that.
I threw down my lipstick tube in frustration as I looked at the blob of pink on my upper lip. Messed it up again. I snatched a tissue out of the box and wiped it off, then tried again.
"Dani, isn't it time to go to church?" Carter called out from the kitchen. I stifled a sigh. Why was he nagging me about the time when he probably wasn't going, anyway?
As I always did when I contemplated my brother's faith life, I winged a prayer heavenward. Maybe someday they would return to the faith our mother and father had tried to instill in them.
Then, as I got up, I cocked my head, listening. Was that the chink of dishes being put into the dishwasher?
"Coming," I said, my momentary funk lifting. They were good boys. They had their moments, is all. I spritzed on some perfume, nodded at my reflection in the chipped mirror and left the sanctuary of my room.
My heart sunk as I saw the dishes still piled on the table, the milk still out on the counter and the crumbs from Carter's requisite five pieces of toast still littering the floor.
My father was napping in his recliner. Chip and Neil were gone already and Carter was flipping through the newspaper, oblivious to the havoc surrounding him.
I closed my eyes and prayed a desperate prayer for patience. Were my brothers blind when it came to housework? With a deep sigh I cleared the dishes and brought them to the counter.
Any Man of Mine (Holmes Crossing Book 5) Page 12