Authors: Ruth Logan Herne
Marc felt the change as soon as he stepped into the room. His eyes went to Kayla. Her back was to him as she fed the dark-haired child, but her profile was wrong. All wrong.
The pert jaw had slackened. Her forehead furrowed. She blinked several times, and he had to fight the urge to go to her, wrap his arms around her and soothe the anxieties away.
She drew him and he hated that fact. She called to his instincts, and he couldn’t control his internal reaction to those summons.
But he had full control of what the outer world saw. He might have to deal with the inner turmoil of an attraction to a woman too like his mother for safe being, but no one else need know. He squared his shoulders and strode to the table. “Need help?”
Her profile smoothed. When she turned, her smiling gaze was cool. Unperturbed. “I can handle it, Farmer Boy.”
“Farmer Boy?” Sarah laughed as she brought the potato casserole to the table. The scent of cheese and onions filled the air. “Almanzo Wilder. He was from Malone, right?”
Kayla nodded. “Not too far from our farmer here.”
Marc’s chest loosened. If she was trading barbs, she was doing better. Guilt pricked him. Had he hurt her feelings before they cooked the steaks? Had she taken his brusque act too much to heart?
He scrubbed a hand across the nape of his neck as she mopped up McKenna’s cheeks. Reaching out, he took the cloth from her. “I’ll clean her up. You go wash your hands.”
His hand lay over hers, his palm rough against the skin of soft knuckles. For a moment he kept her hand there, resting against his own before he nudged her aside. “Go ahead. I’ve got this.”
She glanced up.
His pulse chugged to a stop. His chest tightened. The pain behind the smile stabbed his awareness. Sorrow. Despair. His heart reached out to the vulnerability he read and he fought to push it down.
She stepped away and the connection was broken. By evening’s end, he was sure he’d been the victim of an overactive imagination. Kayla Doherty was easily the most self-assured, annoying woman he’d ever met. Tough and sassy, with a flair for looking good. Just the kind of woman he’d sworn off.
He might be a lot like his father. Their similarities ran more than skin deep. Marc recognized that. But he took a lesson by what his father endured for loving the wrong woman.
No one would have that chance with Marc. Better to choose sane and sensible than obey a rush of indiscriminate hormones. He refused to be at any woman’s mercy. Calm and cool would be the order of the day when Marc was ready for a steady woman in his life. Someone who loved the land, appreciated the farm and knew how to cover her feet in the dead of winter.
“It won’t start.” Marc couldn’t hide his chagrin as he rocked back on his heels in the Macklin’s entryway later that night.
“Mine started right up, but yours chugged and died. I tried to jump it, but got nothing.”
“No.” Kayla’s look reflected his discomfort. “I have AAA,” she offered. She moved toward the phone. “I’ll call them.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Craig argued. He stood and stretched. “I can take you home and we’ll look at the car tomorrow. How old’s your battery?”
Kayla shrugged. “Almost five years.”
Marc exchanged looks with Craig. “And the starter?”
“Fairly new,” she answered. “I replaced that last year.”
Craig tugged Sarah to her feet and gave her a quick kiss. “I’ll take Kayla home and be back shortly.”
“I’ll take her.”
Kayla turned, her chin up, her look defiant. Obviously, she didn’t want to be indebted to him. Or maybe she didn’t want to be stuck alone in a truck cab with him. Oh well.
Craig looked grateful. “You don’t mind?”
“Potsdam, right?” At Kayla’s nod, Marc shrugged. “No sense both of us heading out. My truck’s ready to go and I head right through there anyway.”
“Thanks.”
Sarah eyed Kayla. “You’re okay with this?”
“Of course.”
Marc read the look that said she wasn’t, but that was too bad. He could be nice for the fifteen-minute trip. Either that or maintain complete silence. He nodded to himself. Quiet might be a better strategy, if the nurse actually understood the meaning of the word. From what he’d witnessed to date, Kayla didn’t do silence all that well.
He waited while she eased into short, unlined boots and wondered what she did when they got more than an inch of snow. Freeze, probably. It didn’t seem to matter as long as she looked good. That kind of girl could drive a man crazy trying to take care of her, right up until she left him.
“Ready?” He looked her way, patently ignoring that she always managed to put together a tidy little package.
She nodded. “Yes, thank you,” then swung toward Sarah. “I’ll
be happy to watch the baby next Thursday night. I’m free and you guys could take care of the stuff you want to order for the basement.”
Sarah and Craig exchanged looks. “Sounds good,” Craig replied. “I’m not on call and we really need to get things organized if I’m going to work on it this spring.”
“I should be off the road by five,” Kayla told them. “Is six good with you?”
“Perfect,” Sarah declared. She leaned into Craig’s arm and smiled up at him. “This is our new version of a night out. Picking out paint and carpeting colors from DIY home stores.”
“When McKenna shops with us, there’s no such thing as browsing.” Craig grinned at his wife.
“Too true.” Sarah squeezed Kayla’s hand. “We’ll see you Thursday, then. Plan on eating here, okay?”
“Sounds good.”
They stepped into the cold of an early February night. Marc put a hand to her elbow. At her questioning gaze, he nodded to the concrete. “Slippery.”
“Oh.” She paused, then “Um…thank you.”
Because he was already holding her arm, it made sense for him to open her side of the truck. Help her up. He watched to make sure she gathered her scarf in before he swung the door shut. As he climbed in his side, she thanked him again.
He acknowledged that with a gruff nod. “It’s all right. Are you right in Potsdam?”
“Garden Street.”
He shoved the truck into gear. “Towards Market?”
“The other end. I have the attic apartment in one of Vi Twimbley’s houses.”
Marc knew Mrs. Twimbley. She was tight with a buck and then some. Her apartments were affordable, but that was because she refused to do anything with them. Upgrades went against her credo. Typical college-town flats with none of the amenities a girl like Kayla would demand. He headed away from Pierrepont, working his jaw.
By the time they saw the lights of Potsdam, he was wishing he
hadn’t pledged a vow of silence. The ride along snow-frosted, winding roads under a waning half moon should have been relaxed.
It wasn’t. Maybe if he’d spoken up initially they could have chatted about something, but he hadn’t and it seemed silly to start a conversation now. Ridiculous, actually.
“A left here, then a right onto Garden.”
He nodded. He knew the streets of the village like the back of his hand.
“This one, on the left.”
“With no lights.”
She puffed out a breath of air. “The outside lights haven’t worked since before Christmas. I replaced the bulbs, but nothing happened.”
How safe was that? he wondered. He climbed down from the truck. Kayla looked surprised to see him as he rounded the front bumper. “I’m fine, really. You don’t have to—”
“It’s dark as pitch. I’m walking you in.”
She chewed her lip, then shrugged. “It’s not like people lie in wait in zero-degree temperatures, Marc. Not if they have another option.”
“Which door is yours?”
She nodded toward a tall, wooden staircase in the back.
“Outside stairway?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
She was killing him. It didn’t add up. This was cheap even by Twimbley standards. “I’ll walk you up.”
“You’re being silly.” She swung to face him. The moon hung to the south, out of view. The little light they had spilled from a neighbor’s window. “No one is going to leap out of the frigid shadows and get me, Farmer Boy. And if they did, what would you care?”
She was right. Why would he care? What would it matter? One more careless girl walking into danger with no thought to her own safety.
He reached for the door handle as she plied the key. “My father needs you in one piece.”
“We’ve got tons of staff. I’m replaceable.”
He laid one finger against her mouth and tried not to think of how soft her lips felt against his callused skin. “You’re not.”
“Really?” Did his touch inspire that single, whispered word, the small, sharp intake of breath?
Or the bone-chilling cold? Most likely the cold.
Then she smiled.
It was a real smile, down to her toes. The kind she shared with his father and the Macklins. With Jess. Deep inside he longed to inspire that smile more often. He jerked his head to the narrow wooden stairs. “Up. I’ll follow you. Then I’ll relock the bottom door when I go back down.”
She moved ahead of him, picking her way along ice-glazed steps. “I salted this morning,” she said, apologetic. “It seems to have worn off.”
“Just be careful.” He tried not to focus on the narrow heels of her boots, how they skittered as she planted her foot, or how unbelievably good she looked from behind.
Once secure on the small landing outside the third-story entrance, she turned his way. “Staircase and fire escape in one fell swoop. A package deal.”
He didn’t dare say what he thought. How the tall, turning, narrow wooden stairway shouldn’t be construed as legal or safe. It was probably grandfathered from some old statute. He was sure it wouldn’t meet new building code standards, no way, no how.
But she was safe and sound. He nodded. “Make sure you salt these again first thing tomorrow.”
She fit her key into the lock. “I will.”
“Do you have to go out in the morning?”
She looked up, surprised. “It’s Sunday.”
Ah, yes. Obligatory church attendance. Right.
And she had no car. He hesitated, but no way was he about to invite her to accompany Jess and him to a service he attended in name only. “Walking distance?”
Her eyes said it wasn’t, but she gave him the nod he wanted. That made him feel cheesy. “Yes.”
“See you Monday, then.”
“All right.”
She pushed the door open with barely a shove. Great. A door that sealed offered resistance. Not this one. “Thanks for bringing me home.”
He paused but refused to look up. “No problem.”
“Good night.”
He gave a careless wave she couldn’t see and continued downward, crunching the rugged soles of his boots against the layer of ice.
She lived in a downscaled apartment that was probably half the price of others in the immediate college area. A three-story walk-up in a drafty old house that could use caulk and weather stripping. Probably insulation, too.
But it was no business of his where she lived or what she did.
The thought of her not being able to attend her church niggled him. Glancing up, squares of yellow light poured across the gabled roof beneath her windows, brightening the snow-covered shingles. A silhouette passed the criss-crossed panes, paused for long seconds, then moved on.
She almost looked out. For him? Why would she do that?
But she didn’t, Marc reassured himself as he climbed into the driver’s seat. She walked on, just like she should. For an all-too-brief moment, he wished she’d tugged back the curtain to see him. Wave to him.
Sleep deprivation,
he decided as the truck roared to life.
There’s absolutely no other reason I’d be wishing for a ditzy blonde to wave goodbye to me at zero degrees Fahrenheit with a wind-chill factor I don’t even want to think about. I need sleep and I need it bad.
But he scanned her windows one more time, just in case, before he pulled away and headed across Leroy Street toward Route 11.
T
he ring of the doorbell interrupted Kayla’s coffee. She frowned and read the clock. Who would be there before 8:00 a.m.?
She faced a chilly quandary. She could either buzz the person up unseen, or brave the cold to check him/her out.
Safety won. Stepping onto the narrow landing, she peered over the half wall. Surprise mixed with something else as familiar gray-green eyes gazed up from beneath a drawn brow. “Marc?”
He looked disturbed. What else was new? “I’ve got your keys. Let me up.”
“My keys?” She stepped back and punched the button to release the lower lock. His footsteps echoed on the turning staircase. Once at the top, he faced her, gruff.
“You have to walk outside to see who’s ringing your doorbell?”
Oh, man. “Yes.”
His frown deepened, but instead of talking he handed her the keys she’d left at Macklins’. “Here.”
“What will I do with them?” she asked, confused. “The car’s at Sarah and Craig’s.”
“Not anymore.”
Kayla frowned. “Then it’s…?”
“Parked out front. Wal-Mart opened at seven so I grabbed you a new battery and installed it in Craig’s garage. You’re all set. You’ll be able to go to church now.”
He hadn’t bought her fib the night before.
Her throat tightened at the unexpected kindness. The early Sunday hour compounded the sacrifice. “You got up early to do that for me?”
He kept his face inscrutable. “I’m always up early. How were you going to work tomorrow with the car at Craig’s?”
“I figured I’d get it fixed today.”
“At any one of the service shops conducting Sunday hours.”
“Hmm.” She made a face, weighing his words. “Didn’t think of that.”
“Luckily, I did.” He nodded to her keys. “Without a car, you can’t work.”
She didn’t tell him the nursing service kept a minivan for just that purpose. While her starter was being replaced she’d borrowed a supervisor’s car. When your business involved life and death, a broken car wasn’t enough to keep you off the road. Marc didn’t know that. She smiled up at him. “Thank you, Marc. That’s a huge help. How much do I owe you?”
His eyes regarded her, then swept the apartment. “Consider it candy.”
“What?”
He stepped in farther.
Kayla waved a hand. “Come in, why don’t you?”
He was checking things out before the words were out of her mouth. She widened her eyes. “I’m still trying to figure out the candy thing.”
He scowled at her thermostat. “Some families give their nurses a box of candy. Gift certificates to fancy restaurants. We give batteries.” Looking perturbed, he eyed the temperature control again, then swung her way. “It’s cold in here.”
“It’ll warm up once the heat comes on.”
He crossed to the antique radiator. Determined, he placed his hand atop the heavy, painted metal. “Not likely.”
Kayla shrugged, unwilling to say more.
He met her gaze. His mouth opened but then clamped shut. His nostrils flared slightly as he nodded toward the tiny kitchen. “Do I smell coffee?”
“Yes.” Dismayed by her rudeness, she moved that way. This guy had gone the distance to fix her car and deliver it to her. She hadn’t even offered him a cup of coffee for his trouble. “Come on in. It’s warmer in here.”
His look took in the flickering votive on the countertop. “Candlelit breakfast?”
She smiled as she filled his mug. “I like how it smells, the mix of spices. Homey. Warm.”
His brow lifted and she cringed, wishing she’d picked a different adjective. He added milk and sugar to his cup, took a long sip and nodded. “You make good coffee.”
“Thanks.”
“And your place is nice.”
“Thanks again.”
“You been here long?”
“Almost five years.”
“And how long has the heat been broken?”
“About…” She stopped, chagrined. Sucking a breath, she reminded him, “It’s not broken. It just doesn’t pump well to the living room.”
“You’ve mentioned this to Vi?”
Kayla couldn’t count the number of times. “It’s under control.”
“Hmm.” Tipping his cup, he finished his coffee in record time and set the broad-handled mug on the counter. “Nice cup.”
Kayla tried to read something into that and couldn’t. “Thanks. I’m a little surprised that you’re noticing my coffee mugs, though.”
He headed for the door and stood, gloves tapping against his thigh. “Most girls have cups that match their dishes. Skinny handles. Too wide at the top. I like a solid mug that holds the heat.”
“Me, too.”
She followed him to the door and put a hand to his sleeve. “Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome, but we’re not done yet.”
“No?”
“No.” His hand came up, palm cupped, as if he wanted to touch her, cradle her cheek, but then fell back to his side. “Grab your boots and coat.”
Boots and coat? “Because?”
He leaned forward until his face was close. Very close. Warm, coffee-scented breath bathed her skin, putting her in mind of lazy mornings and Sunday papers. “It’s a long walk back to Craig’s and I have to have Jess to church by ten.”
“A long—Oh. Of course.”
Duh, Kayla. How did you think the guy was going to get back to his truck?
She nodded and stepped away from those gray-green eyes, the warm, spiced scent of his aftershave. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“There’s a surprise.”
She started to scowl, but that would only heighten his amusement. Her mouth tugged up in a smile instead. “I’ll get my coat and be right there.”
“Take a minute,” he advised. He swung open the door. He glared at how easily it tugged free, but when he turned, his expression was easy. “I’ll salt the steps before you fall and break your neck.”
“Okay.”
He shut the door as he stepped outside, then hoisted the thirty-pound bag with a man’s ease. Deliberate, he sprinkled gray-white crystals over the iced decking.
Kayla hurried to the closet and pulled out her coat, then pushed her feet into her boots. By the time she was dressed, Marc had disappeared. She stepped onto the ice and felt the reassuring traction of salt beneath her boots.
For a quick moment she reveled in the feeling of someone caring for her, doing a nice thing with no payback required.
Pete’s illness sobered her moment of fantasy. Marc DeHollander was rescuing her out of a sense of regard for his father’s health. She’d be silly to think otherwise. For just a moment, though, it had been nice to be silly.
It didn’t add up.
She lived in a cheap, chilled apartment but wore trend-setting clothes. Her television was a seventies throwback. Thrift store furniture. A few pillows and throws warmed the appearance, but not much. As if she was waiting to move out. Pack it in.
Marc shrugged as he waited. The spartan apartment only added weight to his assessment. Kayla Doherty wouldn’t stay in the North Country. Everything about her said “moving on.”
That was okay by him. He knew better than to think a girl like Kayla would find happiness in the rugged climate of the Adirondack region. Better she follow her dream, whatever it was. As long as she took good care of his father, Marc could care less.
Hearing her footsteps, he squared his shoulders. She stepped out, swung the door shut and waved her keys. “Come on, Farmer Boy, let’s get you back to your truck. I didn’t mean to hold you up.”
He fell into step beside her, then grabbed her arm when she slipped on a patch of ice-glazed snow. “Does anybody own a shovel, or do you all just walk on the snow and pack it down?”
She scrunched up her face, guilty.
She used that expression often. He tried to remember when he started thinking it was cute, imagining a little girl with Kayla’s features. A tiny version of Kayla with a pointy chin and huge, round eyes, who would follow him around the farm like Jess had.
Yeah. Round eyes. Pointy chin. Like the aliens in
Independence Day.
Imagining that kept him rational. Rational was good. No way did he want to deal with the broken heart Kayla Doherty was sure to hand out. She smiled up at him as he opened the door for her. His breath hitched, watching her, eyeing her mouth.
His internal warning system brought Marc back to earth. Marc had developed a safety net to save him from his own stupidity.
He stepped back and ground his jaw before moving to the
opposite side of the car. A girl like Kayla wasn’t meant to hang around too long. Marc had no intention of being in the path of total destruction.
“Jess. How are you?”
“Kayla!” Jess flung her coat and boots as she charged into the house late Monday. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Your dad said you wanted to see me.” Kayla smiled, then offered Jess’s outfit a nod of approval. “I like the way that sweater sets off the shirt. Cute. Solid.”
“Seriously?” Jess sparkled and Kayla flung an arm around her shoulders.
“Girlfriends don’t lie about something that important. Our mantra? It’s totally about the look. How’s school?”
Marc pushed through the door. Anger swept aside what might have been a welcoming gaze. Kayla swallowed hard, unable to remember what she’d just asked Jess.
Luckily, Jess didn’t notice. “School’s fine.” She saw Marc eye her jacket and boots. She picked up her coat and pegged it while Kayla set her boots in place. Marc shook his head, bemused, then stopped, sniffed and turned, puzzled. “What’s cooking?”
“Lasagna. And garlic bread. With mozzarella and parmesan.”
“I love lasagna,” declared Jess. She grinned at Kayla. “So do Marc and Dad. How did you know?”
Kayla crossed to the stove and stirred the extra sauce. “I didn’t, but since I like lasagna, I figured it would be a nice way to thank your brother for fixing my car yesterday.”
“You fixed her car?” Jess turned. “When? I was with you all day.”
“First thing in the morning,” Kayla replied when it became apparent that Marc had no intention of joining the conversation. He avoided her gaze by staring into his coffee cup.
“Really?” Jess drew out the word. At Kayla’s look of warning, Jess nodded, woman-to-woman. “Well,” she added, matter-of-factly, “that was nice of you, Marc. I’m going to spend some time with Dad until supper’s ready. Think he’ll join us?”
Kayla hesitated. “I wouldn’t count on it. He’s pretty tired. You go see him, see what you think. You guys could always eat in there. You’ve got tray tables in the living room.”
Jess brightened. “That’s a good idea.”
As she turned to leave, Marc called her name. Jess swung back. “Yeah?”
He waved in her general direction. “That looks nice.” When Jess looked confused, he continued, “That sweater thing. I like it.”
She stared, then dropped her gaze to sweep the outfit Kayla complimented earlier. “Thanks, I think. Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
“Okay, then.” She slid a look of surprise to Kayla, then grinned at her brother. “I’m going to see Dad, now. Thanks for noticing my clothes, Marc. Those consciousness-raising classes are really paying off.”
She ducked the towel Marc pitched at her and disappeared.
Marc watched her go before shifting his attention to Kayla. His eyes dimmed. “You didn’t have to do this.”
She nodded, determined to ignore the note of displeasure. “I know.” She reached into the cupboard and withdrew three plates. “I wanted you to know I was grateful for your help. And I needed to see Jess. Your dad said she’d been pestering him about when I’d be back, so I decided to cover both bases with one pan of lasagna.” She smiled. “Pretty frugal, actually.”
“Like your apartment?”
His tone was casual. Kayla hedged. She wasn’t good at talking about herself, why she did what she did, proving to herself she could stand the cold, no matter what. “It’s affordable, if not perfect. I’m saving for my own place and I hate to throw away money on higher rent.”
“That’s fine, but your living space should be warm. And safe.”
“I can handle the cold.”
She could. She knew that from experience. She hated the chill, the discomfort, but refused to let it win. No matter what,
she would emerge triumphant, old fears vanquished. She slanted him a look. “Anyway, spring will be here soon.”
Marc laughed, skeptical. “It’s February. Spring’s a long way off.”
“Not so far.”
Her optimism made him groan. He poured another cup of coffee and moved closer, his voice low. “Dad’s slipping.”
No evading this. “Yes.”
Marc swore under his breath. His face changed. Seeing his distress, she wanted to help him, but there was little she could do. Death loomed inevitable. If accepted, the passing from mortal life to immortality with God wasn’t such a hard road. Treated like an enemy, death proved a formidable foe, ever victorious. She didn’t want Marc to see it that way, but didn’t know how to ease his frustration.
She’d seen the gentle side of him, how careful he was to brace his father in strong hands when helping the older man out of bed. The hours he spent reading to Pete, talking with him, arguing hockey stats and football greats when he should have been tending cattle. There wouldn’t be much more male back-and-forth. Kayla knew that would be a bitter pill for Marc. It would be him and Jess against the world, orphaned together. But they had each other, and a father who’d loved them since birth. They were way ahead of her on that score.
Marc eyed the plates. “You’re not staying?”
She shook her head. “I left some at home. You guys need time together, without outsiders. As things progress, you’ll have people in and out.” She didn’t get more specific than that. She knew he understood. “It’s good to have family time now.”
He stepped forward and reached into the cupboard, withdrawing a fourth plate. “Please stay.”
Kayla stared, then blinked. “I—”
He moved close. So close. She could count the tiny flecks of gold in his gray-green eyes, their muted tones the color of thin, wisped clouds in a summer sunset. “For Jess.”
Of course. How foolish she was. For just a moment she thought…
Crazy, girl, just plain crazy.
His hand brushed hers as she accepted the plate. Just a brush of the knuckles, but enough to send her heart racing, wishing he’d clasp her fingers. Smile down at her. Touch her cheek with his work-worn hands.