eyes. “I see I’m not the only one gifted with intuition.” She smiled. “Look, since you’re being direct, I will be, too. I’m pregnant. Eight weeks. Sick as a dog most mornings. Can’t wait for this first trimester to pass. It’s my first pregnancy, so all I can do is believe the books.”
Leif had been right, but hearing the words from her mouth took his breath away and made him suddenly want a drink. He strode to the sink, opened a cupboard and found a glass, filled it with filtered water, gulped a few swallows. “Would you like some water?”
She nodded, probably more to be polite than for any other reason. He filled a second glass for her, handed it over, then engaged her eyes. He saw questions in hers, and realized this moment would speak volumes about his character.
“You want to talk about it?”
Marta took a sip of water, apparently thinking, then sighed quietly. The expression on her face seemed to communicate, I may as well. “I’ve recently broken up with a man I’d been involved with for five years.” She looked resigned, not brokenhearted.
Leif was already stuck on the first sentence. Didn’t people usually get together when they got pregnant, not break up? Was she waiting for this guy to show up and take her home?
“I wasn’t trying to trap him or anything. The pregnancy was definitely an accident. But when I told him, I thought maybe he’d ask me to marry him.” She put the glass on the counter, folded her arms, paced toward one of the windows and gazed outside. “He wasn’t exactly happy with my news, but at least he didn’t say he didn’t want me to have it or anything.” She glanced at Leif over her shoulder, then back outside. “I got the feeling he just didn’t give a damn. ‘Things don’t have to change’ was all he said.” She swung around, suddenly animated, an accusing expression on her face, as if Leif was a representative for all of the lousy men in the world. “What was that supposed to mean? Of course things would change. Everything had already changed. We’d be parents.” Out of nowhere she’d found a tiny cuticle on her index finger to bite and went for it with gusto. “I’d given him five years of my life. I’d given him everything I had. And now I’m pregnant and he isn’t particularly interested in that part.” She used the back of her hand to brush the air. “‘Just take care of it,’ he said. ‘Get this pregnant part over with, then things will be back to us again.’ How selfish of him. How foolish of me to think he’d ever want to marry me.” Rather than say more, she curled her bottom lip inward and bit it.
At least she wasn’t crying. He wouldn’t know what to do if she started sobbing.
Leif had been right. He’d recognized a fellow traveler on the broken and hurting road. Turned out he wasn’t the only person in this house whose spirit needed some mending.
“I’m very sorry to hear this. Uh, not that you’re pregnant, but about your breakup. That things didn’t work out for you.”
“I understand. Thanks. I guess that’s life, right?” She lifted her chin.
Yeah, he knew about “that’s life.” It had kicked the spirit out of him, too.
“Maybe he’ll come to his senses while you’re here.”
“I no longer care if he does. It’s over.”
“What about the baby?”
“Look, I’m sorry to drag you into my problems,” she said.
His first response was to say, “That’s what friends are for,” but they were practically strangers. “For the record, I’m glad you opened up.”
She tossed a surprised glance his way. “Thank you.”
He needed to do something to change the mood, to move away from the heavy subject, to keep himself from walking over and taking her into his arms for a tight, long and comforting squeeze. He hardly knew her, yet he already felt the urge to protect her.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said, glancing at his watch. “It’s only two-thirty. Why don’t we get outside and take in some fresh air? I’ll show you the City College and where your mural walls are located. What do you say?”
She glanced back again, as if his idea wasn’t half bad.
“Who knows, maybe it will help you get unstuck.”
Her face brightened at the suggestion. “You’re on. Just let me change my shoes.”
* * *
Marta enjoyed the distraction of driving around the quaint and colorful city of Heartlandia. She looked out the window, taking it all in.
“We’re heading north past Heritage, the main street in our downtown section. That’s the Heritage Hotel, oldest building in town. Now we’re heading toward our hill that we like to call a mountain, Hjartalanda Peak. It’s not exactly Saddle Mountain, over there—” he pointed eastward toward a large pine-covered mountain range off in the distance “—but it’s good enough for us.” He smiled at her, and a weird fizzy feeling flitted through her chest. Those eyes. Must be those crystal eyes.
“Heartlandia City College is halfway up the hill between the Ringmuren wall and downtown, which took a lot of campaigning to approve clear-cutting a large section of our pines. In the end we agreed that we needed the jobs, the incentive for our kids to stay home to go to college instead of leaving the area and the influx of new blood the school would bring into town. Plus, I promised not to cut down one more tree than necessary and to plant a whole lot of other trees somewhere else.” He looked at her and smiled again. “I’m not going to lie—I’m very proud of the college.”
“Your company built the entire college?”
He nodded. “My father started his construction company fifty years ago from scratch. He built half of the bungalows and sloping-roof Scandinavian log houses you see scattered across the hills. When he was fifty and I was twenty he developed rheumatoid arthritis and asked me to take on more responsibility for when the time came he couldn’t do the hard work himself. I learned the business from the ground up for the next ten years, and when my dad moved to Arizona at sixty, I took over. I’m glad to say the business didn’t fall apart when I stepped in.” He flashed a smile she could only describe as charming, and there went that fizzy feeling again. “I’ve actually brought the company to a new level but only because of the foundation my father laid down for me. And the work ethic he instilled in me.”
“That’s very impressive,” she said, meaning it.
“Thanks.”
They pulled into a large lot and parked close to a long and low building to the left of the main three-story administration center and a cluster of other one-and two-story structures. They’d gone the clean, midcentury modern route with a definite Scandinavian influence in architecture.
He opened the door for her, and she followed him toward the long, low bungalows.
“This is the history quad,” he said. “We thought this would be the best place to put your mural. See those walls over there?”
She nodded and sped up her pace to keep up with him.
“Those are your walls.”
She liked the sound of that—her walls.
“The
