at a disadvantage. She’d forever be his tough, know-it-all big sister.
“All right, let’s get the tub,” he said instead.
Maneuvering the damn thing, still in its box, up those steep stairs and around the sharp corner at the top was a hell of a finish to the day. The only payoff, as far as Ryan was concerned, was catching glimpses of Jo’s curvy but compact ass, squeezed in tight jeans.
Everyone’s patience was eroding by the time they made it through the bathroom door and eased the tub to the raw plywood floor.
“I’m glad you were here.” Jo rubbed her shoulder. “We’d never have made it.”
“Tubs are heavy. I assumed you were having it delivered and carried up.”
“No, we’re the original do-it-yourselfers,” she said lightly.
His sister had fetched a knife to slice open the cardboard and cut off the wrappings. With more swearing, they heaved the white porcelain tub into place.
“Fixtures?” Ryan asked.
Kathleen produced the faucet, shower head and drain. “You could come back tomorrow,” she said tentatively.
“Nah, I’d rather finish.”
“Do you mind if I watch?” Jo asked.
“Not at all.” He gestured to the floor “Have a seat.”
She grinned at him and settled herself comfortably.
Downstairs, Ryan heard the front door open and close. He cocked his head, but caught no more than the murmur of voices.
“I hope that’s Emma.”
“She scares me,” Jo said unexpectedly. “I keep waiting for her to…”
He glanced at her. “Collapse?”
“Something like that. She’s so…frail.”
“Starving yourself can damage your heart and other internal organs. Her head knows that, but then she tries to eat, and that’s what scares her.”
A job as easy as installing a faucet required no thought. Wrench in hand, he automatically juggled tiny seals and baskets and sleeves.
Jo was watching him, but who knew how much she was taking in. Her forehead was creased. “It scares her more than the idea of dying?”
“Apparently.” He applied a bead of sealant.
“Does it have to do with the divorce?” Jo still sounded unusually hesitant.
He guessed she was used to forging ahead and found it unnatural to tiptoe. But she had the sense to know an issue like this was a minefield, waiting to blow up around her.
“The divorce had to do with Emma’s problems,” he corrected, looking for a wrench that he’d set down. It was just out of his reach, but Jo picked it up and laid it in his hand. Ryan continued, “Ian didn’t think she looked that bad. He didn’t want to be bothered with counseling. All she had to do was eat, he declared. He lost his temper one night and started shoving food down her throat. She was screaming and sobbing and almost choked to death. I guess Kathleen was beating at him, trying to get him off Emma.” He clenched his jaw. “Hell of a scene.”
“Poor Emma,” Jo said somberly.
“Kathleen said counseling or else. He chose ‘or else.’”
Her big brown eyes were pretty. They were a deep, near-black color, like espresso, surrounded by long, thick lashes.
“Thank you for telling me all this,” she said carefully. “I didn’t like to ask.”
“I figured.” He would have felt the same.
“She loves you.”
“She likes me.” He rotated his shoulders as he worked. “There’s nothing emotionally loaded about our relationship. I pretend she doesn’t have any problems. She thinks I’m fun.”
A smile flickered at the corners of Jo’s mouth. “Are you?”
Was he imagining things, or was she flirting with him? “Damn straight.” He grinned at her. “That’s me. A laugh a minute.”
Her smile went solemn again. “Your hummingbird seems to think so.”
“I like kids.” And missed his own with an ache that went bone-deep. Calls were no substitute for hugs and laughs and the chance to toss a football or lounge on the living room floor watching the expressions on his kids’ faces as much as the movies playing. Before he and Wendy had had children, he’d never imagined loving someone so much that he could do nothing for hours but drink in the sight of her face—his face, when Tyler came along after Melissa.
Jo shoved back her hair and said, “I’ve never been around them much.”
“Yeah? Well, here’s your big chance. Although Hummingbird is not standard issue.”
“I assumed that.”
Ryan groaned and got to his feet. “What say we turn on the water and see if it flows?”
“But what about…” She gestured at the pipes protruding from the wall where the vanity and sink would go.
“I’ve installed shutoffs for the toilet and sink.”
“Oh.” Her expression was longing. “You mean, I could take a bath tonight?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“You’re a miracle worker!”
He basked in the radiance of her smile. Who wouldn’t enjoy a moment of pretending he was a hero?
Outside the bathroom, he discovered that Emma was indeed home, although closeted in her bedroom. He knocked and invited her to the ceremonial turning-on-of-the-water.
She climbed from the bed with the care of a brittle seventy-year-old. “Cool!” Her tone turned scathing. “And Mom said…” She stopped, bit her lip.
“Mom said what?”
Her face turned mulish. “Nothing.”
Mom had insulted him, he diagnosed, and Emma had realized belatedly that she might hurt him if she echoed Kathleen’s remarks. Appreciating his niece’s sensitivity, he didn’t push.
Water ran into the tub on command, a cascade that began dirty but turned clear quickly. He flipped the lever to test the shower, but ran it for only an instant so as not to get the wallboard wet.
“Ladies,” he pronounced to a full house, with even Ginny looking with apparent awe around her mother’s hip, “you have the power to get clean.”
“Dinner’s ready,” Kathleen announced.
Ryan took
