toes.
Rising and keeping the blanket around her like a shawl, she went in search of her host, assuming he was the one outside chopping.
She found him wearing no shirt and wielding an ax. His chest was broad enough to have earned its own zip code. No way was she even allowing her glance to settle long enough on his honed abs and pecs to give them a formal appraisal. Suffice it to say, he was built better than any man she’d seen outside of a movie.
Considering the cooler air and how low on the horizon the sun had dipped, she called, “Have I been asleep as long as I’m afraid I have?”
He cast a wary glance in her direction. “Yep. You snoozed right through lunch. There’s a sandwich for you in the fridge. If you’re still hungry, I can heat up some soup.”
“I’m sure a sandwich will be fine. Thanks.”
“No problem.” He brought the ax down hard on his latest log. “After you eat, I’ll run you into town. You were out cold when I got back from looking at your car, but I couldn’t fix the problem. It ended up having to be towed.”
“Oh.” Stomach knotted with dread over what the repair may cost, she forced her breathing to slow. As much as she hated the thought, was now the time to officially cry uncle by asking for help? No. When she met with her parents, it’d be on her own terms. She’d gotten herself into this mess, and she’d get herself out of it. If her father had believed her a dismal failure before, he was in for quite a shock to see her life had only grown that much more pathetic.
“The town mechanic—Hal—does great work. He’s honest and does whatever it takes to keep costs low.”
“Good. I can’t thank you enough for...everything.” If he hadn’t come along when he did, there’s no telling what may have happened. As tightly as she clung to the stubborn streak and refusing to admit further failure to her parents, she’d finally reached the point where if it came down to protecting her baby’s health, she’d have no other choice. A sobering fact she preferred dealing with later.
“Go ahead and eat your sandwich.” He reached for another log. “I’ll be done in a few.”
“O-okay...” Was he dismissing her? Though his words were polite, she couldn’t escape the feeling that his failure to make small talk or eye contact signaled he’d rather she be on her way.
Not surprising. If she were fortunate enough for this to be her home, she supposed she wouldn’t want a stranger hanging around.
Running her fingertips along the rough-hewn porch rail, she—more than anything—couldn’t wait to one day experience what it would feel like to truly belong. To have found her own special niche in the world where she was accepted and appreciated for who she was.
When she’d bolted from the home she’d been raised in, her grand plan had been becoming part of an artistic community, but dreams have a funny way of dissolving when exposed to reality’s ugly light.
“Go ahead and start eating,” her host nudged. “Last thing I need is for you to suffer another fainting spell.”
She cast him a slight smile. “Sure. Sorry. I tend to daydream.”
His only response was a nod before reaching for his next log. His actions were needlessly, almost recklessly fast, as if driven by an invisible demon. Though curiosity burned to know more—anything—about this kind man who’d done more for her in an afternoon than anyone else in recent memory, Libby held tight to her questions instead, turning her back on him to enter the cabin.
With any luck she’d soon be on her way and this day and all of the rocky ones before it would fade into a mental collage featuring only happy times and none of the bad.
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, Libby found herself once again alongside Heath in his truck, heading down the main street of the sleepy town of Bent Road. The rich smell of vintage leather seats mixed with his own masculine flavor of wood and sweat. During the whole trip he didn’t say a word, other than a brief inquiry as to whether or not she was cold. At first she’d found the silence awkward, but then it brought her an unexpected peace.
With Liam, she’d felt pressured to always be talking. His constant need to be entertained had been exhausting.
The town sat in the midst of dense forest—a sun-dazzled glade forgotten by time. Historic, redbrick buildings held an assortment of businesses from drug and hardware stores to a lawyer’s office and dentist. Window boxes and clay pots celebrated summer with eye-popping color. Purple lobelia and red geraniums. Yellow and orange marigolds, mixed with pink and white petunias.
The floral kaleidoscope spoke to her on a long-forgotten level. Along with her dreams of simply having a home, she’d always wished for a garden. Not only would she grow flowers, but tomatoes and green beans and lettuce.
Thick ferns hung from every lamppost, and the sidewalks were made of weathered brick.
With the truck’s windows down, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The briny Pacific blended with the sweet flowers, creating a heady fragrance she wouldn’t soon forget.
Around the next bend stood an old-style strip-and-cabin motel. A sign built in the shape of a smiling, gingham-clad couple with rosy cheeks proclaimed in red neon that the place was named the Yodel Hoo Inn. Swiss chalet-styled, the dark log structure’s every paned window were framed by sunny, yellow shutters. The paint was cracked and a little faded, but that didn’t stop it from being fun. Towering pines embraced it and the attached diner. Thriving hanging flower baskets added still more pops of color.
“Everything’s so pretty,” Libby said more to herself than Heath.
He grunted. “Fourth of July fishing tourney, art festival and carnival’s only a little over a week away. Whole damn town goes overboard with decorating. Lucky for you, you won’t be around when the eight-hundred miles of red, white and blue bunting rolls out.”
“Sounds amazing.”
“Sure—as long as you don’t get roped into helping take it all down.”
He slowed the truck then turned into a gas station that had two pumps and a four-stall garage, each humming with activity. Her Bug sat midway up a hydraulic lift. The engine cover was open and three men stood around it in animated discussion, staring and pointing.
“That can’t be good,” she noted while Heath parked next to a tow truck with Hal’s Garage emblazoned across the door.
“What?”
“All those guys debating over my car. In my perfect fantasy world, I’d hoped it was already fixed, and the mechanic wouldn’t have minded trading his services for one of my best clay pots.”
“Uh, yeah. I don’t think Hal does pots.” Eyes narrowed, his befuddled look was one to which she’d sadly grown accustomed to seeing in others. Instead of viewing a glass as half-full, she saw it as bubbling over with a splash of orange and a maraschino cherry. Liam had constantly harped at her to be more realistic, but why? What did it hurt to be happy? Or at least, try?
After turning off the engine, Heath looked to her bulging belly, then asked, “Need help getting out?”
“No, thanks.”
