under.” The small voice sounded utterly matter-of-fact. “Mom said this year won’t be sad. We get a tree no matter what.”
His mom had mentioned that he hadn’t had a very good Christmas last year. Sad, the child had just called it. Yet Erik didn’t let himself consider why that had been. Telling himself that her personal business was none of his, he murmured a distracted, “That’s good,” to her son and focused on the only business of hers he needed to be interested in. The store.
Cornelia had asked for his presence in case Rory had questions for him. He figured now was as good a time as any to see what those concerns might be.
The three females at the table glanced up as he approached.
It was Rory’s dark eyes that he met.
“Is there anything you want to ask me about the property?”
Her shell-shocked look had yet to fade. With her ringless hand at the base of her throat, she slowly shook her head. “I don’t even know where to start right now.”
“Make a list as things occur to you,” he told her. “I’ll come by the market next week and we can go over it.
“The sale is being expedited,” he told her, knowing now that part of the appeal of his grandparents’ home, for her son, anyway, had been the fireplace his own family had gathered around at Christmas. “You can move in whenever you’re ready. I’ll check my schedule and Phil can set us up with a day and time next week to go over inventory.”
He set his coffee on the table with a decisive clink and pulled his business card from his pocket. Walking around the table to give it to her, he watched her rise. As she did, his glance slid over what her coat had hidden earlier. The long black turtleneck she wore skimmed her feminine curves, molded the sweet shape of her hips.
She had the body of a dancer. Long, lithe and sexy as hell.
Masking his misgivings about having to deal with her, feeling them mount by the minute, he ignored the vague tightening in his gut. “Do you need help moving in?”
“No. I’m... No,” Rory repeated, hating how flustered she felt. “But thank you.” The last thing she wanted was to impose on this man. Considering what he’d been asked to do for her, she’d be obligated enough to him as it was. “I’d planned to be out Monday, so I’ve already arranged for movers.”
She pushed back her bangs, revealing the pinch of her brow. “You really don’t mind if I take things over before the sale closes?”
“You said you want to be settled before Christmas.” He assumed now that that desire had something to do with putting up a tree. “The earlier you start, the sooner you can be.”
Rory swallowed. Hard.
“Thank you.”
He held out his card. “My office and cell numbers are on here. Call me if something comes up. I’ll leave a key under the rock by the back porch. You’ll get a full set at closing.” His fingers brushed hers. Her skin felt cool to him, soft, and though he was trying not to notice anything in particular about her, he could have sworn he felt her trembling.
Without looking up, she palmed his card and clasped both hands in front of her.
“You’re sure you’re covered on the move?” he asked
“I’m positive. I arranged everything a couple of weeks ago.”
Standing as close as he was, he caught the tremor in her breath as she eased it out. He didn’t doubt she felt overwhelmed with all that was happening for her. Yet she managed to maintain the composure that had her graciously assuring Cornelia that she truly needed nothing else as far as help was concerned. Something about that composure seemed practiced to him, though. It was as if she’d found herself in overwhelming or uncertain situations before and wasn’t about to let anyone see how unsettled she really was.
She wouldn’t look at him again. She seemed to know what he’d seen, and felt totally embarrassed being so exposed. A huge burden was being lifted from her slender shoulders, but she wasn’t letting herself feel the relief of that weight. It appeared that admitting the scope of that relief would be admitting how truly desperate she’d begun to feel. So she just kept it all in, as if that was what she’d become accustomed to doing anyway, and turned to the women.
With a choked little laugh, she said she had no idea how to thank them.
Leaving her to figure it out, he looked to the matriarch running the show, thanked her for the coffee and headed for more familiar territory.
He’d given his word that he’d help. And he would. He never promised anything he didn’t intend to deliver. But when he showed up for the meeting Phil arranged for him with Rory the following Wednesday, he discovered something about his charge that he hadn’t anticipated.
The young widow with the sweet, sharp little boy might have looked as fragile as sea foam, but she had a stubborn streak as wide as Puget Sound.
Erik hesitated at the store’s front door. For years he’d simply walked in when the business had been open. After his grandparents had moved, he’d let himself in with his key. Since the sale had closed two days ago, he no longer had the right to come and go as he pleased from a place that had been part of his life for as long as he could remember.
The odd sense of having been displaced lingered as he rapped his knuckles on the frame of the screen door, and promptly disappeared the instant the inside door swung open. Even with her pretty features schooled into a smile of greeting, the unease in Rory’s guarded expression made him suspect she was already having second thoughts about what she’d taken on.
Or so he was thinking when she let him in and his glance cut from the black hoodie and yoga pants molding her curves to the furniture behind her.
It looked as if every possession she owned sat piled in the interior of the market. Bedroom sets, tables, chairs, boxes.
“You said you didn’t need any help moving in.”
Good morning to you, too, Rory thought. “I didn’t think I did,” she said, stepping back for him to pass.
Deliberately overlooking the accusation shadowing his rugged features, she crossed her arms over her hoodie and the teal turtleneck and thermal undershirt layered beneath it. She wanted to believe her shiver had more to do with the chill in the large space than with the big man in the waffle-weave pullover and charcoal cargo pants. After all, the thermometer by the dairy case did read forty-nine degrees.
The man should wear a coat, she insisted to herself. It was easily ten degrees colder outside.
She turned on her heel to lead him inside where it was warmer. “The college kids I hired were only available long enough to drive the U-Haul over and unload it into the market,” she explained, heading between the packing boxes that formed an aisle to the interior door. “It wasn’t until we got here that they told me they wouldn’t have time to carry everything to the rooms. They did take one of the beds upstairs, though.” The thud of heavy hiking boots echoed behind her. In running shoes, her
