The Widow's Protector

And given the news report, he doubted anyone would come by here soon to help. Hell, probably a lot of her neighbors were trying to do exactly the same thing right now.

Damn tornado.

Up on the roof at last with everything he needed, he studied the problem, deciding how best to nail the tarps into place. At least the storm hadn’t removed the underlying roof trusses when it had torn away shingles, tar paper and plywood decking. The gable pieces were still firm and steady to his touch, and he was able to stand on joists some of the time as he worked his way across the opening.

Right then he’d have given just about anything for a nail gun or a heavy-duty staple gun. Instead he had to hammer each nail individually as he attached the tarps.

Rain swept across him from time to time, and occasionally the wind snatched at the tarps, but he lost himself in the comfort of working with his hands. He had always loved working this way, much more so than he had enjoyed running his own business.

Manual labor made him feel good, and before long he was feeling better than he had in months. That ought to tell him something, he thought bitterly. Hard work was good for the heart, body and soul.

Maybe that was what he needed more than anything. More than trying to sort things out in his head, things that didn’t sort at all because they knew no logic. Maybe he just needed to work, and work hard, until all the confusion settled and he found the missing pieces of himself that Brandy had taken with her.

He didn’t even realize that he had grown soaked to the skin. He didn’t notice when the wind took on a bit of a chill.

Hammering nails was good. If nothing else in life could at the moment, the feel of a hammer in his hands and the force he exerted with every downward swing satisfied him.

Sort of like a primal scream, he thought wryly, and reached for another nail. He was exorcising a whole lot of unhappiness and anger and confusion with every blow of that hammer.

Lightning jagged across the sky, followed so closely by a clap of thunder that it reminded him how foolhardy he was being. He wouldn’t have let any man who worked for him do this. But he felt he had no choice. The more rain, the higher the likelihood that Marti Chastain’s house would suffer severe damage. He couldn’t leave anyone like that, least of all a pregnant widow.

She was a pretty woman, he thought as he struggled against the wind to hammer down the last tarp. Pretty with her short blond curls, and pretty in her pregnancy. Funny, he’d never before noticed that a woman so far along could be sexy. But maybe that was because he hadn’t been looking. Every bit of him had been utterly focused on Brandy for a long time now.

Okay, so Marti Chastain was a sexy-looking woman, but he felt guilty for even noticing, given her pregnancy and the current state of her life. That woman sure had a whole heap of troubles.

At last he got the final tarp nailed into place, just in time for another wave of heavy rain to sweep through. Sitting on the roof nearby, he watched the water roll off the tarps with satisfaction. Now he’d just need to check inside the attic and see if there were any leaks.

When the rain lightened a bit, he tested the ladder. It still felt stable, so he climbed down cautiously. The rungs were wet but gripped his hiking boots well enough, and the ladder didn’t tip at all until he had only a few more steps to take.

When he reached the ground, he carried the ladder and tools back to the barn. There he found an old rag and wiped as best he could at the hammer and nails. The ladder could dry on its own.

The barn roof leaked in a couple of places, he noticed, and he almost sighed. At least the drips weren’t falling on anything important, but the idea of another leaking roof bothered the builder in him. Things like that needed fixing to protect a structure, and he had a feeling Marti couldn’t afford it.

Great.

As he exited the barn, he saw Marti had left the truck and was now standing on her front porch. He trotted over to her, taking in her dejected posture and the way her blue eyes seemed too large for her face.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“I was going to ask you that. Thank you for what you did.”

“It was nothing.” He stepped up on the porch beside her, out of the rain. “I’d like to check the attic, though. If there are any leaks, we need to put buckets or something under them to catch the water so your ceilings don’t collapse.”

She nodded, looking out over the destruction again before shaking herself. “Let me make you something to eat,” she said. “And you should stay the night. I’m not sure I can get you to town when the road is so soggy. Well, I probably could, but then the question would be whether I could get home. Ruts get deep fast when it’s this wet. Plus,” she added almost as an afterthought, as if the enormity hadn’t really hit her, “some of the roads could be blocked by debris.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

“You’re all wet,” she remarked. “You must be freezing. Do you have a change?”

“My backpack’s in the truck.”

“Well, go get it. I’ll start a meal.”

He jogged over to the truck, which she had brought closer to the house, and wondered what he was doing. Part of him, most of him, just wanted to resume his travels even in this inclement weather. He wouldn’t melt, and the solitude had been quieting his emotional pangs.

But he also realized that Marti was just being neighborly, trying to thank him for putting those tarps on her roof, and she’d probably feel bad if he just marched off into the quieting storm without accepting any mark of her gratitude, whether it was a meal and a bed or a ride to town.

He could identify with that, being pretty much built the same himself, but he looked down the road with a moment of longing as he retrieved his backpack.

Not now, he thought, slinging the heavy pack over his shoulder. At the very least, he needed to make sure her house was snug and safe. He wouldn’t rest easy unless he did.

He needed to check more than the roof. The wind had to have struck awfully hard to tear away that portion, and there might be hidden damage.

Then he started thinking about her leaking barn. Her advanced state of pregnancy. Her lack of friends or family in these parts.

Aw hell, he thought as he tromped back to the house. He couldn’t leave with a clear conscience. Not yet. Maybe not for a week or so.

Ben was just going to have to wait a little longer.

Chapter 2

Marti sent Ryder up to change in the guest room, telling him to feel free to use the hall shower, and anything that was in there, if he wanted. It wasn’t much of a room. The iron bedstead looked as if it had been there since the house had been built back around 1902, but the mattress had been replaced at some point and was in great condition. The bedding was fresh, too—since she’d had a burst of energy just a week ago and washed all the linens. A battered but large old chest of drawers completed the furnishings. Minimalist but adequate.

She pulled a thawed chicken out of the fridge. She had been planning to roast it tonight anyway and use the leftovers for meals during the week. Ryder looked like he might have a big appetite, but if the chicken disappeared at one sitting, it wasn’t as if she’d be left hungry. She had other things in her freezer to cook if she needed them.

But after the way he had climbed up on her roof, braving the elements, to protect her house from further damage, there was no way she was going to let him just leave without a decent meal and a night’s sleep.

She’d been scared watching him up there. Sometimes the lightning had seemed so close, and then those bands of rain had blown through with strong winds and she had seen him struggle with the tarps. Fear that he might get struck by lightning or take a fall had never been far from her mind.

What would she have done if he had gotten hurt? Her phone was out, and she couldn’t have moved him by herself, certainly not in her present condition.

His willingness to risk his neck to save her from additional damage was startling. She wasn’t used to men like that. Jeff, her late husband, probably would have shrugged, popped the top off another beer and told her he’d get to it when the storm passed. If he got to it at all.

Although, seriously, she didn’t see how he could have avoided it. This house and the land was all that had stood between them and starvation.

It wasn’t like they could sell it. Jeff had tried that when he first lost his job, but nobody was buying rundown farms in the middle of nowhere. At least not at a price Jeff considered fair, assuming he ever had an offer. He’d said not, but as she had learned, Jeff hadn’t always told the truth.

She sighed, rubbing the chicken with olive oil and seasonings after rinsing it. Good thing she had a propane stove, because the power seemed to be out, too. She had better get out a couple of oil lamps before the day got any darker.

They were in the pantry, and while she was in there getting them, she found a package of wild rice a friend had given her before they had moved out here, and she decided that now was as good a time as any to make it. Jeff hadn’t liked it, and she’d never felt right about making it just for herself.

So Ryder provided an excuse to go all-out on a meal for the first time in a long while. Cooking for one and eating all by herself rarely inspired her to get fancy.

A loud crack of thunder startled her and the baby kicked in response. “It’s all right,” she murmured, rubbing her belly gently. How she longed for the day she’d actually be able to hold her daughter in her arms.

She lit the two lamps, heard the shower running upstairs and smiled at how suddenly and unexpectedly this place felt homey. While the elements raged outside, she was cozy in her house, saved by a total stranger, and she was going to have company for dinner.

She decided that for tonight she wasn’t going to worry about how she would manage to fix her roof. Wasn’t going to worry about anything.

As she had learned all too well, life brought contentment only rarely.

The power was out, the shower had been lukewarm at best, but Ryder felt considerably refreshed as he headed back downstairs in a fresh flannel shirt and dry jeans. His walking boots were sodden, so he’d switched to a pair of joggers, which made his feet feel suddenly light.

He found Marti in the kitchen. The first sizzling of a roasting chicken filled the air with its aromas, and she was perking a pot of coffee on the stove top.

“Thanks for the shower,” he said. “I needed it.”

She turned from the stove. “Thanks for covering my roof. It needed it.” Then she smiled. The expression was unexpected, warm and genuine. In fact, it almost stole his breath. He felt a little icicle in his heart crack.

“Um …” He had to hunt for words as he drank in that smile. “I need to check your attic for leaks. How do I get there?”

“There’s a drop-down ladder in the hall at the end away from the guest room.” She paused to rummage in a drawer, then handed him a big flashlight. “You’ll need this. You probably noticed the electricity is out.”

“I did. I’m afraid I used whatever was left of your hot water.”

She shrugged. “That’s okay. As long as there’s lightning I wouldn’t get in the shower anyway. And without power, we’ll just be using cold water regardless.”

“True.” He took the flashlight and smiled. “Whatever you’re making sure smells good. I shouldn’t be gone long unless I find a problem.”

“Thank you so much for everything.”

“My pleasure. It’s not like I’ve done all that much.”

And he really didn’t feel as if he had, he thought as he climbed the stairs again. Putting up a few tarps had probably done him as much good as it had her.

The springs on the attic stairs squealed their thirst for some oiling as he dropped them and locked them into place. Well, that would be easy enough to fix, he thought. A can of oil and about thirty seconds. He’d take care of that, too.

The ladder was sturdy despite its age. He climbed up and then crawled out onto some plywood that had been laid over the rafters to protect the ceiling underneath. He crawled along until he ran out of plywood, seeing that nothing was wet, then reached the area were he had tarped the roof. Everything was damp, but he expected that. He didn’t see any fresh puddling, and a scan of the tarps overhead didn’t expose any water drips. He waited a few minutes, listening to the steady rain drum. It seemed to be okay, but he’d have to check again later. He’d be surprised if there wasn’t at least one leaky patch in tarps this old.

But as usual, now that he was looking around, he saw other things that needed doing. There were places where the roof decking looked as if it was starting to pull loose as wood dried and stopped holding the nails. Screws and some glue would be better.

Then he caught himself. Not his house, not his problem. So why the heck was he making a mental checklist?

Maybe because he knew somewhere deep inside he was going to try to help this lady out. He had the time. He had the know-how. He even had the money.

And the thought of leaving her in a tumbling down house in her state sorely troubled him.

When he rejoined her in the kitchen, the aromas were enough to make his stomach growl. Marti had a saucepan simmering on the stove now also, and she stood at the counter cutting fresh broccoli.

She turned, wiping her hands on a bib apron. “Coffee?”

“I’d love some. Just tell me where the cups are.”

She pointed to a cabinet and let him serve himself as she resumed slicing the broccoli. “I hope you like wild rice and broccoli.”

“I love both.”

She flashed him a smile then went back to work as he sat at the table with his coffee. “How was it up there?”

“Dry so far. Well, dry considering the rain that got in before I could put up the tarps. I’ll check again later for leaks.” He paused as another thought occurred to him. “I don’t know how things work out here. Do you get city water? Or are you on a well?”

“On a well. There’s a backup generator for the pump, but that’s about all it runs. As long as it holds we won’t be without water. Why?”

“Just curious. It struck me you might be on a well out here, but we still had running water.”

“My in-laws did something right,” she remarked, leaving him to wonder how much they had done wrong. “I’m glad it kicked on, though. I don’t know much about it at all. We only needed it once before, and Jeff took care of it.”

Jeff, he supposed, was her late husband. “I’ll check it out tonight, too. Make sure it’s not running out of gas.”

“Thank you. I honestly don’t know. We have some five-gallon gasoline cans in the pump house, but I don’t even know where to fill the generator. I’m just glad it kicked on the way it’s supposed to.”

A babe in the woods, he thought. Out here in the middle of nowhere, all by herself, and knowing next to nothing about this place. Maybe he could remedy a little of that before he left.

“How long have you been here?” he asked.

“Just six months. It was winter when we got here. I’d just found out I was pregnant.”

“I’m sorry about your husband.”

“This is going to sound terrible,” she said, turning her back as she gave her attention to her cooking, “but I’m not.”

That left him utterly flat-footed. He hadn’t the least idea how to respond to that. He watched her stir a pot, seeking some appropriate response.

With her butcher knife, she swept the broccoli from the cutting board into another saucepan, added a little water, then started washing her tools. The silence would have seemed deafening except for the endless spattering of rain against the darkening windows.

Finally she joined him at the big old farm table with coffee of her own.

“I told you it would sound awful,” she remarked, holding her mug in both hands. “I’m sorry he died, but I’m not sorry he’s gone, if you get the difference.”

“I get it.” He did, but as his thoughts trailed back to Brandy, he realized that, although he didn’t miss the constant daily struggle with her depression, he still missed her. There was a difference, but he suspected the difference Marti was talking about wasn’t the same as his.

“I don’t miss him,” she said. “I thought I would, but I don’t.”

“What happened?”

“When?” Her short laugh held an edge. “He was an alcoholic. When he drank, especially when he drank, he was verbally abusive. Then he lost his job because of it and couldn’t get a good enough recommendation to find another. That’s when he decided we’d move out here. He’d inherited the house from his parents a couple of years ago, and he was sure we’d be fine. The land was leased every year and he figured we could live on those leases if we were careful. It also prevented him from having to find another job.”

“Which was difficult.”

“The times are hard. Being an alcoholic makes them harder.”

“I imagine it would.”

“So we came out here right about the time I realized I was pregnant. I hoped things would get better. I should have known they wouldn’t. Not having to sober up to get to work in the morning didn’t help. I thought maybe taking the pressure off him might make a difference, but it didn’t. If anything, he got worse. Then three months ago he was driving drunk on an icy road.” She shook her head. “I may be lonely, but somehow I don’t feel as lonely as I did when he was still around.”

Before he could react, she seemed to catch herself, giving a quick shake of her head. “Sorry, you didn’t need to know all that. I guess it’s too easy to talk to a stranger.”

“That’s okay.” He suspected she hadn’t talked to anyone about any of this in a long time, if ever. Sometimes you just needed to say things out loud, which was the whole reason he was headed west to see his brother-in-law. To tell Ben the whole story. To get it off his chest with someone else who was grieving. He gathered she didn’t have anyone close at all, so why not talk to a stranger? “You’ve had a rough time of it.”

“Others have it worse. I’ve still got a roof, thanks to you. The rest I can deal with.”

“Well, you don’t actually have a roof,” he reminded her. Then he asked, hesitantly, “Are you in any financial shape to have it repaired?”

“No,” she admitted. “I’ll figure out something some how. Right now, after looking at the hay fields, I’m wondering if the people we leased the land to will be able to pay up at the end of the season.”

Implied in what she said was that she might be completely broke in a few months.

“I can’t do anything about the fields,” he said slowly, as feelings warred within him. Part of him was demanding he at least put this woman on a safe footing before he left, and another part of him was demanding he get back on the road before he got tangled up in problems with a size he didn’t know. That could be a recipe for a mess for both of them.

But then he made the offer anyway. “I can fix your roof.”

“No! Oh no,” she said, looking horrified. “I couldn’t pay you. I can’t buy the materials. But thank you.”

He shook his head, wondering if he were losing his mind. Then he remembered how good he’d felt only a few hours ago on her roof, working with his hands again.

“Money isn’t an issue for me,” he said flatly. “I sold my construction business two months ago. I like working with my hands. In fact, right now I think I need to work with my hands. All I need is a few hot meals and a place to sleep, and I can take care of the roof and maybe a few other things.”

“I couldn’t ask that.” She looked genuinely distressed.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering. I’m telling you, Marti, it’s been a long time since I felt as good as I did pounding those nails today to put those tarps up. So humor me. Call it my therapy.”

“What do you need therapy for?”

“My wife killed herself eight months ago.” That was the first time he’d said it that bluntly, and he watched as Marti clapped a hand to her mouth, her blue eyes widening.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered behind her hand.

“Me, too. She suffered from chronic depression. All the docs, all the meds, all the psychiatrists …” He paused. “She finally seemed to be getting better. I came home from work and there she was.”

“I can’t imagine,” she said, her voice thin. She dropped her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“So am I. I’ll probably spend the rest of my life wondering how the hell I failed her. But that’s neither here nor there. I have to live with it. But fixing your roof would make me feel better about something. Is that too much to ask?”

She stared down at her coffee mug for a long time. He felt the endless minutes tick by.

Finally she looked up at him, her blue eyes damp. “Who’s asking whom?” she asked.

“Does it matter? We both have needs, and they seem to mesh. Your roof in exchange for a few days of labor that’ll make me feel better. Fair trade?”

At last she nodded. “Fair enough.”

Then he forced a smile. “Look out, lady. Construction is my business and my life. I’m going to take over.”

At that a fragile smile appeared on her lips. “Have at it,” she said. “But only as much as makes you feel good.”

Dinner felt like a feast after the way she’d been cooking for herself, although it was nothing really special: roast chicken, seasoned wild rice and buttered broccoli.

She insisted on doing the dishes by herself, even though leaning over the sink now made her back ache a little. Keeping active was getting harder and harder for her as her pregnancy progressed and she had so little she needed to do, living by herself. Yet she knew staying active was essential. She put two kettles on the stove to heat some water for washing and rinsing the dishes, then set to work.

Ryder took the flashlight and headed up to the attic again.

Night had closed in on them. Rain still rattled at the window over the sink, and sometimes she heard the house creak a bit as the wind gusted.

Ryder was going to stay to fix her roof. Amazed that a stranger would make such an offer, her thoughts kept coming back to him. He was a good-looking man, with dark hair and gray eyes and a body that boasted of hard work.

But that was not what impressed her the most. Picking him up to bring him to shelter from the tornado was a small thing, something she would have done for anyone. It cost her nothing but a few seconds of time.

But what he was offering astonished her. To pay for materials and do all that labor in exchange for a bed and some meals? That told her more about him than anything he could have said.

He saw someone in need and stepped up. Not everyone would do that. On the one hand she felt almost guilty for letting him, but on the other she had to admit she needed it, and she hadn’t even asked for it.

Wouldn’t have dreamed of asking for it.

She almost wanted to cry as she stood there doing dishes. His generosity made her acutely aware of how little generosity she had known since her marriage to Jeff. How little he had taken care of her or cared about her. It was as if Jeff’s failures had left an aching hole in her heart, one so big that the kindness of a stranger was almost painful.

She blinked back an unwanted tear, sighed, and kept on washing and scrubbing. Life was what it was. She certainly ought to know that by now. She had plenty of experience of it not being what she wanted, after all.

Except for the baby. Linda Marie was an unexpected blessing, one she looked forward to with the only joy she had felt in a long, long time. Jeff hadn’t been happy about it, but at least he hadn’t given her hell about being pregnant. Of course, that could have changed with time. She’d only just begun to start showing, really showing, about the time he died. For all she knew, he’d been in denial about the baby.

Wouldn’t that have been just like him? He’d been in denial about everything. Every single thing from his drinking to the reasons he could no longer find work.