A Love Like Ours Page 13

  She set three Reese’s on the bar in front of one of the rustic wooden stools, near where he stood. She remained on the kitchen side of the space.

  He didn’t immediately take the bait and sit.

  Honestly, he was more skittish than the squirrels she and her mom had tried to entice onto their porch with chopped nuts when she’d been little.

  C’mon, squirrel. C’mon. Sit yourself down.

  He lowered onto the stool and rested one boot on a rung. He left his other leg outstretched, ostensibly in case he decided to bolt.

  She unwrapped a peanut butter cup.

  “You’re not going to wait for the coffee?” he asked.

  “Goodness, no. Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Rule follower.” She took a bite. The taste, creamy peanuts and milky chocolate, took her back in time.

  “What did Dr. Dean say?”

  She held the half-eaten cup to the side. “He didn’t see any signs of concussion. Certainly no evidence of anything more serious. I’m simply supposed to call him if I start having symptoms.”

  He frowned.

  She didn’t want to paint too rosy a picture and make him suspicious. “The only thing I’m dealing with now is a little soreness.” She finished her Reese’s. Circles of chocolate remained on her thumb and pointer finger. She didn’t want to stick her fingers in her mouth in front of him, so she wiped them off on a dish towel.

  “You’re completely fine?” he prodded.

  How was she going to resist falling for this man? “Yes.”

  “Lyndie?”

  “I’m completely fine.”

  His posture relaxed slightly. The sight of his apparent relief made her glad she’d downplayed it. The little soreness she’d copped to was an understatement. Immediately following the accident, adrenaline had mostly covered her pain. As the day had worn on, the hip, ribs, and shoulder she’d fallen on had begun to ache. Bluish bruises had risen beneath her skin down that half of her body, and she’d been taking ibuprofen every four hours.

  Jake didn’t need to know that, though. If he even suspected, he wouldn’t let her ride. “I’ll be at work in the morning.”

  He regarded her doubtfully.

  “All five of my horses have races coming up.”

  “The other riders can cover for you.”

  “I want to work. I’ll be there in the morning.”

  The coffeemaker stopped gurgling, and she filled two cream-colored mugs. He took his black. She didn’t.

  “I’m sorry you saw me take that spill today.” She savored her first sip of coffee. “It must have been pretty bad to watch.”

  “Yes.” His blunt, strong fingers toyed with his mug’s handle.

  “Do you think I could have done anything to avoid the collision?”

  “No.”

  “You responded really quickly, and you seemed to know what you were doing. I remember you looking at your watch. Were you monitoring my pulse?”

  “Respirations.”

  Huh. My word, he was gorgeous. Jake, the third son and the one who’d once been, and in her opinion still was, the most handsome Porter brother. The implacable lips. The blatant scar. The seriousness chiseled into his features by hard experience. Formidable. Yet after the events of the morning, she saw something ever-so-slightly vulnerable in him, too.

  She fervently wished she had on the shirtdress and the lip gloss she’d worn square dancing. Instead, Jake had shown up on her doorstep when she was wearing a hoodie. A snug hoodie, but still. Where was Amber’s lip gloss when she could actually use it?

  Jake hadn’t sipped his coffee or touched his Reese’s, so she leaned across and opened one of his squares, presenting the peanut butter cup to him on her palm. “Eat.”

  He peeled off the paper cup, tipped his head back, and popped the whole thing in. His mouth curled sheepishly as he chewed.

  Lyndie went to work on her second Reese’s, enjoying watching him eat his more than she enjoyed her own. He was huge and muscled, but a shade too hard and lean. If she had her way, she’d make sure that he ate more in general, and more dessert in particular.

  He tried his coffee. “I still can’t figure out how that horse didn’t trample you.”

  She angled her head. “Can’t you?”

  “No.”

  “I meant what I said to the EMT. I don’t believe it was luck or coincidence that caused that horse to miss me. What are the chances that his hooves would fall so close and not leave a scratch on me?”

  “Slim.”

  “Exactly.” Downstairs, she could hear the quiet sound of Jayden’s muffled voice singing. The rich smell of coffee tinted the air. “God’s the one who’s behind the miracles.” She leaned the ball of one foot into the ankle of the other.

  Jake’s face didn’t change.

  “Do you still have the faith you had when you were younger?” She already knew the answer. She asked the question because it gave her an opportunity to raise a difficult subject.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  Long seconds dragged by. “I can’t . . . Just . . . No.”

  “God’s still in the business of doing miracles, small and big. For me. For you.”

  His forehead knit.

  “The miracle of Silver Leaf running the other day? That one was for you.”

  “Silver Leaf ran for you, Lyndie.”

  “Not for me. I think that God empowered him with the ability to run . . . for your sake.”

  “Why would God do that?”

  “Because it’s one of the only avenues of communication He has left with you. You’ve shut Him out, but I think He wanted to show you that He hasn’t shut you out.”

  With athletic grace, Jake pushed off the stool. He went to one of her living room windows and peered out at the dark backyard.

  She’d troubled him. Having a conversation with Jake was like walking through a field pitted with land mines. Much of what she wanted to say to him was guaranteed to trouble him. If they were going to have a relationship that was anything more than extremely superficial—and she very much hoped they were—then she was going to have to step on a few land mines.

  Did she dare step on another land mine tonight and ask him for the chance to jockey Silver Leaf? She wanted to. The words waited, hovering. She kept them back because they were too important to risk speaking at the wrong time. She’d just taken a fall off one of his horses. Now was not the best time to convince him of her jockeying prowess or press him further on the issue of God. Right now, he needed her to lighten the tone.

  “Here.” She crossed to him, handed him his coffee mug, and considered the view beyond her window. “We all love the big backyard. Especially Jayden. You already know that Jayden and Amber live downstairs?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I moved in two months ago. I’ll give you a tour. It should take all of thirty seconds.” Carrying her own mug, she pointed to a few of the pieces in the living room and told him where she’d acquired them. She stopped to brag on the merits of her pride and joy, the antique farm table in her dining area. Then she took him down the hall. She merely waved in the direction of her bedroom and bathroom. A single girl never wanted a man to look too closely at those areas unless she’d had time to stage them properly.

  “This is my studio.” Her desk ran along one wall before bending and traveling beneath the wall that held the room’s large window. She’d hung all kinds of art above her desk, creating a charming hodge-podge of inspiration and color. Some of the pieces she’d framed with scrolly antique frames. Some, she’d covered with minimalist glass. Two of the pieces were ringed with birch wreaths.

  Jake examined everything, including the collection of picture books she herself had written and illustrated. They stood in a row beneath the window. “These are yours?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He set down his mug with extra care, as if worried that he might spill coffee on her work. Then he picked up the boy’s book that f
eatured a knight with his helmet askew on the front cover. “Did you go to art school?”

  “I got a degree in fine art from the Art Center College of Design. It was close to where we lived in California.” She lifted a shoulder. “I didn’t want to leave Mollie.”

  He opened to the middle, studied one illustration, then flipped to the next page. “How do you do this?”

  “Once I have an idea for a story, I write it out in longhand in a notebook.” She showed him her current spiralbound notebook, a big one, beautifully bound with fanciful flowers. “Then I do the ink drawings at my desk. When I get a drawing how I want it, I move the paper to this easel and watercolor it in.”

  “Where do you sell the books?”

  “From my website. My company’s called Starring Me Productions because all the books can be customized with a child’s name. Parents can also choose formats that suit kids who have special needs.”

  “What kind of formats?”

  “For example, the dyslexie font seems to make reading easier for kids with dyslexia. Parents can specify that they want that font when they order the book.”

  Carefully, he flipped another page. “Do you manage the website yourself?”

  “I took a few courses, so I’m not a stranger to website management and design, but the answer’s no. The complexity of my site is above my pay grade.” She smiled. “I hired a tech guy to host and update the site for me.”

  “And once a parent orders a book online? What happens then?”

  “The order goes straight to a printer I contract with, and he prints and ships.”

  “Can I read this one?” he asked.

  He wanted to read one of her books? The idea hit her in a sentimental spot and simultaneously made her nervous. What if he thought it was junk? She hadn’t exactly written them for the target audience of thirty-two-year-old war vets. “Sure.”

  “While I’m at it . . .” He picked up two more of her books and took a seat in the room’s chair, a well-loved pale blue velour number. Privately, she thought of the chair as her Throne of Dreams because she often sat in it to read. That was TMI, though. No doubt he thought her oddly whimsical already.

  She clicked on the floor lamp beside the chair. Buttery light fell across him and the overstuffed bookcase behind where he sat.

  “Were you working when I knocked?” He motioned with his chin toward the piece on her easel.

  “I was, but I can work anytime.”

  “Don’t let me keep you.”

  She gave him a questioning look.

  “Go back to work.”

  “Okay.” Because, yes! She was accustomed to having a man that made her heart wring sitting on the Throne of Dreams behind her while she painted.

  She lifted her paintbrush and started back to work on autopilot. Her hand did what it wanted while her brain focused solely on praying. Lord, he’s here. He’s here and it has to be a good sign. Move in his life, God. Rescue him from his darkness and reveal to him the unimaginable depth of your love for him, of your mighty grace. I believe, God, in your power to redeem. And not just your power to redeem, but your power to redeem Jake.

  ———

  He set the books on the tiny round side table and studied Lyndie. Delicately, she swirled color over the paper on the easel, making one of the fairy’s dresses purple.

  She had an imagination he couldn’t fathom. She named her animals ridiculous names. She had soft and girly nonsense music playing.

  And against his wishes, she fascinated him.

  Lyndie was talented and unique. He’d never met anyone like her. He didn’t think there was anyone like her.

  No matter how often he tried to will himself or talk himself out of it, he couldn’t stop wanting to shield her from hurt, from reality. He’d learned the hard way, though, that he didn’t have that power. Her fall today proved it. Foolish emotion expanded around his heart.

  She reached for a pen and added more definition to the hill rising in the distance behind the fairy. How did she do that? Make paper come to life with ink? Finished with the pen, she capped it and stuck it into the bun on top her head.

  He couldn’t stop staring at her. It felt like a gift, to be able to sit behind her like this, and simply watch her.

  Without warning, one of her dogs jumped onto his lap. He jerked reflexively.

  Lyndie swiveled. “I’m sorry. I can get him down.”

  “No.” He wished he had better control over his reactions to sudden noises and motion. The dog’s bulgy, liquid dark eyes were looking at him like he’d hung the moon. “He’s fine.”

  Lyndie turned back to her easel. Her dog grunted and settled across Jake’s lap, resting his chin on the chair’s arm.

  Awkwardly, trying not to disturb the animal, Jake balanced one of the picture books on top of Lyndie’s dog. He read every page, taking his time. Then he read the next. And the next.

  They were incredibly good. Both the stories and the very detailed feminine drawings.

  When her dog started to snore, Jake set the final book aside and combed his fingers into the dog’s fur. Heat traveled up into his hand. He gazed at Lyndie as she painted, beyond grateful that today’s fall hadn’t injured her. She’s safe, he reassured himself.

  The stillness, the music, and her nearness caused him to feel the weight of his exhaustion. He rested the back of his head on the chair and let his eyes sink closed. A minute or so later, he felt more than heard Lyndie glance at him. He didn’t need to open his eyes to confirm it. If they’d been in a pitch-black room together and she’d looked at him, he’d have been able to feel it.

  He cracked one eye open and found her staring at him.

  “I thought you were asleep,” she said.

  “I am asleep.”

  She laughed, a soft and tempting sound.

  And suddenly, he had to go. He wanted desperately to stay, just a little while longer. But he couldn’t be here, in this place, with her. It was calm here. She was innocent and beautiful and perfect.

  He was not. He didn’t want his mess or his mental illness or his past anywhere near her. He wanted to protect her from a lot of things, but most of all from himself.

  He helped the dog off of him and went to the front part of the apartment. Lyndie followed.

  He found his jacket and pushed his arms into it.

  “You’re welcome to stay longer. You can rest with your eyes closed in my chair anytime.”

  “I have to go.” He paused, studying the flecks of caramel in her intelligent brown eyes. “Your books are great.”

  She didn’t answer for a moment, then her cheeks turned pink with pleasure. “Thank you.”

  A piece of curling blond hair had come loose. She swept it behind her ear. His attention traced down to her chin. Then up to her lips. His hunger for her intensified, demanding. More than sanity or sense, he wanted to kiss her.

  His body—his body had become hard to control when he was near her. Which made him furious. “You really are fine?” he asked. He’d been sick with worry and regret all day long. “After the spill?”

  “Yes,” she assured him.

  “What can I do? I mean it.” The three words came out sharp-edged. “I want to do something for you.”

  “Because you feel responsible for the fall? It wasn’t your fault. If anyone’s, it was mine.”

  “What can I do?”

  She looked as if she was going to wave it off and tell him she didn’t need anything. But then she pulled herself up and seemed to think better of it. “Actually . . . Now that you mention it, I can think of two things that you can do for me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  This is where I was imagining the deck,” Amber said to Will the following afternoon. She indicated the little flagstone patio at the back of the Candy Shoppe.

  “Okay.” He took in the site.

  This was very bad of her! Very bad, because, of course, Amber had no intention of hiring him to build her a deck. Not unless she won the lottery, that
is. She shouldn’t have stooped to calling him and asking for an estimate. But she’d seen him now three different mornings at Cream or Sugar. Each time, Celia had secretly texted Amber to alert her to Will’s appearance at the bakery. And each time, she and Will had enjoyed great conversations spiced with plenty of chemistry. The more she learned about him, the more she liked him.

  Amber hadn’t wanted to wait for Will’s next donut craving before seeing him again. So she’d called him and asked for an estimate.

  “What kind of deck were you thinking of?”

  “Maybe an L-shaped deck?” God have mercy, she’d given this some thought. She walked out a few paces, indicating how she wanted her not-going-to-happen deck aligned. “That way, I could put a table and chairs in this area and a grill over on the short side?”

  Will pulled out a tape measure and extended it from the back wall of the Candy Shoppe. His jeans fit him perfectly, and his T-shirt advertised a fireman’s chili cook-off for charity. The fact that she could still see fold marks in the cotton of his T-shirt gave her a fluttery sentimental feeling toward him—she supposed because those fold marks had come from his own efforts at laundry, not his wife’s.

  “Is this about right?” He stopped several yards from the house, holding the tape against the ground.

  “Yep.” You’re about right. She slid her hands into the pockets of her cutest pair of capris.

  He set a rock in the spot and continued measuring off the perimeter of the deck, asking her along the way for her input and opinion.

  It gave her a giddy feeling, to have Will here. Genuinely good guys with killer bedroom eyes were hard to find.

  He finally zipped his tape measure inward and stepped beside her. “How about I work up an estimate and email it to you in the next day or two?”

  “That’d be great. I’d love to have a deck out here, I’m just not sure when I’ll be able to swing it financially.”

  “I understand.” He gave her a crooked half smile that made her nerves sizzle.

  “Thanks for coming today. You’ve proved that you do exist outside of Cream or Sugar. Until now, I wasn’t sure.”