It seemed to take forever, but at last he found a stack of them, musty and heavy. They weren’t the lighter-weight new ones, but as he checked them, he thought they would do. Canvas, and full of clay to judge by the weight. If they leaked anywhere, that’s what they made buckets for.
With some rope, he bound them together in stacks he felt he could carry on his back up a ladder. An old tool belt came in handy for carrying hammer and nails.
When he stepped back outside, the day had darkened again. The smell of the earth, freshly churned by the passing tornado, filled his nostrils. But at least it had stopped raining for the moment.
He set up the ladder against a part of the roof that hadn’t been damaged, settling it carefully in the wet ground, then began lugging up the stuff he would need. A streak of lightning rent the sky to the west, followed by a low rumble of thunder.
He needed his head examined. At any work site he had supervised, he’d have stopped all exterior work while something like this was going on. But in this case, he felt he had no choice. Who knew how much rain would fall and how much damage Marti’s house would suffer? It was easy to deal with broken wood compared to water damage.
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