“You hungry? We should have some lunch.” He put her bag on an old wooden rocker and turned to face her. His jaw seemed taut with tension, and she realized that he was finding this as odd and uncomfortable as she was. Now, here, in his house, it became ever more clear that they were practically strangers.
“I could use a sandwich or something.”
He took meat and cheese out of the fridge, condiments, and grabbed a loaf of bread from a wooden breadbox on the countertop. “I don’t know what you like,” he offered apologetically. “So we can fix our own, I guess.” Silence fell, and to break it Connor began stacking meat and slices of cheese on his bread. He reached for a bottle of mustard, looked up, and saw an odd expression on Alex’s face.
“Are you OK?” His hand halted, poised above his sandwich.
“It’s the mustard. I’ll be fine.” She swallowed visibly.
He stared at her, his mouth gaping open with some sort of fresh horror, and a drop of bright yellow landed on his corned beef. He looked down, his expression horrified at the offending blot, wondering if it was enough to make her ill. God, he hoped not!
Connor heard her snort and looked up, confused. Her hand was over her mouth and she was trying futilely not to laugh. Before he knew it, he was laughing too.
“Oh, the look on your face,” she gasped. “Pregnancy does make cowards out of men!”
Putting the mustard bottle down on the cupboard, he chuckled while she caught her breath. “Do you feel as awkward as I do?” he asked.
“Incredibly.”
The laugh had done much to dissolve the polite tension that had risen between them. “I don’t want you to feel out of place here. I want you to feel at home.”
“I want that too.”
“You’ll find I’m easy to please, Alex.” He smiled easily as he said it, but her cheeks colored. When he realized she’d taken what he’d said a little too literally, his smile faltered as they stared into each other’s eyes. He became aware of the way her breasts rose and fell beneath her T-shirt. She was still breathless from laughing.
“I don’t need much,” she murmured. “A place to sleep and some good food. I want to try to help out in any way I can. I’m not used to being idle.”
“Farm work isn’t for you.”
Her mouth thinned. “I’m not going to break, Connor. Women have been having babies for thousands of years.”
“I realize that.” His eyes didn’t relent. “But you’re not doing heavy farm work. There’s a garden behind the house if you like the outdoors. I don’t want you to be bored, Alex, but I don’t expect you to be some indentured servant either. Honestly, if I didn’t have to cook at the end of the day it would be a gift from heaven.”
Choices. Time that was her own, to do as she wished—making dinner or tending the tiny plants of the garden in the fresh air and sunshine. The freedom to clean, do laundry, on her own time.
Perhaps that sounded mundane and tedious, but to Alex it seemed wonderful. Growing up, she’d always envied her school chums whose moms had baked cookies for class parties, or who had invited her over for home-cooked meals. Not to be unfair, her parents had been great, but their lifestyle hadn’t exactly been traditional. It would be almost perfect. If only…
If only it weren’t such a sham.
Still, if he were willing to go through with it, the least she could do was carry her own weight.
“I’ll be honest, I haven’t had much experience in the whole domestic arena…” she waved a hand “…but I’m a fast learner.” She went to the counter and began making her own sandwich of turkey and cheese. She took one look at the tomatoes and passed on to the nice, friendly lettuce, eschewed mayo and went for the pepper.
“All right, then. I’m going to take this with me.” He gestured with the thick sandwich in his hand. “I wish I could stay and help you get settled. But I’ve got a couple of calves that need tending, and if the hands didn’t have any luck this morning I’m going to have to call the vet. Will you be OK?”
He looked so apologetic that she couldn’t be mad. After all, the whole reason she was here was because this place meant everything to him. She couldn’t expect him to forget that and play host for the afternoon.
“I’ll be fine. I can explore on my own. Go.” She smiled and shooed him with a hand. “If you stayed in you’d just worry about it, wouldn’t you?”
He looked relieved that she’d let him off the hook. “Yes, I would. I’m glad you understand. I want you to know…” His feet shifted a little as he admitted, “I’m happy you decided to try this out. I’m going to make sure you don’t regret it, Alex.”
She got the sinking feeling that she was going to regret it, deeply. Because when he was kind, when he was considerate, she knew she couldn’t stay immune.
She followed him back to the door, watched as he shoved his feet in his boots, pulling up the heel with one hand.
“Your room is at the top of the stairs. Turn right and it’s the first door. There’s a white spread on the bed.”
“I’m a big girl. I’ll manage.”
“I’ll be back in around six.”
At this point she started to laugh. “Connor. Seriously. Go do what you have to do.”
He offered her a grateful parting smile, but then he was gone and the house was empty and quiet without him.
Alex went back to the kitchen and finished her sandwich, washing it down with a glass of milk. The morning sickness was starting to pass now and, still hungry, she snooped through the pantry and found a bag of oatmeal cookies. She grabbed two, then put her backpack over her shoulder and went to explore.
At the top of the stairs she turned right, but she was immediately faced with two doors. Did he mean the first one at the end or the first one right in front of her? She chose the latter and, turning the knob, stepped into what had to be Connor’s room.
The spread wasn’t white, it was brown with geometric shapes dashed across it in tan and sienna. He’d made it that morning, but there was a spot on the edge, just about in the middle, that looked like perhaps he’d sat there while getting dressed. The air held a slight odor of leather and men’s toiletries, mingled with the fresh scent of fabric softener. She put down her bag and went over to the chest of drawers. On the top was a bowl, containing some errant screws and pins and what looked like a screwdriver bit, probably removed from his pants before they went in the laundry. Beside the dish was a framed picture. In it she saw Connor, much younger, perhaps twenty or so, standing beside a boy with the same dark hair and mischievous eyes. They each had a hand on a shorter woman standing in front of them. The woman was slight, with black hair, and she was laughing. In her hands she held a gold trophy. Off to the right stood their father, tall and strong, his hand on the halter of a large black cow.
So he did have a family. A brother and two parents. And from the smiles they appeared happy. But where were they now?
She’d trespassed long enough. If Connor had wanted her to know about his family he would have told her. And he might tell her yet—once they knew each other better. But she wouldn’t pry. It was his business, his secret to reveal or to keep. She respected that—after all she had skeletons of her own. She backed away from the dresser and picked up her bag on the way out the door.
The next room was undoubtedly the one he’d meant. It was large, with a double dresser and mirror and a sturdy pine bed. The coverlet was white and lacy, lady’s bedding, and Alex wondered if it was a spare room or if it had belonged to his parents. She put her bag