Retching? What was up?
He squinted and listened. It had gone quiet again, but the puking sound had come from Marta’s room. Had she gotten food poisoning from what little she’d eaten last night? Damn, that would be horrible. He felt fine, so why would she get sick?
After he finished his quick pit stop and washed his hands he heard more retching and fought off a wave of terrible memories. Oh, God, Ellen, what you went through. He strode to the end of the hall, not wanting to be nosy but unable to let this lie. It was quiet again.
Marta was curvy—not ultrathin like anorexics or bulimics tended to be. What a crazy thought to even entertain, that she might have an eating disorder. That couldn’t be it. But she’d picked at her meal and looked queasy during dinner, even said her stomach had been giving her fits.
She’d also refused alcohol.
A lot of people didn’t drink. But a warning thought planted inside his brain and made him back off as he heard one more round of intense dry heaves. He wanted to help her out, but it could prove embarrassing for her, and that wasn’t his intent. She needed—deserved—privacy. If she was sick, he’d gladly take care of her, but not without an invitation. She was a grown woman and he assumed she wouldn’t hesitate to ask for help. Unless she was one of those superproud ladies who couldn’t ask for anything.
He ran his hand through his hair, torn. Let it be, Andersen. He listened to his intuition stemmed from the fact she’d refused any wine last night. A troubling thought of what a woman throwing up first thing in the morning usually meant made him step away from the door, then he headed back to his bathroom for a shower.
* * *
Later, Leif had eaten and was feeding the dogs, having decided to take them with him over to the job for the day. He’d promised to finish the add-on to Gunnar Norling’s house in six weeks, and Gunnar had offered to help as much as possible. That meant today, before the sergeant’s shift at Heartlandia PD, they’d install the triple-paned windows that had arrived yesterday. Even though he’d been driving his crew hard on this project, no way would Leif ask them to work on Sunday. The guys needed at least one day off. He and Gunnar could handle it.
After both dogs took a quick whiz, he whistled for them to jump into the bed of the truck. He’d removed the cover and had thrown in his window installation tools. Just as he finished closing the tailgate, he noticed Marta standing in the kitchen doorway in a robe that looked like a Native American blanket. With her hair parted down the middle and not brushed, it tumbled over her shoulders in a wild mess. The vision moved him in ways he hadn’t felt in years. It also bothered him to react so viscerally to a near stranger. She might be pregnant, for crying out loud.
“Where are you going?” Curiosity knit her brows.
“I’ve got a job today. I left you a note in the kitchen. Sorry, but I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Oh, okay.” She folded her arms. “That’s all right, then. I’ll wait to talk to you later.”
“Is there anything you need?” He thought back to the noises emanating from her suite earlier.
“Besides a good night’s sleep and peace of mind?” She offered a wan smile. Her pained look made him want to wrap his arms around her and tell her everything would be okay, and what was up with that impulse? But other than having a pretty solid hunch, Leif didn’t know what her problem was. He really didn’t have a clue if things were okay in her world or not. Obviously, something had robbed her peace of mind.
“Do you want me to stick around? Take you anywhere?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ll be fine. I’ll work on the grid.” She glanced down at her slippers, then quickly back up. “I would like to talk to you about something when you get home, though.”
“If it’s urgent, I’m all ears.”
“Not really urgent. I’ll talk to you later.” She started to back away from the door.
“Okay, then.” Leif opened the cab door and started to get inside.
“Oh, hey, what time will you be home?”
“Gunnar’s got to be at work at three, so I’ll see you before then.” It felt eerie having a woman ask when he’d be coming home after all these years. “Do you want me to bring some lunch or anything?” Saltine crackers?
“You’ve got plenty of food here. Thanks. We’ll talk later.” With that, the beautiful, straight-out-of-bed vision disappeared from the door.
As he backed out the truck, Leif was certain Marta was going to tell him she was pregnant, and he chided himself for having already developed a little crush on her.
On a pregnant lady. How desperate is that?
* * *
Seven hours later, Leif returned home and put the dogs in the gated backyard and pool area. He went in the back door, took his dirty shoes off in the laundry room, then headed to the kitchen. The house was quiet enough to hear a drip of water in the sink. As he turned the faucet completely off, he noticed a bowl in the sink. She must have eaten cereal, so at least that was something.
He headed up the stairs in his stocking feet. Not wanting to come off as a sneaky surprise, he cleared his throat and made a fake cough, preparing to hear her news—I’m pregnant.
“Marta?” he said, taking a turn for the studio.
“I’m in here.”
He entered the bright white room, thinking maybe he’d overdone it with three skylight panels, but Ellen had always loved it, saying it was the perfect natural lighting for intricate stitchery. Maybe Marta would like that, too.
She was hunched over a table, a long piece of white paper spread along the entire length. A second piece of paper was laid out on the other worktable.
“Come here and have a look,” she said. “Tell me what you think so far.” She glanced up, her hair pulled back into a low single braid, though a few wavy tendrils had broken free around her face. He fought the urge to tuck one behind her ear. She wore a teal-colored plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and holey old jeans. He couldn’t help but notice she still wore her slippers.
“You could have turned the heater on, you know,” he said, worried she’d been cold all day.
“I’ve been fine. The skylights bring in a lot of warmth.”
Good to know. He stepped closer, her dark eyes and olive skin quickly reminding him he was still a man. She used a graphite pencil and a yardstick to draw the final sections of grid over her mural sample.
“This is the tedious part,” she said, then stood. “Come and look at this. Let me know what you think.”
Long sections of Heartlandia history were sketched and laid out before him, beautifully depicted with her natural and flowing artistic style.
“Notice something?”
How beautiful you are?
Actually, something besides the fact she smelled like cinnamon and ginger did draw his attention. He pointed to a blank area at the beginning of the mural. “That?”
“I’ve been concerned about this project from the start. All the information the college provided me was exceptionally helpful, but when I began my sketches, I kept feeling blocked right here.” She pointed to the beginning.
“I wound up having to work backward because this strange sense of darkness stopped me from advancing. I got the Chinook and fisherman part just fine, but something—pardon me for sounding overly dramatic, but forbidding is the only word I can use to describe it—tugged at me to start even before then. Yet no one sent any information about before that point.”