A Conard County Courtship Page 4

“Maybe it’s time to get Harry Potter,” he said.

  Matthew immediately forgot his joke book. “Really?”

  “Really,” Tim said. He’d vastly prefer listening to summaries of the day’s reading of Harry Potter than a slew of bad jokes.

  “I’ve read Harry Potter,” Vanessa volunteered. “You’re going to love it.”

  Matthew beamed. “I think so. Ms. Macy thought I was too young.” He frowned suddenly. “I don’t think it’s in the school library.”

  “Maybe not,” Tim said. “It’ll be in the public library, and if not, we’ll go to the bookstore and get it.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be in the public library?” Vanessa asked.

  “Some people can’t tell the difference between fiction and reality,” he said. “Surely you remember the uproar back when about kids reading about witches and warlocks?”

  “I didn’t pay much attention. I was too busy reading.”

  He laughed. “Surely the best way to handle it.”

  They endured a few more bad jokes. Tim didn’t mind Matthew reading them. He was, after all, reading. What he dreaded was the possibility that the boy might still find them funny and worth repeating a long time after he’d returned the book.

  “Time to get the rest of dinner going,” he announced. “Matthew, can you set the table?”

  “The good table?”

  “Of course. We have company.”

  Once again, Matthew dashed off to carry out his assigned task.

  “You shouldn’t go to any trouble for me,” Vanessa protested quietly.

  He shook his head a little. “This is a learning experience for Matthew. Plus, he likes being able to help. So, wanna come supervise me while I make boxed stuffing and frozen veggies? I might mess up otherwise.”

  The way he said it made her laugh, and she gladly followed him back into the kitchen. The rattle of ice against the windows was audible in there, and Tim felt a snaking draft.

  “That cold air is the heat coming on again. It’ll get warm soon. Boy, it sounds miserable out there.”

  “It certainly does,” she agreed. “And thank you for your invitation to stay here. I’d have been miserable in the Higgins house.”

  “The Welling house now,” he reminded her. “And you’re more than welcome.”

  * * *

  It was her house now, but as she watched him finish the dinner preparations, she felt an urge to share something with him, maybe so he could better understand her reactions. “Did Earl tell you what Bob Higgins did to my family? And to others around town?”

  “Something about an investment scam?”

  “Yeah. I don’t get exactly how he did it, but he got people to give him money to invest. Periodically he’d pay out to them, especially if they had a need, but somewhere along the way he must have spent too much money to keep up the pretense that he was actually investing it. That’s when he talked my father into mortgaging the ranch, promising him that his so-called investment fund would not only pay him enough to meet the mortgage payments, but would give him extra. Bob was my dad’s lifelong friend. I don’t think it ever entered his head that Bob was conning him.”

  “God, that’s awful. I don’t understand people who steal from others, especially when there’s a trusting relationship involved.”

  “I don’t get it, either.” And it was a primary reason she found it so hard to trust. “It was especially hard on my father. He’d lost everything, we moved away and gradually he became an alcoholic. We moved again several times when he lost jobs and then...well, the alcohol killed him.”

  “My God! I’m so sorry, Vanessa.” He’d stopped mixing the stuffing, and the vegetables were still waiting beside a microwave container. After a moment, he visibly caught himself and returned to his tasks. “I can’t imagine how awful that had to have been for you.”

  “Eventually you don’t feel it anymore. Anyway, I think the stress killed my mother. She was awfully young for a heart attack.” She sighed, watching him move with the grace of a man in great shape doing the minor little things of mixing the stuffing, starting the microwave, putting a pat of butter on the bowl of frozen broccoli.

  A man who could handle everything, she thought. Construction, fatherhood, cooking...he had a full plate, all right. Much fuller than hers, which seemed to be mostly filled with her own melancholy memories right now.

  She missed her dinosaur bones. They spoke to her, too, but in ways that excited her. People didn’t have that effect on her. She couldn’t trust them to tell a true story, unlike the bones, which couldn’t lie.

  And that probably made her neurotic, she thought with an unexpected tickle of amusement as Matthew erupted into the kitchen. That boy was like a human power plant. “I think I did it right.”

  “I’ll check in a moment,” Tim answered. “Did you get yourself a glass of milk? And did you ask Vannie what she’d like to drink?”

  Vanessa suspected this was a new stage for the boy. He looked a little surprised, then said, “I get to do the drinks?”

  “You can carry a glass of milk into the dining room, can’t you?”

  That big, engaging grin. “Sure.” He turned to Vanessa. “You want milk, too?”

  “I’d very much like a glass of water, thank you.”

  She was charmed, enchanted, and so very glad not to be riding out this storm all alone at the Higgins house.

  Matthew was just tall enough to reach the bottom shelf of the upper cupboard by stretching, and he pulled out two glasses. He stuck his tongue out and bit it while pouring one glass half-full of milk, clearly taking great care. The other was more easily handled at the sink. Then, carefully, he picked up both glasses and carried them away.

  “You must be very proud of Matthew,” she remarked. Tim had pulled the stuffing from the microwave and replaced it with the frozen broccoli. The machine hummed quietly.

  “I am,” he agreed. He fluffed the stuffing with a fork, the recovered it with a glass lid and faced her, an easy posture leaning back against the sink. “I keep hoping Claire would feel the same.”

  “Your wife? I’m sure she would.”

  “Well, he’s not perfect. He has his moments.” He straightened. “I promised to check the table setting. Be right back.”

  Then she was alone in the kitchen, and alone with her own thoughts. Inevitably she wondered if there hadn’t been something she could do about that house that wouldn’t have involved her. Odd, when her memories of being there were so sketchy, that it should have such a strong impact on her.

  Uncle Bob. Aunt Freda. She never heard what happened to Freda and the girls, other than that they’d left Bob behind when his misdeeds came to light. And Earl had said that Freda had changed the girls’ last names. Like her family, they’d fled from destruction wrought by one man without a conscience.

  Because he couldn’t have had a conscience. He’d used every one of his friends in a horrible way. Her dad had just suffered the biggest losses.

  Then Tim reappeared as the microwave dinged to announce the broccoli was ready.

  Time for dinner.

  * * *

  By the time Tim decreed bedtime for Matthew, they were able to pull back the living room curtains and see a world turned into a white whirlwind that reflected the interior light.

  “Not a good night to be out,” Tim remarked. “I hope everyone heeded the warnings.”

  Matthew, Vanessa had noticed, had grown very quiet since helping to clear the table and load the dishwasher. He hadn’t spoken at all.

  “Are you feeling okay?” she asked him.

  “He’s feeling just fine,” Tim said drily. “He’s hoping I didn’t notice that he failed to go upstairs when I said it was bedtime.”

  “There’s no school tomorrow!” Matthew protested.

 
“Maybe, maybe not. We don’t know for sure yet. Either way, it’s bedtime for buckaroos, and yes, you can read.”

  Matthew tried slumping his shoulders and dragging his feet, but when that didn’t get a response, he perked up and ran up the stairs.

  Tim just shook his head and smiled. “There’s some decent coffee in the pot if you want some. Sorry I can’t offer dessert.”

  “I’m not used to it. It was a great dinner, though.”

  “Thanks. Just the basics. Anyway, I need to go up and tuck him in, make sure he doesn’t skip important things like brushing his teeth. Make yourself at home.”

  She did just that, curling up sock-footed on the end of the couch with a scientific journal she’d pulled out of her carry-on bag.

  The house had central heating, so it must have been her imagination that it was getting colder. The coffee she’d brought in here with her helped only a little.

  So she tried to bury herself in the most recent paleobiology publication. She didn’t have an advanced degree, but she possessed an unquenchable curiosity about vertebrates of the past. She’d lucked into a great career field, because one of her professors in a class she’d taken just to round out her core requirements had noticed something about her and encouraged her.

  She’d be forever grateful to him for that gift. And with time, she’d grown knowledgeable enough that her lack of advanced education had mattered less and less, although she picked up a course from time to time.

  Tonight, though, concentrating on a morphology study didn’t hold her attention. Well, of course not. She’d been going through quite an emotional earthquake since Earl Carter had called her with the news.

  Lowering her head, she tried to force herself to pay attention, but the words on the page just seemed to swim in front of her. Maybe she should try reading it on her laptop, where she could magnify the print.

  But there was something she’d always loved about holding a journal, the way it felt, the way it smelled, the brand-new unread pages. She viewed each one with a fresh excitement that she didn’t at all feel when she read online.

  So she kept trying, wondering how long it took to put a little boy to bed—and wondering why she should care. She was in a cozy place with nothing to worry her, at least until sometime tomorrow.

  Between one breath and the next, she drifted off with the journal in her hand and her head on the overstuffed arm of the sofa.

  * * *

  Tim had one of those revelations that only a parent could have. When he helped Matthew get into his pajamas, he discovered the boy was wearing four pairs of briefs.

  “What’s this?” he asked, genuinely curious. “Why so many?”

  “You told me to put on new ones every day.”

  Apparently, he’d left out an important part of the instructions, Tim thought as laughter rose in him. He quelled it, funny though this was, because another thought occurred to him: the boy couldn’t have been bathing. He wouldn’t have worn all those underpants if they were wet.

  “Okay,” he said slowly. “And how do you handle your socks?”

  “New ones every day. I was going to tell you my shoes are getting tight, too.”

  Tim could easily imagine that they were, even though they were almost new. “So how many socks do you have on each foot?”

  “Four.”

  “What started all this?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  “When you were doing the laundry and said I hadn’t worn enough underpants or socks for a week. Fresh ones every day.”

  Tim remembered that conversation clearly. Oh, man. “I left out part of the instructions, kiddo. The part about taking off the dirty ones before you put on fresh ones. Come on, let’s get rid of all these in the hamper and put you in the shower.”

  Tim wondered if he’d ever learn how literal a child could be. Probably not. He’d keep making these simple mistakes until Matthew grew up enough to fill in the blanks.

  With his son showered, dried and in fresh pajamas, Tim scooped him up and carried him to bed. God, it felt so good to have this boy in his arms. He smelled sweet and just so right. Not much more of this, though. One way or another, Matthew was going to get too big, and from what he’d seen of slightly older kids, he’d be lucky to snag a hug.

  But for now he took pleasure in the moment and just wished Claire could share it, too.

  Sometimes he felt his wife around, as if she peeked in on them, as if her love still existed. Maybe it did. And maybe, like an angel, she kept watch over Matthew. He certainly hoped so.

  Though it had been six years since Claire’s unexpected passing, he still missed her. Missed all the little things they had shared, which in retrospect seemed a whole lot more important than the big things.

  Glances over breakfast that seemed to warm the air. Shared looks of understanding that needed no words. Being able to reach out and just hold her hand. Those little things had turned into a huge gap in his life.

  He wanted no replacement for Claire. He didn’t think it was possible, and he wasn’t looking. Most especially he didn’t want to upset Matthew’s life. His son seemed to have adapted quite well to the fact that he didn’t have a mother, unlike his friends.

  Whenever someone pressed Tim on the subject—and yes, he knew they did out of some kind of concern—he simply said that was for later. After Matthew was grown. Safely down the road and something he didn’t need to think about now. Not when he had his son to concern him, and not when he was still aching with loss.

  He was learning that you never stopped grieving. It just softened with time. Or became like a comfortable old friend, always there, never gone. At least it didn’t cripple him the way it once had. He could pause, absorb and acknowledge the pain, then keep going.

  Matthew made that essential.

  Downstairs, he found Vanessa curled up on the couch and sound asleep. He thought about moving her to her room then decided against disturbing her. If she woke up on her own, she could go to her room then. In the meantime, she looked comfortable, and it wouldn’t be the first time that sofa had been a bed.

  Out in the kitchen, he opened his laptop and logged in while he brewed fresh coffee. He had more jobs than the Higgins house. There were a couple of remodel and repair jobs he’d promised to email estimates on by Saturday, and he needed to finish them.

  He paused a moment, thinking of the woman sleeping in his living room. What a cutie, he decided. A lovely woman, and she’d handled Matthew’s sometimes overwhelming energy well.

  Then he returned to work. Two things in his life, mainly. His son and his work. Everything else paled beside them.

  Chapter Three

  Vanessa awoke in the dark. All the lights in the room were off, and in a faint spill of light coming from elsewhere, she needed a couple of seconds to orient herself. Tim Dawson’s house. Conard County. Oh, God.

  She sat up, rotating her shoulders and neck to ease the stiffness, and put her slightly crumpled journal to one side. How rude of her. The man had given her shelter, served her a fine meal, and she’d responded by falling asleep on his sofa while he put his son to bed?

  Well, maybe he wasn’t terribly offended. She guessed she’d have to wait until morning to find out. She could hear the blizzard now, howling outside as if it were alive. She was so glad she wasn’t alone in that ruin of a house she’d inherited, or at the motel where she’d be stuck in one room alone, probably listening to the more regular patrons celebrate the weather with whiskey.

  In fact, though she didn’t drink often, a whiskey didn’t sound too bad to her, either.

  She rose, grateful she’d changed into comfy fleece earlier, and stretched every muscle in her body. There was nothing quite like a good stretch. Feeling better, she headed toward the light, which was coming from the kitchen, and was surprised to see Tim at the kitchen t
able, computer in front of him and stacks of paper surrounding him.

  He looked up at once and smiled. “Good nap?”

  “I was so out of it,” she admitted. “I’m sorry I fell asleep on you.”

  “I don’t remember inviting you here to be entertaining. You obviously needed the sleep.”

  “And I really could use some water. My mouth feels so parched. Oh, God,” she added as the thought struck her, “was I snoring?”

  “If you were, I didn’t notice. Do you want the chilled bottled water? Or would you rather have something else? I finished the coffee, but I have soft drinks—all the diet variety, I’m afraid—or I could make hot chocolate.”

  “Right now just water would be great.” Moving by instinct, she found the glasses in the upper cupboard beside the sink. “You want any?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She chose to get water from the tap and drained a whole glass before she left the sink, then filled it again halfway and ventured to join him at the table. “Working?”

  “Yup. Almost done.”

  “Don’t let me disturb you.”

  Sipping her water, she closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of the storm outside, and the sounds the house made in response. A gust of wind could cause the slight creaking from somewhere upstairs. If snow was falling, it was mixed with ice that rattled against the window glass. Without even looking she was grateful not to be out in it.

  Or, frankly, by herself.

  For some reason, being in this town had made her feel isolated. Maybe because she’d left behind the friendly faces of her coworkers and her immediate neighbors in her apartment building.

  Maybe because since she’d arrived, she’d met three strangers and knew very little about any of them. Matthew probably couldn’t be included in that, though. There was little doubt as to what he thought about anything.

  But Earl, even though she’d talked to him a number of times on the phone, was still a stranger. And for all she was sharing Tim’s house tonight, she knew very little about him except he was a contractor, he had a son and he’d lost his wife.