Anything for Her Read online

  “I don’t like it,” he finally pronounced.

  “What?”

  “The treads aren’t a normal depth. You have small feet, so you may not notice it as much, but it makes it easier to misstep. And the railing’s not solid.” He shook it, and indeed there was a slight sway of which Allie had never been aware.

  “I’m careful,” she offered.

  Still scowling at the stairs, he only grunted. “These should be replaced.”

  “With ones cut from stone?” she joked.

  His sharp blue eyes turned back to her. “I’m serious.”

  “I can tell.” She considered what he was saying, and had to admit she was always careful on those steps because they made her a little apprehensive. Not so much that she’d allowed her dislike of them to surface, but some part of her hadn’t felt secure when she was going up or down on them. “I’ll talk to the owners,” she promised. “They did a beautiful job renovating the apartment. They won’t want me to fall.”

  “All right,” he said. “Let me know.”

  Just like that—Let me know. As if he felt her safety to be a responsibility. That made her feel treasured but also potentially a little uneasy. She was accustomed to taking care of herself.

  “You must have done some building,” she commented.

  “I worked for a contractor a couple summers while I was in high school. I built my workshop from the ground up.”

  She nodded, unsurprised. He had that air of competence. He seemed like the kind of man who would rarely be stumped by anything mechanical, either. “Thank you for dinner, Nolan.”

  “Thanks for coming.” She was now his focus, forget the staircase. He touched her cheek with his big, calloused hand. “When I asked, I was practically stammering. I thought you’d make an excuse.”

  “No.” Breathless, Allie knew she was tilting her head slightly, seeking his fingers. “I... The minute you came into the store...”

  “Good.” His voice was all rumble now, a deep bass. “I want to kiss you, Allie.”

  She shivered at the way he said her name. “Yes,” she whispered, and took a step closer to him. With one hand she clutched her purse; the other reached for his shoulder.

  Now he cupped her jaw in his palm, his fingertips caressing her earlobe and tickling the small hairs behind her ear. He bent his head slowly, as if to give her time to change her mind. Or maybe he savored the anticipation instead of becoming a bundle of nerves the way she did. His gaze was utterly intent on her.

  When his mouth brushed hers with exquisite gentleness, Allie’s eyes closed. Back and forth, the pressure on her lips was first soft, then firmer. He nibbled, tugged at her lower lip. An odd sound slipped out of her, and she rose on tiptoe. Her fingers clenched his shoulder so that she could hold on. Suddenly his mouth was open and so was hers. His hand had slid around to anchor the back of her head, angling her so that he could kiss her deeply, intensely. His tongue was in her mouth, sliding against hers. She’d quit thinking, quit worrying, all sensation physical. She wanted to be closer to him, part of him. Her purse clunked to the ground so she could wind her arms around his neck, stroke the bare skin on his nape. Nothing had ever felt so good.

  He groaned, muscles tightening in his shoulders. He separated their mouths. “Allie,” he muttered. “Damn. I didn’t mean to take this so far. God, you’re beautiful.”

  She blinked up at him. Enough awareness returned for her to notice that the color of the sky was deepening and headlights must have just swept over them as the next-door neighbor’s van turned into the driveway not more than fifty feet away. They’d have been momentarily spotlighted. Nolan had noticed, but she hadn’t.

  She swallowed and sank back onto her heels. “Wow.”

  His fingers caressed her scalp. He didn’t seem eager to take his hands off of her. “Can we do something this weekend?” He sounded urgent.

  “Yes.” Her own voice came out shaky. “I’d like that.”

  “Good,” he said again, so low it felt more like the scrape of bristles on his chin than actual sound. “I’ll call you.”

  “Please.”

  “Go on.” He picked up her purse and wrapped her fingers around the strap, then gently turned her and nudged her toward the first step. “I’ll watch to be sure you get in safely.”

  Which was silly, but nice. Really nice. She climbed the stairs, very aware of him at the bottom. At the top she unlocked her door, waved and told him good-night again, then went in. A minute later, she heard the deep-throated roar of his pickup engine, and he was gone.

  Allie stood inside, a hand pressed over her heart. Emotions welled in her: giddy delight, disbelief, aching regret that she hadn’t invited him in even though she never did that. She remembered what she’d said to her mother. I met an interesting man.

  She laughed, tossed her purse on the sofa, rose en pointe and twirled, mere inches from the quilt frame that filled her tiny living room.

  * * *

  LIGHTS WERE ON, but Nolan’s house was quiet when he let himself in. After a glance in the kitchen, he went upstairs and knocked lightly on Sean’s bedroom door.

  “Yeah?”

  He opened the door and stepped into the opening, leaning one shoulder against the jamb. “Just wanted to let you know I’m home.”

  The boy shrugged. He was flat on his back on the bed, his iPod on his chest and the earbuds in. Except for clothes, the iPod was the first thing Nolan had bought for him. He had a laptop now, too, and a printer, but he wasn’t spending much time on the computer, so far as Nolan could tell. Doing his homework, or so he said, but not much else.

  “You get something to eat okay?”

  “Sure.” After a first, swift look, Sean went back to staring at the ceiling. “You like her?” he asked after a minute, sounding grudging.

  “Yeah.” Nolan felt his smile stretching and struggled to keep it from becoming so wide he’d look like an idiot. “I do. I think you will, too.”

  That earned him an incredulous flick of a glance. “What difference does it make what I think?”

  Nolan’s eyes narrowed at the near-sneer in the boy’s voice. He’d made it clear from the beginning that he was committed to Sean—whether Sean ever became ready to talk about adoption or not, the boy was Nolan’s son. It seemed Sean was having trouble believing him.

  “Because I’m hoping she’ll become part of my life. Of our life,” he corrected himself, then thought, Whoa. He’d just met this woman. Sure, he wanted to take her to bed, but...make her part of Sean’s life as well as his? Where had that come from?

  “She’s that hot?”

  Hell, yes, she was, but he was stunned to realize his dick wasn’t the only part of him feeling exhilarated. “She looks like a dancer,” he tried to explain.

  The eyes cut his way again. “You mean, a stripper?”

  Nolan had a feeling he was meant to be offended. Instead he laughed. “No. A ballerina. There’s something... Well, you’ll see.”

  “Does she know about me?”

  “I mentioned you when I took her the quilt, remember?”

  “Oh.” Sean’s voice was still surly. “Right.”

  Nolan guessed it was too soon to suggest an outing with all three of them no matter what. It was true she’d sounded sympathetic to Sean when she talked about the insecurity she’d felt after her parents’ divorce, but that didn’t necessarily mean she had any interest in getting to know a sullen fourteen-year-old boy. Nolan had never given any thought before to how a woman would react to him having a son, mostly because he hadn’t thought much about getting serious about any woman. Now here he was, after one date, feeling damn serious. Alarmingly serious.

  Too soon, he told himself again. See how it goes. Don’t risk Sean’s feelings until you’re a lot surer than you are yet.

  Okay, he could do that.

  “You’d better hit the sack,” he suggested. “Morning comes early.”

  Sean sneered again, but more naturally, as if he was kidding. Nol
an had always been an early riser, but even he had been surprised at how early the school bus came. The elementary school started the day at what seemed a more reasonable hour, but the middle school and high school both started classes at 7:30 a.m. He assumed it had to do with the necessity to get the first round of bus routes over in time to start the second one as well as with the need to allow daylight at the end of the day for sports and the like, but he thought it was too early for kids to be at their sharpest. Sean sure as hell wasn’t. Nolan all but had to propel him out the door to meet the bus at the road.

  Nolan went downstairs to make sure the house was locked up and turn off lights. He paused before going back up. He heard water running in the bathroom and was hit, not for the first time, by how much his life had been changed by his decision to take in the tall, skinny boy with the greasy blond hair he’d first encountered at the grocery store, of all places.

  Back in February or so, he’d been going in when a man and teenage boy were coming out, the man pushing a cart with difficulty through winter slush.

  “Did you steal that?” There was an unpleasant snap in the man’s voice.

  “What? No!” The boy sounded shocked. “You saw me put it in the cart. I thought...”

  “You thought wrong. You ask if you want something. Hear?”

  “It’s just beef jerky.”

  “We don’t buy junk.”

  Watching the two walk across the parking lot, Nolan had been struck by the dislike on the man’s face. How could you look at your own boy that way?

  He saw them again a couple months later, in spring. The hardware store that time. He’d rounded the end of one aisle and started down the next, and there they were. They weren’t talking. The kid was trailing disconsolately a good ten, fifteen feet behind the man Nolan assumed was his father. His head hung, his shoulders were slumped. His feet dragged.

  There came a moment when the dad pushed the cart around the corner and Nolan and the boy were alone.

  Nolan didn’t understand what drove him. A solitary man, he didn’t make a habit of intruding. But he hadn’t liked anything he’d seen between these two.

  “You okay, son?” he asked.

  The boy didn’t turn around, although he did stop. He shrugged, a miserable sight if Nolan had ever seen one. His jeans were too short, Nolan noticed, exposing bony ankles in sagging socks. His hair was dirty.

  Nolan laid a hand on his shoulder. “That’s not an answer,” he said, in his quiet way.

  The boy looked at him. The sheer desperation on his face tore something open in Nolan’s chest.

  “He doesn’t like me.”

  “Your father?”

  The boy all but erupted in fury. “He’s not my father!”

  “Then who is he?”

  “He’s...” The shoulders sagged again. “He’s my foster dad,” he said dully. “I’ve lived with him and his wife since December, when my grandma died.”

  “If they took you in, they must have wanted you.”

  Another shrug. “They said they did.”

  “Sean?” the foster father called from the next aisle. There was that hateful snap again. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m coming,” Sean said, and started to trudge forward.

  “Wait.” When the boy paused, Nolan asked quietly, “Does he hit you?”

  “Nah.”

  That was when Nolan did something even more out of character for him—he took out his wallet and removed a business card. “Sean.”

  The boy stopped again and looked back.

  “Take this. It has my number on it. If you need someone, call me.”

  He took it, his fingers closing tightly on the card. He looked down at it, then up at Nolan’s face. Back to the card. He didn’t get it. Nolan could tell. Nolan didn’t get it, either. All he knew was that he’d recognized something in the boy, a smoldering resentment and unhappiness he’d felt at about the same age. Different causes, but enough the same that he couldn’t suppress the empathy he felt for a boy he didn’t even know.

  After a long minute, Sean had ducked his head in a sort of nod and disappeared after his foster father.

  At the end of May, he’d called.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ALLIE’S MOTHER SMILED perfunctorily when Allie told her the date had gone great and she and Nolan were going to see each other again. Without commenting or asking more about him, she began chattering about the Friends of the Library and how someone had suggested she run for president when elections came around at the end of the year.

  “Goodness, I’d never considered it,” she said, “but of course I do organize the book sale, and it seems as if more and more often people are turning to me.”

  She sounded really pleased, Allie thought, which made her guess her mother needed more recognition than she’d been receiving. It wasn’t hard to see why; her boss might appreciate her, but her job kept her tucked away in the back room. Who gave a thought to the bookkeeper, unless your paycheck was late? For so many years, Allie’s and her mother’s entire lives had required them to keep a low profile. It had been a long time since Allie had chafed at that, but maybe it had bothered Mom all along.

  I never realized. The fact that she was surprised made her feel self-centered. When was the last time she’d wondered what made her mother happy?

  “You’d do a great job,” she assured her. “You ought to run.”

  Mom had stopped by the store just before closing and suggested dinner, surprising Allie. After all, they’d eaten together the night before last. But she’d agreed even though she really wanted to go home and work on the Burgoyne Surrounded quilt. She’d set it up in the frame but had had very little time to start on it. Sort of like high school, she thought ruefully—I’m such a social butterfly.

  Now, if it had been Nolan calling and suggesting they get together...

  She would definitely not let her mother know that she’d rather be spending this evening with him.

  Allie never did quite figure out why Mom had suggested they get together so soon after the last time. She clearly wasn’t interested in hearing about Nolan, and she didn’t have any significant news of her own beyond the possibility of becoming president of the Friends.

  Bemused, Allie escaped as soon as she could after dinner and did manage a peaceful hour of hand-quilting before getting ready for bed. She loved starting on a new—or, in this case, very old—quilt. She used a tiny needle and averaged twelve stitches to an inch despite the thickness of the three layers. It was the quilting that added stiffness and wondrous texture. Admiring the block she’d completed, she remembered the sensual way Nolan had fingered the Lady of the Lake quilt she was working on at the store.

  She wished he’d called today. What if he hadn’t had as good a time as she did? Men always said, “I’ll call.” Frequently they didn’t mean it. What if she didn’t see him again until he came to pick up his son’s completed quilt?

  Allie rolled her eyes. Oh, for Pete’s sake! They’d had dinner only last night! It had been one day, and she was already despairing.

  Laughing at herself, but still aware of a hollow feeling beneath her breastbone, she went to bed.

  * * *

  NOLAN TRIED TO figure out how soon he could see Allie again without upsetting Sean or making him feel abandoned. A solution occurred to him during the night on Thursday, and he called her store right after ten Friday morning.

  After identifying himself, he said, “Do you slow down enough in the middle of the day to take a lunch break?”

  “Yes, but I can’t close the store, so I usually just snatch a bite here and there when I have a slow moment.”

  “Could I bring lunch by?” he asked.

  There was a brief silence. “That would be nice,” she said. “Can you make it one or one-thirty? I get quite a bit of business during the standard lunch hour, then things go dead afterward.”

  He’d be starving by then, as early as he had breakfast, but that was okay. He wanted to see her.
He could grab a bite midmorning to sustain him.

  He picked up deli sandwiches and cookies at the Pea Patch and walked in the door of Allie’s shop at one-fifteen on the nose. His gaze arrowed in on her, back at her quilt frame, before he scanned the store and saw that they were otherwise alone.

  She parked the needle and dropped a thimble on the quilt, standing before he reached her. She looked so pretty, her hair looser today than he’d seen it and her eyes somehow even greener than he remembered. She wore an elbow-length, snug-fitting, peach-colored cardigan sweater that was open over something lacy and white. Her smile tightened the strange knot in his chest.

  “Nolan.” Her gaze went to the bags in his hand. “Oh, I love the Pea Patch.”

  “I should have asked what you like,” he said gruffly.

  “I’m not picky.”

  They sat at one end of the long table that presumably was used for the classes Allie taught. He took out the sandwiches and gave her first choice, looking around at the completed quilts and quilt blocks that hung on the walls.

  “I’d say I stand out as much as a bull in a china shop, but at least your wares aren’t breakable.”

  She laughed, the gold in her eyes shimmering. “The store is rather feminine, isn’t it? And I suppose your workshop is masculine to the nth degree.”

  “You could say that. There’s nothing pretty about it.”

  “Except what comes out of it.”

  “I don’t usually think of anything I make as ‘pretty.’” He pretended to sound insulted. “I go for magnificent.”

  “Naturally.” Her expression was merry, her mouth still curved. “Silly of me.”

  He asked if all her customers were quilters, and she told him that most were.

  “I carry only one hundred percent cotton fabrics that are the right weight and texture for quilts. I debated adding other fabrics, but without having a great deal larger space I wouldn’t have had enough selection to draw a wider clientele. And then I’d also have had to offer patterns, and that would have taken space, too.” She spread her hands in a “what could I do” gesture. “I don’t have any direct competition here in West Fork, but there’s a JoAnn’s Fabric not that far away, and they’re huge. I can’t go head-to-head, and I don’t want to.”