her and walked over.
“You okay?' he asked.
“No. What are you doing?' He stood facing her. 'You'd ordered the paint and wallpaper already,' he said. “I didn't pick it out.'
“I know, but why are they here?'
“They're helping out because I asked. I know you've been working on the gatehouse for a long time. You want to move in there so you can get the rest of the house renovated. I want to help. I'm leaving in a few days and I would like the gatehouse done before I go. I guess I want to know that you're going to be okay.' He spoke the last bit defiantly, as if he expected her to be furious. She supposed she should be-he'd been high-handed in arranging all this. But the truth was, she was even closer to crying than before.
No one had ever wanted to take care of her before. No one had ever worried about her. They all assumed she was so damn competent that she didn't have doubts, didn't get tired, didn't sweat that it was going to come out right.
She ached down to her bones. Not just because he was being so sweet and nice and making her want to beg him to never leave, but because what he was doing was proof that he
“You mad?' he asked.
She shook her head because she couldn't speak. 'Is it okay that I'm doing this?' She managed a slightly strangled, 'Yes.'
“Will you be okay if I go help out?'
“Sure.' He touched her cheek, then walked toward the gatehouse.
Stephanie stood alone on her lawn and listened to the sound of people working and talking and laughing. She knew that she had to help out the others. It wasn't fair to leave everything to them. But first she had to get herself under control.
In that moment, when she'd realized what he was doing, something inside her had given way. It was as if some protective wall had crumbled to dust, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.
How could she help loving him? He wasn't even everything she'd ever wanted-he was more. A partner, a friend, a warm, caring lover who was as solid as a rock. He was her hero. A one-in-a-million kind of man.
A man who was leaving. And she didn't have a single right to ask him to stay.
By midafternoon, most of the rooms had been painted. Stephanie walked through the downstairs carrying cans of soda and bottles of water. The twins were circulating with granola bars and cookies.
The transformation of the dark old house into something bright and charming amazed her, as did everyone's friendliness. These people might be a part of Nash's family, but they made her feel welcome.
She handed Craig a bottle of water and started toward the kitchen. On the way she found Brett carefully sanding a baseboard in the hall.
“You're doing a great job,' she said as shestopped and crouched next to him. 'That's pretty detailed work.' Her twelve-year-old looked up at her. His blue eyes were dark and troubled. 'Nash got his whole family to help.'
“I know. That was really nice of him, huh?' Brett didn't answer. Instead he folded the sandpaper in half and twisted it in his hands. 'He's still leaving, right?' As much as Stephanie wished she could say otherwise, she had to agree. 'Of course he is, honey. He has a life in Chicago, remember?'
“He's not so bad, you know?' Brett's voice sounded small. 'He's not Dad, but that's okay.' Her stomach dove for her toes. When had her son let go of his resentment of Nash and why hadn't she seen it happening? She hadn't wanted any of her children to connect too closely with Nash because she hadn't wanted them hurt by his leaving.
“Brett, Nash is a really great guy. He's been fun to have around, but it was always temporary. You knew that.' She winced at her own words. Of course he knew. Reminding him wasn't going to make Nash's leaving easier.
“But he likes it here,' Brett said, staring at the sandpaper rather than her. 'I bet he'd want to move here if you asked him to.'
“I know it seems like that to you. I agree that he's had a fun vacation, which is good. But he has a regular life waiting for him. He has a job and a home and friends.' But not a woman. She knew he'd been alone since his wife's death. And yes, the sex was great, but was it enough to get him to relocate? She didn't think so.
“You could ask,' Brett repeated.
“I could.' But she wouldn't. Not only did she not want to put Nash in the position of having to refuse her, she wasn't sure she would survive actually having to hear him say no.
By five the gatehouse was nearly finished. Nash walked from room to room, pleased with all that had been done. All that was left was the new carpeting. As soon as Stephanie had that installed, she and the boys could move in. They'd have their own place, away from the guests. She would be safe.
He could see her here-her furniture, the boys' books and toys. They would make the small house into a home.
Could he see himself here? The question brought him up short. Did he want to be here? Did he want to stay with Stephanie and her sons? That would mean getting involved. Emotions weren't safe, he reminded himself. Emotions were messy and couldn't be controlled. If life was out of control His cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his shirt pocket and pushed Talk.
“Harmon here.'
“It's Jack,' his boss told him. 'We have a situation.' Five minutes later Nash turned off the phone and jogged toward the main house. He found Stephanie in the kitchen with Brett. She took one look at his face and blanched.
“What's wrong?' she asked.
“My boss called. There's a hostage situation in San Francisco at a bank robbery gone bad. Shots have been fired. A helicopter's on its way to pick me up.' He glanced at his watch. 'It's coming from the army base and should be here in about six minutes.' He'd wondered how she would react to the crisis, but except for the loss of color in her face, she was in control. 'Do you need me to get you anything? Most of your family has left. Your parents took the twins to the park. I'll tell them when they get back.'
“I appreciate that. I don't know how long I'll be gone. These things can take time. Then there's paperwork afterwards.' She dismissed his comments with a wave of her hand. 'Don't worry about that. I'll pack your things and you can call us and let me know where you want them sent.' Her assumption that he wouldn't be coming back surprised him. Yes, he only had a few days left of his vacation but
“I'm glad you're leaving,' Brett said fiercely. Nash turned to the boy and saw him wipe the back of his hand across his eyes. Hell.
He knelt in front of Brett. 'I'm sorry I have to go, but this is important.'
“I don't care.'
“I care very much. About my work and about you, your brothers and your mom.'
“Then don't go.' The words shouldn't have mattered to him, but God help him, he liked hearing them.
“Some bad men are holding people hostage. I have to go. If I don't some of them might die.”
“Then promise to come back.' Stephanie put her hands on Brett's thin shoulders. 'Honey, don't. Remember what we talked about? Nash has his own life and it's not here.' They'd talked about him? He stood and tried to read her expression. 'Stephanie…' He wasn't sure what to say.
She shook her head. 'We both knew this was temporary, right? So it's ending sooner than we thought. At least we're saved from having a long, painful goodbye. It's like ripping off a bandage. Faster is better.'
“Faster hurts more,' he said.
“But it's over quicker.' He wanted to tell her he would come back. He wanted to tell her that he didn't want to go in the first place. But to what end? Before he could figure out what words were right, he heard a familiar sound. 'The helicopter's here.' Outside several sheriff's cars had blocked off the street. Nash saw Kyle talking to one of the helicopter pilots.
Nash bent down and hugged Brett. Then he straightened and pulled Stephanie close.
“Take care of yourself,' she said as she stepped back. There were tears in her eyes.
He felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut. There were a thousand things to say and no time left. His heart heavy, his chest tight, he jogged to the helicopter. Kyle slapped him on the back as he climbed in.
“Don't get dead,' he called.
