Any Man of Mine (11 page)

“Behind every good man, et cetera.” He straightened then leaned forward to emphasize what he was saying. “But the reality is men need a push and if they don't get it, they think everything is fine.”

“So what you're telling me is that guys can't think for themselves.” My voice rose, Sherry stiffened and I bit back my next comment.

“They can think,” James said, reaching over and gently turning Sherry's head so it lay more comfort
ably. “What women think they should think about isn't the same thing as what men like to think about.”

“That's chauvinistic,” I whispered, wishing he hadn't left his hand on Sherry's head, so close to my shoulder. “And confusing.”

“You complain that your brothers don't do anything,” he whispered back, “yet you don't ask them. How are they supposed to know? We're a results-based, problem-solving species, us men. Give us a problem and we'll solve it. If we don't think there's a problem, hey, nothing to solve and we go back into sleep mode. Like a computer.”

“So like a computer, guys need to be booted up. Or just plain booted.” I tried to focus on what he was saying, but half of my attention was on his hand that gently feathered Sherry's curls away from her face. Each time he did, his fingers touched my shoulder.

“Don't kid yourself, Danielle. Guys. Men. They are exactly the same animal. Just different hairstyles and clothes so you can keep them apart. Booting might be exactly the thing either of them needs at different times.”

He looked directly at me, the movements of his fingers slowing. And then his hand had moved to my shoulder.

Very smooth, I thought, but didn't look away. Didn't move away. Time slowed, pulling me to a standstill—creating this momentary bubble.

I held his gaze as my stomach fluttered, my heart beating double time in my chest. Yes, he was attrac
tive. Yes, he appealed to me. I cleared my throat, trying to rid myself of these foolish fancies. I had other plans. Other dreams.

Preston and this guy and my brothers were not a part of it.

I cleared my throat. “You probably subscribe to the whole
Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus
concept.”

He shook his head, his fingers making slow, gentle circles on my shoulder. “Nope. Men are from earth.” He moved a little closer. “Women are from earth,” he whispered, his face now inches from mine. “Deal with it.”

My heart gave one hard thud. His breath whispered over my cheek. His face had become a blur except for the bright light of his eyes so close to mine.

He was going to kiss me, I thought, my breath growing shallow.

And I wanted him to.

Brushing away second thoughts, I moved my head to close the gap, and for the briefest of moments our lips touched, brushed each other carefully, slowly, cautiously seeking common ground. His hand tightened on my shoulder as his mouth moved closer. He kissed me again. Longer. Slower. I was melting, disappearing.

Sherry squawked.

James pulled away.

I scurried to my feet, guilt and relief and disappointment battling with each other for the upper
hand. As I walked back and forth, I tried to settle my roiling thoughts.

What had I done? What was I doing?

I cuddled Sherry close, thankful for her intervention. Remember your new job.

But was it relief that made my knees so rubbery? Or something else?

Sherry squawked again and this time, instead of using her as an excuse to stick around, I handed her to her uncle, then skedaddled out of there as fast as my tired feet would take me.

 

Sunday morning was the usual harried affair at the Hemstead household. At midnight, Jace had decided to heat up something to eat, but had let it boil over. So before I could make myself a cup of tea, I had to hack away a thick gob of baked-on tomato soup. Chip took too long in the shower. The hot water ran out halfway through Neil's shower so I had to listen to them harping at each other all during breakfast.

Dad was feeling alternately listless and cranky. He had to go for a doctor's appointment tomorrow, and I knew that he was nervous. I felt sorry for him but listening to him complain about his boiled eggs, his lack of coffee and the medication he had to take helped me reach maximum guy absorption.

And as a counterpoint to their grumping and griping, lay the feeling that James's kiss was like a brand on my lips that my brothers were only pretending to ignore, but secretly gloating about.

I don't know why I felt guilty, but I did feel like I had been manipulated. All the while I nibbled on my toast and sipped at my tea, I grew more self-conscious over my lack of self-control while the boys made plans for another afternoon of working broncs. With James.

After eating breakfast I retreated to my bedroom before the boys would notice how my cheeks flushed each time they mentioned his name.

I put on a gospel CD, then sat in front of my makeup table. I took my time putting on my makeup, hoping against hope that maybe the boys would have cleaned up the kitchen while I was busy.

Normally, I hummed along to my favorite songs while I exfoliated, creamed, stroked on eye shadow and put on mascara, but this morning my hand shook as I worked. I kept reliving that moment in James's living room. Wondered why he did it. Why I let him. What he thought of me now.

What I thought of him.

I wasn't sure. I knew I didn't quite trust him.

Then why did you let him kiss you?

Loneliness. The moment. A feeling of vulnerability.

His good looks.

He is a guy. And if ever you need a reminder of why you should stay away from him, this morning is a prime example. He's like your brothers.
He doesn't go to church. He's a lapsed Christian.

I threw down my lipstick tube. Messed it up again.
I snatched a tissue out of the box and wiped it off, then tried again.

“Dani, time to go,” Jace called out from the kitchen. I stifled a sigh. Why was he nagging me about the time when he probably wasn't going himself? As I always did when I contemplated my brother's faith life, I winged a prayer heavenward. Maybe someday. I cocked my head, listening. Was that the chink of dishes being put into the dishwasher?

“Coming,” I said, my momentary funk lifting. They were good boys. They had their moments, is all. I spritzed on some perfume, nodded at my reflection in the chipped mirror and left the sanctuary of my room.

My heart sunk as I saw the dishes still piled on the table, the milk still out on the counter and the crumbs from Jace's requisite five pieces of toast still littering on the floor.

My father was napping in his recliner, Chip and Neil were gone already and Jace was flipping through the newspaper, oblivious to the havoc surrounding him.

I closed my eyes and prayed a desperate prayer for patience. Were my brothers legally blind when it came to housework? With a deep sigh I started clearing the dishes and bringing them to the counter.

“Don't have time for that, sis,” Jace said, looking up from the paper. “Gotta go.”

I leveled him a frustrated look. “You guys couldn't even pick one dish off the table?”

Jace's face looked puzzled. “You didn't ask.”

“I'm going to be in therapy until I'm eighty.” I dropped the plate I had been carrying on the nearest empty spot on the counter and walked into the living room. I abruptly shifted gears, took a long slow breath, then laid a gentle hand on my dad's head. He looked up at me and smiled.

“You okay, Dad?” I asked.

He nodded. “Just want to rest, that's all.”

“We'll go for a walk when we get home, okay?”

“Sure. When you get home.” He gave another weak smile and then closed his eyes again. I watched him a moment longer, willing him to get better, hoping and praying that he would so if—no, make that
when
—I left, I wouldn't have to feel like I was abandoning him to the erratic care of my brothers.

“You sure you don't want to come?” I asked Jace, hoping, praying he would decide to come.

He looked at Dad, then back at me. “Thought I would stay home with him today,” he said quietly.

“Okay.” My disappointment mingled with a small ray of hope. At least Jace understood what Dad needed. I took a chance and pushed a little further, remembering what James had told me the other night. “Could you possibly do the dishes then while I'm gone?”

He screwed up his face in an “I doubt it” gesture. “I've got a couple of cows calving that I need to check on….”

“Whatever,” I said, stalking out of the house as my all-too-familiar refrain now sang through my head.

I've got to get out of here. I've got to leave.

James's comment of the other day slid in behind my scurrying thoughts, herding them into a place I hadn't brought them before.

Was I enabling my brothers? Did I not ask enough of them? But if I didn't do what they didn't do, what would happen to my father?

Easy for James to say as he was taking care of his infant niece. Wasn't he doing the same thing with his sister?

Right. And what else was he supposed to do?

And why was I even thinking about him when I was desperately trying to plan another life?

I put on some contemporary Christian music as I drove, breathing long, slow breaths like the stress management consultant had taught us. Half an hour later, I pulled into the church parking lot.

I checked my lipstick in my rearview mirror and got out of my car. The sun warmed my shoulders, soothing away my frustration. It was a perfect spring day. Exactly the kind of day to go out for a walk. Jace was in the middle of calving and I hadn't even had a chance to check out the new babies yet. I'm sure my dad would love to go see them, too.

I flipped my purse over my shoulder, smoothed my hair back from my face and walked to the church.

“Good morning, Danielle,” an older lady boomed across the foyer as the door fell shut behind me. She sailed toward me, her bright pink suit straining across her midriff, a purple-and-orange scarf tucked
into the suit coat and her expression as cheerful as her outfit. “How is your father?” she asked as she gave me a hug. Mrs. Woytowich was everyone's mother, but she hadn't been around for a while. Rumor had it she'd been taking care of her daughter in Calgary, but now it appeared, she was back and in Technicolor.

“Hey, Mrs. Woytowich,” I said, thankful for her concern. “He's doing okay. Still feeling tired, though.”

“He was always such a hale and hearty man. I was sorry to hear about his heart attack. That must have been so frightening for you. And you, motherless, as well.” She clucked in sympathy. “Is he here today?”

“No. He's been quite listless and has been staying home a lot.”

Mrs. W. patted me on the arm. “Don't you worry. You are blessed to have your three brothers. I'm sure they're a great comfort to you.”

“They are,” I said with forced good humor. “If your idea of comfort was three big, messy men who have never seen a piece of laundry they couldn't trip over or a dish they couldn't wash.”

“Even if they don't help much, they're good boys and I know they love you.” She paused a moment, as if unsure of what to say next. “I'm sure you're busy with your work, too?”

“Yes.” I gave her a vague smile, wondering where this conversation was meandering to.

“Probably too busy to do a proper job of housework and such.”

“I do try,” I said, hoping I didn't sound defensive.

She must have caught my sniffy tone and she let loose a loud guffaw. “Oh, honey, I know what it's like to live with a houseful of men. I was trying to be subtle but guess that went out the window.” She let loose with another belly laugh. “What I really wanted to say is that I know your father's health is iffy. I'd like to come and help you and your family.”

“Help. How?”

“Oh, general stuff. Cleaning. Some cooking. Visiting your father.” She waved her hand—a mere whiff of time for her.

I looked at her, trying to take in this potential shift in my life. “What would you charge?”

She frowned. “Charge. Don't be absurd. I'm at loose ends and a little bored. I could use the company.”

“Well…let me think about it….”

“Give me a call. I'll be waiting.” Mrs. W. winked at me, then called out someone's name and was off on another mission.

I wandered into church, still trying to absorb all of this. Could it be that those odds-and-ends prayers I had for a chance to move away had finally been answered? Could it be that the last hindrance to my moving to the city was whisked away by a brief conversation in the church foyer? Was she a fuchsia godsend?

Tracy and David were already seated and I slipped in beside them.

“You're looking pretty chipper.” Tracy said. “Ca
sey transfer out of Preston or something equally heartwarming?”

“Something almost as heartwarming,” I said evasively. She would hardly share my enthusiasm in having the problem of my father solved so quickly.

“What are your brothers up to today?”

“Neil and Chip decided to go to Kolvik.” Obviously things were moving right along in the Chip and Juanita situation. I hoped he didn't run into Steve Stinson. “Jace said he was going to stay home with Dad and check on some cows and not do the breakfast dishes,” I grumbled, glancing over the bulletin.

Tracy wisely changed the subject, telling me instead about the newest plans they had decided on for the house. “David even approves, so things look like they're moving along quite well.”

“I'm not that hard to please,” David put in, putting the bulletin away and slipping his arm around Tracy. He gave me that crooked smile that could make so many women's hearts go pitty pat. At one time I wasn't immune, either, but I've gotten to know him too well to see him as anything else but David, a good friend and the husband of my best friend.