His Wife for a While (11 page)

For the past few days she'd been worrying about Ben's insistence that the two of them become acquainted. She didn't want Ben to know her. And she didn't want to know him any more than she did right now. The distance between them, even though they were husband and wife, was safe for her. She was terrified to come any closer.

Ben was a nice person, a wonderful man. But if she opened up her emotions to him, she knew his inevitable negative reaction to what she revealed would hurt her, and she had to protect herself. It was imperative.

But she knew he'd made up his mind not to sleep with her until they had spent time together. So somehow she was going to have to get to know Ben, and at the same time disclose as little about herself as possible. It wasn't that she wanted to deceive him, not at all. The problem was complicated, and she hoped that she could manage to meet Ben's demands without making herself vulnerable to him.

"I found a blanket we can use."

Chelsea
turned and saw Ben come into the kitchen.

"I thought we could have our picnic out in the Old Orchard," he said.

She nodded, then turned back to begin wrapping the sandwiches. Ben pulled a basket from the pantry and loaded it with fruit, napkins, a couple cans of soda. When she'd finished with the sandwiches, she tucked them inside with the rest of the food.

The Old Orchard was only a few hundred feet behind Ben's brick house. Here were the last of the original giant apple trees, the thick branches gnarled, the bark rough and dark with age.

"Why do you keep them?"
Chelsea
asked.

Ben shrugged. "Granddad always said he kept them for sentimental reasons. I guess I feel the same. The dwarf trees are so much easier to prune and harvest, they're more economical. But these old trees remind me of what the orchard was like when I was a kid."

He stopped under one tree and spread out the blanket.

"I used to climb these trees," he told her. "I want these trees to be around so my kids can climb them."

It was as though a jolt of lightning zapped
Chelsea
and her gaze flew to Ben.

Immediately he looked contrite.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean... I was only…" He sighed. "I wasn't thinking." He shook his head and simply looked away from her.

Soon he turned to face her, his green eyes solemn, and he promised, "I'll try to be more aware of what I'm saying."

It was as though a gray cloud had moved over them, dimming the cheerful friendliness that had been between them only a moment before.

"These trees still bear fruit," he said, obviously attempting to ease the awkwardness. "It's just a pain in the rear to get at the apples."

Chelsea
glanced upward into the high branches and tried to imagine what it was like to climb the tall ladders necessary for harvesting the fruit.

"Here," Ben said, "sit down and let's have some lunch."

There was something in his voice that made her wary. She busied herself pulling food from the basket and fought to control the antsiness that was building inside her. She knew he'd brought her out here to talk. He'd want her to tell him all about herself.

Chelsea
handed him a sandwich and forced her lips to curl into a smile, but she could feel the tightness around her mouth.

Maybe if she kept him busy talking about his family, about his childhood, then she wouldn't have to do much talking herself.

"Ben," she began, her voice tentative. "Tell me what it was like growing up at Reed's Orchard."

"Well, between May and Granddad, I had a lot of love," he told her. "Growing up on a farm, there were plenty of chores to do. But I played as hard as I worked."

She easily imagined him running in the sunshine and the fresh air. Most of the apartments and row homes where she'd spent most of her childhood didn't have yards, so she'd spent a great deal of time indoors.
Chelsea
shook the drab thought from her mind.

"When I was a baby, my parents and I lived in a house not too far from Aunt May's," Ben said.

At the mention of Ben's parents,
Chelsea
swallowed the bite of sandwich without even tasting the sweet baked ham. It wasn't that she didn't want to hear about his childhood, but she was scared to death that he might ask her about her own parents.

He didn't seem to notice her alarm. In fact, his gaze was trained on the horizon and his voice took on a wistful quality as he continued, "Apparently my father was something of a daredevil. He liked to show off, and kind of got a thrill out of living dangerously. Didn't like authority, that kind of thing. And I guess my mom was attracted to bad boys. My mom and dad were high school sweethearts and they married as soon as they earned their diplomas. My dad came to work for my grandfather, but Mom told me stories of how he was always getting into mischief. Needless to say, he and my grandfather didn't get along."

Ben was involved with telling his story and
Chelsea
found her eyes traveling the length of his strong jaw line. She liked the way his green eyes twinkled when he smiled, and she liked his straight, narrow nose. She found his features exceptionally pleasing. She hoped their baby would resemble him.

"My dad was fooling around one day on one of Granddad's tractors," Ben said. "He drove it up an incline that was too steep and the tractor rolled over. Dad didn't survive the accident."

"Oh, Ben," she said, sympathy welling inside her. "I'm so sorry." The words escaped before she even realized it.

"I was just a few weeks old, so I don't remember him at all." Ben inhaled and turned his gaze on her. "But my mom kept lots of pictures and she told me all about him. I know they loved each other very much. I could tell from the way Mom's eyes lit when she spoke of him. I feel like I know him." His tone lowered when he spoke the last sentence, almost as if he were speaking to himself. Then he flushed a little. "I guess that sounds silly to you."

"No," she told him. She swallowed. "Not at all." She snagged her bottom lip between her teeth and turned her head away from him, uncomfortable with the emotion that threatened to overflow.

"So tell me about…"

"Your mom? Tell me about her." Her demand cut him off with a terseness that bordered on rude; however, he didn't seem insulted and only smiled in response.

"Oh, my mom was beautiful." His smiled widened. "I remember that she was quick to laugh. And she loved music. She had a melodic voice and willingly sang lullabies and funny little ditties any time I asked. She could make up a song about anything right on the spot."

Chelsea
's heart ached at the picture he painted. It was so like the fantasies she'd conjured as a child.

Ben closed his eyes. "Her hair was the color of summer sunshine. And she had a dimple in one cheek. When she held me and smiled, I remember I would reach out and touch it."

When Ben looked at her again, his eyes had misted over and
Chelsea
's mouth went dry. She couldn't handle all this heartbreaking poignancy. Hell, she didn't know how to comfort herself, let alone anyone else. But then Ben smiled at her, and
Chelsea
knew it was meant to reassure her.

"My mother died when I was seven," Ben said. "Leukemia."

Again, sympathy surged through her whole being. But this time it was not only for him.

"Seven must be the magic age," she murmured helplessly.

"Magic age? What do you mean?"

She just shook her head, riveting her eyes to a leaf that had fallen onto the picnic blanket. The lump that had suddenly risen in her throat made it impossible to speak.

Ben frowned. He could see that
Chelsea
was fighting back some sort of demon from her past… a demon she wasn't yet ready to reveal. He decided the best thing for him to do was to continue talking and give her time to compose herself.

"Granddad took me in," he told her. "He and Aunt May loved me just as much as any parents would have. Life sometimes delivers some hard blows, but I've survived pretty well."

"Surviving is what counts,"
Chelsea
commented in a tight voice.

Ben's eyes narrowed on her and he looked as though he was going to ask her to explain her statement, so she rushed to ask "How about school?" in an effort to turn the topic to something a little less emotional.

Her question had him grinning and he reached up to run his fingers through his hair.

"Oh, high school was great," he said. "I played football, ran on the cross-country team. I even joined the debate club."

"Ah, I'm impressed."

"But I wasn't quite ready for college."

"Oh?"

He shook his head. "I goofed off the first year. Almost flunked out. But Granddad succeeded in turning me around."

Something in his tone had her asking, "And how did he do that?"

"He put me in charge of the books," Ben said wryly. "He put me in what is now your office and closed the door. I'll be damned if I wasn't completely lost. And I was scared to death I was going to make a wreck of the company finances." He chuckled. "The lesson was that it takes more than muscle to run a successful business." He balled up his napkin. "I didn't have the first idea of what I was doing, but I did it all summer. His plan worked. I went back to school the next fall determined to learn something."

"That must have been when I came to work for your grandfather,"
Chelsea
said. "John Reed hired me to straighten out the mess you made."

"He did, did he?" His emerald eyes danced. "And at which college, might I ask, did you learn to be such a wonderful accountant?"

"Oh, I didn't go to college," she said. "I was always good with numbers. I convinced John of that and he gave me my first job."

Ben whistled his surprise. "Granddad hired you to keep his books and you had no college degree, no previous experience? Now
I'm
impressed. You must have given one hell of an inspiring sales pitch."

Her chin dipped toward the ground. "I guess I did," she murmured.

She didn't want to reveal the terrible circumstances under which John Reed had hired her.
Chelsea
knew she owed the old man a lot, and that meeting him had been a turning point in her life. But confiding those things to Ben would be too mortifying.

Plucking at the blanket, she searched her brain for another question to ask him.

"
Chelsea
." His fingers touched her chin and gently lifted until their gazes met. "Tell me something about yourself."

When she didn't respond immediately, he tilted his head to the side and his eyes became persuasive.

"Tell me whatever you want," he coaxed. "Happy times. Sad times. Bad times. Good times. It doesn't matter. I just want to learn something about you. You've worked here for years and you're still a total stranger to me."

She was helpless against the tortured expression that crossed her face. "Oh, Ben, please don't."

His hand remained on her cheek as he looked into her eyes. Finally, he said, "Well, we've made some progress anyway."