His Wife for a While (18 page)

She let the thought glide right out of her mind, realizing that she'd never had a real home of her own.

Lord, she had to stop thinking this way, she was getting downright morbid.

Chelsea
held the door open for a customer and then went outside and lifted her face to the late-afternoon sun. She started off toward the woods across the parking lot, hoping the long walk to the center could clear her doldrums. But she sincerely doubted it would work.

Her large plastic bag was less than half filled with candy and gum wrappers, aluminum cans and water bottles as
Chelsea
walked the nature trail, searching for litter left by careless hikers, rebellious teens or children who just didn't know any better. No amount of pleading or preaching seemed to convey the message: leave nothing behind but footprints. Picking up trash had been the excuse she'd given the manager of the nature center for staying on after the center had closed; actually, she walked the trail, with the gate locked tight against visitors, because she knew it was the one place she could be utterly alone.

A plastic straw lay at the base of a tall oak tree and
Chelsea
bent to pick it up. She tucked it into the bag, then simply stood there listening to the quiet.

She desperately wished her thoughts were as serene as these woods. Reflections of everything May had said about marriage had been whirling around in her brain. If her mind was a slate, she could simply wipe it clean. But it wasn't, and she couldn't.

Realizing the depth of her feelings for Ben had been shocking. However, she'd thought she could deal with those feelings; hold them at bay, ignore them, or whatever it took to get through until they each got what they needed and they parted ways. But now she found herself wanting him; she caught herself contemplating what it would be like to be a real wife to him. Now that she'd talked to May…
Chelsea
just sighed. The woman's face had lit with euphoria when she'd closed her eyes and pressed her palms together in that almost holy fashion when talking about her marriage.
Chelsea
couldn't stop herself from wondering what that kind of relationship felt like. Could she ever become close enough to Ben to feel as if she'd touched his soul? Was such a thing really possible?

It didn't really matter if it was possible. Not when she couldn't give one hundred percent of herself. Not when the experiences in her past so damaged her.

Even if she were a perfectly happy and mentally healthy individual, the whole idea of loving Ben was a futile one, because he didn't feel the same way about her. How could she ever begin to imagine that Ben might feel something for her? How could he love someone like her? Someone who hadn't even been loved by her own mother? It was silly. No, it was stupid.

She knew she wasn't like other people. Knew she wasn't normal. Knew she was unlovable. She'd known it for years and years now. How could she not? She'd even come to accept the idea. And then Ben came along.

Kind, caring, generous Ben.

Just the thought of him was enough to put a smile on her face.

Abruptly, she cocked her head and looked back along the trail behind her. She'd thought she'd heard something. There it was again.

Dropping the plastic garbage bag, she took several steps back the way she had come.

Then she heard it. Faintly but clearly,
Chelsea
heard the sound of someone calling her name. She went toward the sound and realized it was Ben.

"Over here," she called.

The winding trail was flanked by thick underbrush and tall trees, and it was several minutes and several back-and-forth calls before he came into view.

"I've been calling forever," he said. "I was just about to give up and go home."

"There are miles and miles of trails,"
Chelsea
told him even though he already knew it. "It's a wonder we found one another."

"It sure is. May told me I could find you here."

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

"Everything's fine," he said. "I was just worried about you."

"Oh." After a moment, she asked, "How did you get in? To the center, I mean. The gate to the parking lot is locked."

Ben grinned. "I parked on the entrance road and jumped over the gate. Pretty spry for an old guy, huh?"

She chuckled softly, her heart melting at the sight of his boyish smile. "Yeah, pretty spry. That sounds just like something your grandfather would have said." After a moment, she said, "I have to go back." She indicated the trail behind her. "I've been picking up trash and I left the bag when I heard you calling."

"That's okay," he said. "I'll come, too. I wanted to get you out alone in the woods, anyway."

She laughed out loud when she saw his eyebrows waggle mischievously.

"I'll bet you did." That's when she realized she'd been so intent on looking at his handsome face that she hadn't noticed the thick, fluffy quilt that he had slung over his forearm.

"Well," he began, his tone light, "I thought we'd go deep into this desolate, isolated forest and...talk."

Again she laughed at his suggestive tone, knowing very well he was teasing. He certainly didn't mean for them to... to... Her smile slipped and then faded altogether. But surely he didn't want to... Not here… In the woods?

Of course, he didn't. He simply wanted to talk. And rib her a little.

They walked the trail and when they came to the plastic bag that she'd dropped, she bent to retrieve it.

"Let it be," Ben said. "We'll get it on the way back."

"Okay. But how far do you want to go?"

"Oh, just far enough," he said, the words still tinged with teasing. "I'll let you know."

They rounded a sharp bend in the trail and came upon a tiny clearing.

"This looks good," he said. He reached down and tossed aside a small branch from the grassy spot. The blanket covered the entire area as if it were made to fit.

Ben eased himself onto the quilt and patted a spot beside him. "Have a seat," he offered.

Sitting down cross-legged, she asked, "So, what'd you want to discuss?"

"Money."

"Oh?" She couldn't hide her surprise. She hadn't known what to expect, but she wouldn't have guessed this topic in a million years.

"Yes," he said. "I'm a little concerned about the business, and I thought I'd ask your opinion."

Her astonishment must have been evident, because his sigh held a touch of impatience.

"Chels," he said, "you're the bookkeeper. The bottom line lady. You work with the numbers everyday."

"Of course," she said, finally understanding. She felt a bit chagrined at having thought he wanted her opinion simply because it was her opinion. But, of course, thinking that for even a split second had been stupid of her. He wanted her counsel because she was his employee. His bookkeeper.

"Well," she said, "the numbers have been tight lately. Profits aren't as high as they were this time last year. But we're still operating in the black."

"Barely." He nearly growled the word.

"Now, it's not as bad as all that. I've seen it worse while John Reed was in charge."

"You did?" he asked

"Um-hmm," she answered. "The profit you're looking at now is just slightly below average for all the years I worked for your grandfather."

"Really?"

She smiled at his obvious surprise, but he'd gazed off at the horizon.

He ran his fingers through his hair, an action that was habitual for him and one that
Chelsea
had become so ultra conscious of this past week. It always started a giddiness churning in her stomach.

"Chels, I want the business to prosper," he said. "I want Reed's Orchard to grow and succeed past my grandfather's dreams."

"But," she started slowly, not wanting to hurt him, "John is gone, Ben. Why are you so focused on…"

"Past
my
dreams, then," he said in a rush. "I know he's gone. I don't want you to think I've got my hopes and dreams all twisted up with his. But I would like to think…" He hesitated. "If he could be here now, or look down and see what's going on… I would want him to, I don't know… It probably sounds silly, but I'd want him to be proud."

"I'm sure he would be," she said softly. "You saved the orchard from being sold, didn't you?"

"You did that," he said. Then his frustration boiled over. "Is it too much to ask to be a success?"

"Of course not. Why would you think that? That's what every business owner wants."

"Well, how can I achieve what I'm looking for?"

She tipped her head slightly. "You are talking money, aren't you? You want more personal wealth from the orchard."

He sighed, as though he was weighing his answer. "I'm not looking to become a millionaire. But more money would be nice. I guess I'd like a little recognition."

"I'm not following you."

He pressed his strong hands together in prayer-like fashion and touched his index fingers to his lips. She looked at those hands and those lips and experienced a nearly tangible flashback of the pleasure they gave her in bed.

Chelsea
's mouth nearly dropped open at the vivid image, and at the same time, some amazing chemical reaction inside her heated up her blood and caused her pulse to stutter. She swallowed back the gasp that welled in her throat.

"I want the people in the surrounding community to know we're here," he said. "I want them to know what it is we do. I want them to respect the work... the effort we put into making Reed's Orchard…" He broke off suddenly, then shook his head in frustration. "Hell, I don't know what I want."

She took a deep breath and collected herself, tried to focus on the conversation at hand. This was no time for horniness to rise up from the mists. Ben was trying to express some serious thoughts here and she was being carried away by lust.

After running her tongue over her lips, she said, "I think I understand. You work a lot of hours in the orchard. You care about the products you grow. I think that in order to command respect for your hard work, you have to let people see what it is that you do."

His brow rose with interest at her words.

"Open up the orchard to the public," she offered. "I don't know...maybe offer hayrides in the evenings… or..." Then she got excited as an idea fell into her head. "How about offering local elementary schools a tour? Let the children see what it's like to run a fruit-growing business."

"That's a great idea," he said. "Kids would love seeing the refrigeration room where we store the apples."

"And the sorting machine, and the bagging machine, and the conveyor belts. Children probably have no idea where those apples at the supermarket come from. And don't forget the cider press. You'll be enlightening lots of kids...." She lifted one shoulder. "And the school system will be enlarging our profit margin."

"Chels, this is a wonderful idea." His gem green eyes glowed with excitement. "
Wonderful
. Thanks."

A delicious warmth permeated
Chelsea
's whole body. She'd made Ben happy. She'd never before made another person smile as he was smiling right now. It felt good. No, it felt great.