His Wife for a While (21 page)

A thought flashed through her mind: her baby. Automatically, her hand went to her lower tummy. A part of the man she loved was inside her, growing, developing with every passing moment. The very idea brought her a tremendous peace, a peace she only wished she could share with Ben.

But she couldn't possibly tell him about her pregnancy now. He certainly didn't feel the way she did about the baby. No, she couldn't burden him with her good news when he was experiencing such a crisis.

Ben pulled into his driveway, switched off the engine and simply sat there. The rain had subsided to a steady pattering and the wind tapered off to intermittent gusts.

"I'm sorry,"
Chelsea
finally said.

Although her apology would do him no good, she was awed by the amount of emotion her words held. This man had succeeded in stirring her feelings as no one had in many years.

Ben rested his elbow on the curve of the steering wheel, his chin cupped in his palm.

"Damn it,
Chelsea
. I wanted to succeed."

"But Ben," she said, "you can't be responsible for the weather."

He didn't seem to hear. Or maybe he did, and he chose to ignore the simple truth.

"We needed the rain," he commented. "But the hail..." He scrubbed his forehead with his fingertips. "The hail was a killer."

She turned and rested her back against the passenger door so she was facing him.

"It's too bad there's no insurance." It wasn't a question. She paid the bills and knew she'd never written a single check to cover an insurance premium.

"Insurance is exorbitant. Trying to insure everything would eat into profits too deeply," Ben said. "The buildings and equipment are covered, and that's all we can afford. If I secured the crops, I'd never be able to improve the business. New equipment or acreage. Hell, some months we probably wouldn't eat after paying those premiums."

He chuckled ironically. "Granddad felt that farmers are gamblers by nature. I always knew what he meant. But now that he's not here to chuck me softly on the chin and assure me that everything's going to be all right, I not only know what he meant, I feel it. Down to the bone. Hell, I'm living it. And it isn't very pleasant."

"Well, maybe the damage won't be as bad as it looked."

He made a disgusted sound. "Come on, Chels. You saw the same thing I did."

She gazed out the windshield at the apple trees that lined the land in back of the house. She had seen the devastation; she knew it was most probably worse than what it had looked. There were acres and acres of peach trees in that particular grove. The hailstorm had most likely destroyed most if not all of the peach crop.

Although it wasn't like her, she couldn't bring herself to be negative. Not now. Ben was low enough as it was.

"But you really won't know for sure," she said, "until you go back and check it out."

"And I will," he answered. "Later."

He reached over and covered her hand with his.

"I want to thank you for going with me. It meant a lot that I didn't have to sit there and watch that by myself."

They sat there, motionless, his hand on hers. He searched her face and then turned his gaze to the scenery beyond the window.

Chelsea
focused on his face; the green of his eyes deepened with anguish; his strong jaw, set and stiff, his mouth taut with the dismay that obviously plagued his mind. She wished she could ease his apprehension, wished she could alleviate his trouble.

The love she felt for him welled inside her until she was frightened her feelings might spill over. His fingers curled around into her palm and she held them tightly. He made a tiny arc on the back of her hand with his thumb.

Closing her eyes, she pressed her free hand over the spot where their baby snuggled and thought about the three of them here together. Even in the midst of this catastrophe, a tiny flame of happiness flickered. With Ben holding her hand and her baby cuddled securely inside her, she somehow felt they were, for that moment, connected. She might never have another chance to feel this way.

If only Ben could find the same kind of comfort she was experiencing.

They stayed at home the rest of the day. Ben paced from room to room like a restless, silent phantom while thunder rumbled across the steely clouds, lightning streaked the sky and rain poured.
Chelsea
couldn't get him to eat any of the lunch or the dinner she'd prepared. She ended up eating both meals alone, if picking at the food and moving it from place to place on her plate could be called eating.

She washed up the dishes by hand, rather than using the dishwasher, because it gave her something to do. And just to keep busy, she spent an unnecessarily long time straightening the cabinets that held the pots and pans, baking dishes and cookie sheets.

Finally, with absolutely nothing left in the kitchen to clean or organize, she went into the living room, drying her hands on a tea towel as she went.

Ben sat in the evening gloom on the far corner of the sofa. When she reached to turn on the lamp, he said, "Don't. Please."

She sat down beside him. "Ben, you'll make it through this."

In the shadows, she saw him nod.

"I know I will," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I've just been thinking of the men."

"The guys who work for you?" she asked.

"Yes. I'm sure the loss of the peach crop will force me to lay off some of them." He sighed heavily. "Maybe not right away, but…"

He was silent as he rubbed an agitated hand over his jaw. "Those men have families to feed, bills to pay."

Chelsea
looked down and saw that she'd twisted the linen towel into a tight snake. Why couldn't she lift some of this heavy weight from his shoulders?

He stood suddenly and looked down at her. "At times like this, it isn't fun to be the business owner. It isn't fun, at all."

Ben pulled open the door and walked out.

Chelsea
went to the window and watched him tramp off through the orchard.

She had to do something. She simply had to find some way to help him out of this mess.

The loss wasn't enough to make Reed's Orchard go under, but she could see that Ben was eating himself inside out worrying about his employees, men who needed the jobs he provided.

Her mind churned with possibilities. And as it did, she absently twisted the towel ever tighter.

Chapter Nine

Chelsea
knocked on the door of Ben's office twice, excitement compelling her to rush inside before he could answer.

"Good morning. You left the house before I even woke up," she said. Blue birds couldn't out chirp the brightness of her greeting.

The sight of his haggard face wrenched at her heart and caused her smile to fade. It was obvious that he hadn't slept. The white pad of paper that lay on the desk in front of him had a long, neat line of numbers written on it. He punched the buttons of his grandfather's huge, old adding machine without looking up. The narrow white receipt paper flowed over the back of it, curling on the desktop like ribbon.

"What are you doing? Does that thing even work? You have a calculator on your phone, you know."

"I left at dawn to check out the peach crop," he said, ignoring her questions. "It's completely wiped out. Completely. I doubt there will be enough fruit for Aunt May to make a damned cobbler."

"I'm sorry, Ben."

He dropped the pencil on top of the pad and gazed up at her. "I've been trying to work out some numbers." He sighed heavily. "But I guess I should have waited for you. I can't seem to get the same sum twice in a row."

"I'll be happy to help you with the figures," she told him. "A couple of keys on that machine stick. It should have been tossed in the trash years ago." Then a spontaneous smile pulled at her mouth as she said, "But I think I can help you even more than simply working out some numbers."

His brow furrowed as he asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Well," she began. She shrugged. "This should explain everything."

She offered him the slip of paper, and he reached out and took it.

"It's a check," he said.

"Um-hmm."

"A personal check," he said.

"Um-hmm."

He leveled his bewildered green eyes on her.

"For fifty thousand dollars." His husky voice sounded more than a little bewildered.

"Um-hmm."

Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed the knuckle of his index finger across his lips. He sat there in silence studying her.

She eased herself down in the chair facing him and gave him the time he needed to collect his thoughts.

The idea was perfect, of course. One that had come to her in the wee hours of the morning. She had scrimped and saved for nearly ten years and that money was sitting in her bank account just waiting for the chance to help Ben.

Well, the money hadn't really been meant to help Ben, and giving it to him would mean that she wouldn't be able to leave Reed's Orchard as soon as she'd planned. But she could live with that. She'd simply have to work hard and continue to scrimp and save. But that shouldn't be too difficult. Frugality had become a way of life.

A tiny voice had whispered in her mind that giving Ben her money was a good excuse for staying. But she'd stifled the whispers, cut them off at the quick as if she'd been wielding a pair of sharp scissors, and convinced herself that providing an excuse for staying wasn't the reason she was offering Ben her savings.

Her sole objective was to help him out of this terrible predicament. And from the look on his face, he found her suggestion amazing.

His tone was somber and quiet when he said, "This is the money you've saved. The money you planned to use to get settled somewhere else."

The look on his face and the tone of his voice dimmed her excitement and optimism, and the pitch of her, "Um-hmm," wasn't as cheery as it has been just a moment before.

"Why would you give me your money?"

His question caught her off guard. She hadn't expected him to ask what had motivated her to give him the money. And she certainly couldn't ever tell him the truth.

"What do you mean 'why'?" She shifted in the chair, crossed her legs, tugged at the hem of her shirt, playing for time. "Do I need a reason?"

"Yeah, actually. You do." He nodded. "I want to know why you'd give me something so important to you, something that took you years to save. Why would you do something that will surely alter all the careful plans you've made. I mean, leaving here after you become pregnant is important to you isn't it?"

"Of course it is." Her tone was almost haughty. "We've already talked about this. I told you it was, didn't I?"

Why the hell was she feeling so defensive? It probably had something to do with the guilt over not telling him she was pregnant. Oh, yeah. It was guilt, and it was slithering up her back like a garter snake.