The Widow's Protector. Rachel Lee

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СКАЧАТЬ …” He had to hunt for words as he drank in that smile. “I need to check your attic for leaks. How do I get there?”

      “There’s a drop-down ladder in the hall at the end away from the guest room.” She paused to rummage in a drawer, then handed him a big flashlight. “You’ll need this. You probably noticed the electricity is out.”

      “I did. I’m afraid I used whatever was left of your hot water.”

      She shrugged. “That’s okay. As long as there’s lightning I wouldn’t get in the shower anyway. And without power, we’ll just be using cold water regardless.”

      “True.” He took the flashlight and smiled. “Whatever you’re making sure smells good. I shouldn’t be gone long unless I find a problem.”

      “Thank you so much for everything.”

      “My pleasure. It’s not like I’ve done all that much.”

      And he really didn’t feel as if he had, he thought as he climbed the stairs again. Putting up a few tarps had probably done him as much good as it had her.

      The springs on the attic stairs squealed their thirst for some oiling as he dropped them and locked them into place. Well, that would be easy enough to fix, he thought. A can of oil and about thirty seconds. He’d take care of that, too.

      The ladder was sturdy despite its age. He climbed up and then crawled out onto some plywood that had been laid over the rafters to protect the ceiling underneath. He crawled along until he ran out of plywood, seeing that nothing was wet, then reached the area were he had tarped the roof. Everything was damp, but he expected that. He didn’t see any fresh puddling, and a scan of the tarps overhead didn’t expose any water drips. He waited a few minutes, listening to the steady rain drum. It seemed to be okay, but he’d have to check again later. He’d be surprised if there wasn’t at least one leaky patch in tarps this old.

      But as usual, now that he was looking around, he saw other things that needed doing. There were places where the roof decking looked as if it was starting to pull loose as wood dried and stopped holding the nails. Screws and some glue would be better.

      Then he caught himself. Not his house, not his problem. So why the heck was he making a mental checklist?

      Maybe because he knew somewhere deep inside he was going to try to help this lady out. He had the time. He had the know-how. He even had the money.

      And the thought of leaving her in a tumbling down house in her state sorely troubled him.

      When he rejoined her in the kitchen, the aromas were enough to make his stomach growl. Marti had a saucepan simmering on the stove now also, and she stood at the counter cutting fresh broccoli.

      She turned, wiping her hands on a bib apron. “Coffee?”

      “I’d love some. Just tell me where the cups are.”

      She pointed to a cabinet and let him serve himself as she resumed slicing the broccoli. “I hope you like wild rice and broccoli.”

      “I love both.”

      She flashed him a smile then went back to work as he sat at the table with his coffee. “How was it up there?”

      “Dry so far. Well, dry considering the rain that got in before I could put up the tarps. I’ll check again later for leaks.” He paused as another thought occurred to him. “I don’t know how things work out here. Do you get city water? Or are you on a well?”

      “On a well. There’s a backup generator for the pump, but that’s about all it runs. As long as it holds we won’t be without water. Why?”

      “Just curious. It struck me you might be on a well out here, but we still had running water.”

      “My in-laws did something right,” she remarked, leaving him to wonder how much they had done wrong. “I’m glad it kicked on, though. I don’t know much about it at all. We only needed it once before, and Jeff took care of it.”

      Jeff, he supposed, was her late husband. “I’ll check it out tonight, too. Make sure it’s not running out of gas.”

      “Thank you. I honestly don’t know. We have some five-gallon gasoline cans in the pump house, but I don’t even know where to fill the generator. I’m just glad it kicked on the way it’s supposed to.”

      A babe in the woods, he thought. Out here in the middle of nowhere, all by herself, and knowing next to nothing about this place. Maybe he could remedy a little of that before he left.

      “How long have you been here?” he asked.

      “Just six months. It was winter when we got here. I’d just found out I was pregnant.”

      “I’m sorry about your husband.”

      “This is going to sound terrible,” she said, turning her back as she gave her attention to her cooking, “but I’m not.”

      That left him utterly flat-footed. He hadn’t the least idea how to respond to that. He watched her stir a pot, seeking some appropriate response.

      With her butcher knife, she swept the broccoli from the cutting board into another saucepan, added a little water, then started washing her tools. The silence would have seemed deafening except for the endless spattering of rain against the darkening windows.

      Finally she joined him at the big old farm table with coffee of her own.

      “I told you it would sound awful,” she remarked, holding her mug in both hands. “I’m sorry he died, but I’m not sorry he’s gone, if you get the difference.”

      “I get it.” He did, but as his thoughts trailed back to Brandy, he realized that, although he didn’t miss the constant daily struggle with her depression, he still missed her. There was a difference, but he suspected the difference Marti was talking about wasn’t the same as his.

      “I don’t miss him,” she said. “I thought I would, but I don’t.”

      “What happened?”

      “When?” Her short laugh held an edge. “He was an alcoholic. When he drank, especially when he drank, he was verbally abusive. Then he lost his job because of it and couldn’t get a good enough recommendation to find another. That’s when he decided we’d move out here. He’d inherited the house from his parents a couple of years ago, and he was sure we’d be fine. The land was leased every year and he figured we could live on those leases if we were careful. It also prevented him from having to find another job.”

      “Which was difficult.”

      “The times are hard. Being an alcoholic makes them harder.”

      “I imagine it would.”

      “So we came out here right about the time I realized I was pregnant. I hoped things would get better. I should have known they wouldn’t. Not having to sober up to get to work in the morning didn’t help. I thought maybe taking the pressure off him might make a difference, but it didn’t. If anything, he got worse. Then three months ago he was driving drunk on an icy road.” She shook her head. “I may be lonely, but somehow СКАЧАТЬ