What She'd Do for Love (6 page)

“I guess so.”

Now it was her turn to take a step back, to move away from the connection she was starting to feel for him. “I have a bunch of things I need to do at the house before my parents get home,” she said. “I’ll tell Dad you stopped by. Do you want him to call you?”

“No rush. I’ll stop by some other time.” He straightened. “Maybe I’ll see you again.”

She took another step back. “Ryder—don’t get any ideas, okay? I mean, I’m here for just a little while, to get my bearings and look for another job. You’re here to oversee this highway project.”

“And I’m part of all the changes you hate.” He nodded. “I know you don’t like what I do, but we can still be friends. That’s all. You can’t have too many friends, can you?”

What did he expect her to say to that? “No. I guess not. And I think—I think you’re an okay guy, even if we don’t agree on this highway issue.”

“I’m still hoping to win you over to my side.” He nodded politely and then headed across the yard, back toward his truck.

She hugged her arms across her chest and watched him climb into the truck and drive away. She’d told him she liked it here on the ranch because life was simple. But lately, things had gotten very, very complex. Ryder was one more complication she wasn’t sure she knew how to handle.

* * *

R
YDER
DROVE
BACK
into town, intending to return to his apartment and follow up on some paperwork he needed in anticipation of next week’s ground breaking for the highway. He didn’t want any last-minute glitches to delay the project. The townspeople, as well as his bosses with the state, would scrutinize every aspect of his work, so he wanted it to be perfect.

But instead of turning toward his apartment, he headed down Main Street and parked in front of the hardware store. Inside, he wandered the aisles, looking at displays of paint and supplies, then stopped in the aisle devoted to housewares. He fingered the edge of a red-and-blue braided rug.

“Thinking of doing a little redecorating?”

He turned and recognized Christa’s friend, Kelly. The petite brunette walked toward him. “I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but you look a little lost, Ryder.”

“My mother’s coming to visit, and I thought I ought to try to fix my place up a little.”

“Good idea.” She glanced at the display of rugs. “You don’t really seem like the braided rug type, though.”

“Honestly, all I know about rugs is that you walk on them. And I don’t care to learn more, except I’m trying to avoid giving my mom an excuse to lecture me about growing up and settling down. I figured having an apartment that looked like I actually lived there would help.”

“You’re in Vicki Harrison’s garage apartment, right?”

“Yep. I take it one of her sons lived there for a while, so it still looks like a cross between a frat house and Grandmother’s attic.”

Kelly’s laughter emerged as a snort. “Not a good look. So, what are you hoping for instead?”

“I just want it to look like someplace an adult man would live. One who’s sort of...settled.”

She quirked an eyebrow in a quizzical manner. “Does this mean you’re thinking about staying in Cedar Grove long term?”

“I’m only here for the duration of the road project.”

She clucked her tongue. “And here I thought I had some juicy gossip.” She studied the shelves, and then confidently pulled down a couple of navy blue rugs. “Start with these. I suggest you put them over any stains in the carpet.”

“Okay.” He took the rugs. “What else?”

“Are you seriously telling me you’ve never furnished an apartment before?”

“I never needed to.”

She shook her head and added a stack of bath towels. “Hang these where your mom will see them if she uses your bathroom. That will keep her from focusing on the ratty ones you probably use every day.”

“You’re starting to scare me. Have you been peeking in my bathroom?”

“I don’t have to. Most people—especially single men—use ratty bath towels for everyday, and save the good ones for company. Put these in the kitchen.” She added dish towels and a matching pot holder. “Oh, and these will help dress up the sofa.” She piled on four throw pillows in shades of gold, brown and blue.

Ryder peered over the top of the growing stack. “Anything else?”

“You need pictures. Art.” She looked around. “I don’t see anything here, but if you stop by Wildwood Flowers, she has a good selection. Buy a couple of plants, too. Ask her for anything that thrives on neglect. It would help if you framed a few photographs, too.”

“Photographs of what?”

“You—with friends. Hanging out. Doing stuff. You know, to personalize the place. Let your mom see that you have a life.”

He tried to remember if he had any photos of himself with other people besides his family. Maybe he’d been captured in some shots other people took, at work or casual gatherings with acquaintances. But he had no albums or computer files with candid shots of himself at parties or barbecues or dinners. Those were things people accumulated when they lived somewhere for a while—at least long enough to establish a history.

“Thanks,” he told Kelly as they headed toward the checkout. “I’m sure this stuff will help warm the place up a little.”

“Maybe you should ask Christa to help you,” she said, her tone was casual, but the inference was not.

He smiled. “I thought she was in marketing, not decorating.”

“She’s a smart woman, so I’m sure she’d have good ideas for you. And it would give you an excuse to see her again.”

Ah. More matchmaking. “I didn’t know I needed an excuse to see her.”

She set her purse on the counter and faced him. “Etta Mae said you two looked pretty cozy at the Blue Bell last night.”

“We enjoyed talking.”

“You could continue the conversation at your apartment.”

If he was worried about his mom seeing where he lived, he definitely didn’t want Christa to know what a failure he was at putting his own stamp on the place. “I think I’ll leave Christa out of the decorating, thanks.”

“Maybe that’s a good idea. Get the place fixed up first, then invite her over.”

“Christa and I are just friends.”

“That’s a good place to start. And I’m really happy for you. I think the two of you are a good match.”

“We’re not dating. She made it very clear she doesn’t want to date me.”

“And half the women in town would tell her she needs her head examined, but that’s just Christa—it takes her a long time to warm up to anything new. She just moved back to town, so she has to adjust to that before she can move on to dating. But she’ll come around. Trust me, I’ve known her all her life.”

“So she’s always been slow to accept change?”

“Are you kidding me? She carried the same backpack all the way through high school, even though it was falling apart, because she couldn’t stand to get a new one. In ninth grade, she ate a cheese sandwich every single day for lunch. When the Dairy Queen closed down, she practically went into mourning. It’s not that she doesn’t like new things—she just wants all the old, familiar things to stay the same.”

“Yet she moved to the city after she graduated.”

“Yeah, that was a big step, but it was what her parents and everyone else expected her to do, so that made it kind of routine. Plus, she loved her job and established herself there pretty quickly. I think that’s why this layoff has thrown her for such a loop. She thought she was settled for life.”

“She seems pretty young to be so set in her ways.”

“It’s not set in her ways so much as anchored. She’s very loyal to the people and places that are meaningful to her. And she’s willing to change, if she has a strong enough reason to. There’s something to be said for being steady and reliable and not flighty.”

“I guess there is.” He piled his purchases on the checkout counter. “Thanks again for your help, Kelly. Maybe all this...” He indicated the rugs, pillows and towels. “Will make me seem less, um, flighty to my mom.”

A pink blush stained her cheeks. “I wasn’t talking about you!”

“It’s okay. I know Christa and I are pretty much opposites in our approaches to life.”

“You know what they say—opposites attract.”

“Why are you so set on setting me up with Christa?”

She made a face. “Well, you obviously aren’t interested in me, and if I can’t have the most eligible guy to hit town in a while, why not root for my best friend? Also, if the two of you got together, she might decide to stick around, instead of running off to Houston again. I’d like that.”

“Better not pin your hopes on me,” he said. “I really think Christa isn’t interested.”

“But you didn’t say you weren’t interested in her.”

“I don’t see any long-term relationship in my immediate future.” The words hurt to say, the tight pain in his chest a reminder that what he wanted and what he knew would happen didn’t always mesh perfectly. “The timing just isn’t right.”

“Oh please! As if love answers to a time-table. There’s such a thing as being too practical, you know.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a practical guy—cold and logical.”

Kelly wrinkled her nose. “You weren’t supposed to hear that. And she didn’t mean it, anyway.”

“But I am practical. And I am leaving town in a year or two, so I’m not the right guy for someone who wants a life built around routine and constants.”

“You say it, but I don’t believe it. Anyway, good luck with your apartment and your mom. You never know—if you make the place comfortable enough, you might decide to stick around longer.” She slid the strap of her purse onto her shoulder. “I have to run now. I just stopped to see if they’d gotten in the shelf brackets Mom ordered, but they aren’t here yet. See you around.”

“See you.”

He paid for his purchases, and carried them to his truck. He had his doubts that a few towels and pillows would make much of an impression on his mom, but it was worth a try. And if he ever did bring Christa to his place, maybe she wouldn’t think he was quite so cold.

CHAPTER FIVE

A
FTER
R
YDER
LEFT
, Christa returned to the house and showered. She told herself she should pull out her laptop and start working on her résumé, but the thought of putting a positive spin on the fact that she’d lost her job made her want to crawl back into bed and stay there. She’d start the job hunt in earnest soon, but she needed more time to process what had happened. The job counselors had even said that getting laid off was like any other loss—she needed time to grieve.

Instead, she decided to make a special dinner for her parents. She couldn’t compete with her mother’s pot roast and peach pie, but she could grill steak and make baked potatoes and a salad. Mom and Dad would appreciate the meal after their long day in the city.

Jet alerted her to her folks’ return, barking excitedly and standing at the front window, tail wagging. Christa stayed in the kitchen, slicing tomatoes, ears straining for the sound of the door opening. “I’m in the kitchen,” she called.

No one answered. She moved to the door in time to see her mother hurry down the hallway. Her father removed his hat and turned toward her.

He had aged ten years in the few hours they’d been gone. Deep lines etched his face and his eyes were bloodshot, as if he’d been crying. But her father didn’t cry—at least she’d never seen him do so, not even at his parents’ funerals.

“Dad, what’s wrong?”

“We’ll talk about it later, pumpkin.”

His use of his pet name for her only made her hurt more. “Dad, you look terrible. Something must have happened in Dallas. Are you hurt? Is Mom hurt?”

“Your mother is going to be fine.” He spoke the words, not as reassurance, but as declaration, his voice almost angry.

“Do you need help unloading the truck?” she asked.

“There’s nothing to unload.”

So they hadn’t gone shopping. “I made dinner, when you’re ready.”

“I don’t think either one of us could eat. Thank you anyway. I’m just going to see to your mom.”

He moved down the hall toward their bedroom, shoulders slumped, shuffling like an old man.

While her parents stayed behind the closed bedroom door, Christa sat in the kitchen with the untouched food. She’d never seen her father look so devastated. He must have gotten terrible news in Dallas. Had they gone to see their banker? Had the ranch been foreclosed on?

She’d been so focused on her own problems that she hadn’t paid enough attention to all the signs that were right in front of her nose: he hadn’t hired anyone to replace Duncan. He had sold off a lot of the stock. Even the orange survey flags she’d seen on her drive into the ranch were a clue. Maybe Dad planned to sell off part of the land. The last thing he needed was another mouth to feed. She couldn’t have come home at a worse time.

She’d have to move back to Houston right away. She’d take any job she could find, whether it was in her field or not. And she’d get a roommate. She wouldn’t burden her parents with her problems when they were dealing with so many of their own.

Well after dark, Mom and Dad emerged from their room. They came into the kitchen holding hands. Her mother had obviously been crying, and she looked shrunken, folded in on herself. Dad held out a chair and she sank into it. “Christa, we need to talk to you about something,” she said.

Christa’s chest hurt. “What is it?” she asked, in a voice that didn’t sound like her own.

“I saw a doctor today in Dallas.” Mom’s voice sounded strange too—thin and whispery. “An oncologist.”

Christa stopped breathing at the word. “A cancer specialist?”

“I have breast cancer.” Mom drew in a shaky breath. “I’m going to have a mastectomy.”

“When?” But the real question she wanted to ask was
How?
How could her strong, vibrant,
healthy
mother have cancer?

“Soon. Friday, if the surgeon can arrange it. We’re waiting for a call.”

“It’s going to be fine.” Dad rested his hand on Mom’s shoulder.

“How long have you known?” Christa asked.

“We got the confirmation from the biopsy today, but the doctors have suspected something since I had my mammogram a couple of weeks ago.”

“No wonder you seemed so distracted.”

“The day you came home I had just had the biopsy. I was still a little out of it from the surgery.”

“But why didn’t you tell me? I could have come home sooner. Or I would have stayed in Houston, if that would be better.” She would do anything for her Mom and Dad, if only they would let her.

“We didn’t want to worry you,” Mom said.

“I was already worried that you were acting so differently toward me—as if you didn’t want me here.”

“Oh, honey, that wasn’t it at all. Of course I want you here.”

“You’ll be a big help in your mom’s recovery,” Dad said.

“Of course. I’ll do whatever you need. All those times you nursed me when I was a kid, I can at least pay some of that back now.”

Mom sat up straighter. “I don’t need a nurse. And I don’t want anyone hovering over me. The doctor said I can be back on my feet a few days after surgery, and they have all kinds of new medicines to help cope with the treatments afterward.”

Treatments. She must mean chemo and radiation—her mother couldn’t even say the words. “What do the doctors say? I mean, how bad is it?” Christa tried to brace herself for whatever would come next.

“Stage two,” her father said. “They caught it early.”

“They won’t know for sure until after the surgery,” Mom said. “But they’re cautiously optimistic.”

“She’ll be fine.” She noticed her dad’s fingers tighten on her mom’s shoulders.

Christa’s eyes stung, but she refused to let tears fall. Her parents were being brave about this; so would she. One thing was for certain, though. She wouldn’t be going back to Houston any time soon.

* * *

“T
WO
B
ARN
B
URNER
SPECIALS
, coming up.” Paul Raybourn dropped a white paper sack that smelled of beef and onions in front of Ryder and took a seat across from him at the picnic table. He opened a similar sack and pulled out a thick hamburger. “This is probably guaranteed to clog our arteries, but at least we’ll die happy men.”

“I plan on sticking around at least a little while longer.” Ryder unwrapped his own burger. The two friends had run into each other outside the bank and decided to have lunch together. The Burger Barn, a local favorite, was a small stand near the school whose dining area consisted of three large picnic tables in the shade of ancient live oaks. The tables were splintered and uneven. Ryder thought of Christa’s suggestion of a rest area along the new highway. Too bad that wasn’t already a lunch option for them.

“You seem to be settling in here in Cedar Grove,” Paul said. “That was quite a performance you gave at the public forum the other night. You won the men’s respect and had the women all swooning.”

“Swooning?” He choked back a laugh. “I don’t think so.”

“Don’t play dumb. Most of the single women in town, and some of the married ones, are making eyes at you.”

“New guys in small towns always attract attention.” When he was first traveling on his own, Ryder had been flattered, until he’d figured out the women who went after him were more interested in the novelty of someone new than in getting to know him.

“Maybe so,” Paul said. “Handsome guys with good jobs attract more. Or so my wife tells me. If I wasn’t happily married, I’d probably hate you.”

“How is Didi?” Ryder asked. “And the baby?”

“They’re fine.” Paul pointed a French fry at him. “Don’t change the subject. Is it true you and Christa Montgomery are dating?”

“No!” He froze, burger halfway to his lips. “What gave you that idea?”

“Traci Schaeffer, who works at the bank, saw you two getting cozy over coffee in the Blue Bell after the forum, and Al Nelson, the mail carrier, noticed your truck out at the Rocking M yesterday afternoon.”

Ryder’s shock must have shown on his face. Paul laughed. “You can’t keep secrets in a town this small.”

“I don’t have any secrets to keep. Christa and I are not dating. She barely tolerates me.” For a while at the ranch yesterday, when she’d been telling him about her home, he thought they’d made a real connection. Then she’d made a point of warning him off. Message received and understood.

“That must mean she really likes you,” Paul said.

“You’re crazy.”

“What does she have against you?” Paul asked. “Is it because of the highway?”

“She doesn’t like change. She thinks the new highway will kill the town.”

“It’s going to change the town. The main business area will probably shift. The bank is talking about moving out closer to the highway. And the town council is looking into annexing the land where the new shopping center will be, but it’s going to require jumping through a lot of hoops. Christa will come around. Most people will.”

“The town isn’t the biggest problem,” he said.

“Oh? Does she have a boyfriend back in Houston?”

Ryder’s burger felt like a lump of lead in his stomach. He hadn’t even thought of the boyfriend angle. But Christa had lived in Houston for years—maybe she’d left someone behind there. Maybe one of those co-workers she thought of as family. Still, wouldn’t she have said so?

Then again, there were a lot of things between them that hadn’t been said. “I don’t know if there’s a boyfriend or not. I don’t think so. But when she finds out the deal I’ve made with her father she’s going to hate me. And there’s nothing I can do to stop that.”

“You haven’t told her?”

“There’s nothing for me to tell. The decision is up to Bud. I told her she needs to talk to him about it, but apparently that hasn’t happened yet.”

“I don’t pity you when she finds out.”

“I went out there yesterday to talk to Bud, to tell him to discuss this with Christa. The ranch is her home, so she deserves to know. But he wasn’t there. Christa said she’s hardly seen him since she got home.”

“Maybe he’s avoiding her. He doesn’t want to talk.”

“Maybe you’re right, but until she knows what he’s going to do about the ranch, there’s no sense in my trying to get too close to her.”

“So, what is he going to do with the ranch?”

Ryder shook his head. “He hasn’t said. And I’m not going to push him. My plan is to stay out of this as much as I can. And that means keeping my distance from Christa.” Not that she’d given any indication that she wanted him closer—the opposite, really.

“Good luck with that.” Paul picked up his burger again. “In my experience, women are more unpredictable than the weather.”

Right. His best hope was that, when Christa did speak to her dad, Ryder managed to avoid the storm that was sure to follow.

* * *

B
Y
THE
TIME
Friday arrived, Christa was a nervous wreck, though her parents had regained their equilibrium. They were a solid unit, supporting each other. That was the way a loving married couple should act, Christa told herself. Maybe one day she’d be lucky enough to experience that kind of support from her husband. In the meantime, she couldn’t help feeling excluded from their intimate circle, struggling to deal with her worry and fears for her mother on her own.

On the long drive to Dallas for her mother’s surgery, her thoughts drifted to Ryder. He probably would have pointed out how much shorter and more convenient the new route would make the trip. Shorter would be better today—though that didn’t mean she agreed that the new highway was the best thing for the town.

The hospital was a modern, gleaming high-rise, as different from the little county hospital where Christa had had her tonsils out when she was six as a grand tabernacle was from a country chapel. After a flurry of paperwork and preparations, a nurse in pink scrubs whisked her mother off to surgery. Christa and her dad sat side-by-side in uncomfortable orange chairs in a waiting room, the sudden silence and stillness between them like the starkness after a tornado or other disaster. The world couldn’t possibly be normal after this, yet it was.

A cooking show played on the television, the cheery hostess enthusing about the marvels of baked tomatoes or something like that. Christa had brought a book, but she was too keyed up to focus on it. Dad sat bolt upright in his chair, hands gripping his knees. He looked as if he might shatter if she touched him.

He must have felt her eyes on him. Suddenly, he turned and said. “What have you done about finding a new job?”

She’d been waiting all week for Dad to ask about her job. When she’d first delivered the news about her reasons for moving home, she’d expected him to question her like a prosecuting attorney, wanting every detail of the layoff—the reasons given for letting her go, who else was laid off with her, what positions her co-workers had held, what kind of severance she’d been offered. Avoiding the grilling had been a relief at first, but had also made her feel that maybe he didn’t care.

She appreciated his interest, but a hospital waiting room was the last place she’d expected to have this conversation. “Well, I attended the seminar my employer—ex-employer—offered to all the laid off workers,” she said. “And I filed for unemployment, of course.”

“Have you talked to anyone, put in any applications, let people know you’re available?”

“No.” She forced herself not to squirm in her chair like a little girl caught stealing cookies from the pantry. “I thought I should wait until I was settled here. And I need to update my résumé.”

“You can’t waste time. The longer you wait the worse it looks.”

Said the man who had never worked for anyone but himself. “Dad, I—”

“I know you think I don’t know anything about these things, but I read the paper. I’ve seen all the stories about the high unemployment rate. The people who land new positions are the ones who work all the angles. You did a good job for your old firm, didn’t you?”

“Of course. The layoff was based purely on seniority, not performance.”

“You’d be a real asset to someone else—just remember that.” That was easy for her father to say—he’d have loved her if she’d been completely incompetent.