The Widow's Protector. Rachel Lee

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 I don’t feel as lonely as I did when he was still around.”

      Before he could react, she seemed to catch herself, giving a quick shake of her head. “Sorry, you didn’t need to know all that. I guess it’s too easy to talk to a stranger.”

      “That’s okay.” He suspected she hadn’t talked to anyone about any of this in a long time, if ever. Sometimes you just needed to say things out loud, which was the whole reason he was headed west to see his brother-in-law. To tell Ben the whole story. To get it off his chest with someone else who was grieving. He gathered she didn’t have anyone close at all, so why not talk to a stranger? “You’ve had a rough time of it.”

      “Others have it worse. I’ve still got a roof, thanks to you. The rest I can deal with.”

      “Well, you don’t actually have a roof,” he reminded her. Then he asked, hesitantly, “Are you in any financial shape to have it repaired?”

      “No,” she admitted. “I’ll figure out something some how. Right now, after looking at the hay fields, I’m wondering if the people we leased the land to will be able to pay up at the end of the season.”

      Implied in what she said was that she might be completely broke in a few months.

      “I can’t do anything about the fields,” he said slowly, as feelings warred within him. Part of him was demanding he at least put this woman on a safe footing before he left, and another part of him was demanding he get back on the road before he got tangled up in problems with a size he didn’t know. That could be a recipe for a mess for both of them.

      But then he made the offer anyway. “I can fix your roof.”

      “No! Oh no,” she said, looking horrified. “I couldn’t pay you. I can’t buy the materials. But thank you.”

      He shook his head, wondering if he were losing his mind. Then he remembered how good he’d felt only a few hours ago on her roof, working with his hands again.

      “Money isn’t an issue for me,” he said flatly. “I sold my construction business two months ago. I like working with my hands. In fact, right now I think I need to work with my hands. All I need is a few hot meals and a place to sleep, and I can take care of the roof and maybe a few other things.”

      “I couldn’t ask that.” She looked genuinely distressed.

      “You’re not asking, I’m offering. I’m telling you, Marti, it’s been a long time since I felt as good as I did pounding those nails today to put those tarps up. So humor me. Call it my therapy.”

      “What do you need therapy for?”

      “My wife killed herself eight months ago.” That was the first time he’d said it that bluntly, and he watched as Marti clapped a hand to her mouth, her blue eyes widening.

      “I’m so sorry,” she whispered behind her hand.

      “Me, too. She suffered from chronic depression. All the docs, all the meds, all the psychiatrists …” He paused. “She finally seemed to be getting better. I came home from work and there she was.”

      “I can’t imagine,” she said, her voice thin. She dropped her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

      “So am I. I’ll probably spend the rest of my life wondering how the hell I failed her. But that’s neither here nor there. I have to live with it. But fixing your roof would make me feel better about something. Is that too much to ask?”

      She stared down at her coffee mug for a long time. He felt the endless minutes tick by.

      Finally she looked up at him, her blue eyes damp. “Who’s asking whom?” she asked.

      “Does it matter? We both have needs, and they seem to mesh. Your roof in exchange for a few days of labor that’ll make me feel better. Fair trade?”

      At last she nodded. “Fair enough.”

      Then he forced a smile. “Look out, lady. Construction is my business and my life. I’m going to take over.”

      At that a fragile smile appeared on her lips. “Have at it,” she said. “But only as much as makes you feel good.”

      Dinner felt like a feast after the way she’d been cooking for herself, although it was nothing really special: roast chicken, seasoned wild rice and buttered broccoli.

      She insisted on doing the dishes by herself, even though leaning over the sink now made her back ache a little. Keeping active was getting harder and harder for her as her pregnancy progressed and she had so little she needed to do, living by herself. Yet she knew staying active was essential. She put two kettles on the stove to heat some water for washing and rinsing the dishes, then set to work.

      Ryder took the flashlight and headed up to the attic again.

      Night had closed in on them. Rain still rattled at the window over the sink, and sometimes she heard the house creak a bit as the wind gusted.