Run to Me Read online

  Mustering a smile, she led Christie around the butcher block island in the middle of the spacious kitchen to a bright, multiwindowed corner where a few toys and books lay on her open Barbie sleeping bag. “Can you read your dolly a story for a few minutes until Mommy rinses the dishes? We mustn’t bother Mr. Corbett while he’s working.” She also didn’t want her getting hurt.

  Ignoring Erin’s protests, Mac had decided that Christie not only needed her own bed, but her own room—even though it meant transferring a dozen sealed boxes to his computer room. Even though Erin reminded him they wouldn’t be here very long.

  “Can Waggedy Ann have a cookie?”

  Erin smiled. “No, Waggedy Ann is too messy. When I’m through we’ll do something fun, okay?”

  “Okay, Mommy.”

  Another thud came from the spare room. Drawing a shaky breath, Erin carried their lunch dishes—their very late lunch dishes—to the sink, amazed that she’d managed to gag down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with Mac here. Christie’d had no problem at all with the small, microwavable container of macaroni and meat sauce from their bag of staple groceries.

  She was running water in the sink and rinsing the milk film from Christie’s plastic cup when a deep male voice directly behind her said, “That should do it.” The cup flew from her hands, popping and rattling hollowly against gleaming stainless steel.

  Hating her over-the-top reaction to him, she shut off the water and turned to face him. “Thank you. Again.”

  “You’re welcome. Again.” He grinned down at Christie, who was chattering something unintelligible and grinding her cookie into Raggedy Ann’s painted mouth, then spoke to Erin again.

  “I left a set of twin sheets and a couple of blankets from Granddad’s house on the bed. They’re clean, and the mattress was stored in a spare room, so it’s not musty smelling.”

  His hat was gone now, and his dark-brown hair was mussed and…sexy looking. “Thanks,” she said, jerking her mind back where it belonged.

  Mac waved off her gratitude, then strode to the refrigerator to check the crisper and meat drawers. In a moment he closed it again. “The only perishables in there are apples, and they look okay. Feel free to use them, and whatever you need from the cupboards.”

  “That’s very kind,” Erin murmured, “but we pay our own way.” Wiping her hands on a paper towel, she looked for a wastebasket. Blood rushed to her face when he took it from her and deposited it in a stainless steel receptacle built into a lower cabinet.

  “Your grandfather said he’d like me to start work tomorrow. Is that your understanding, too?”

  “Yes. I’ll handle the meal tonight, but I’d appreciate it if you’d be at Amos’s by eight in the morning. I gave Martin—Martin Trumbull, our full-time clerk—the rest of the week off. He’s been putting in some long hours since the first housekeeper left, and he’s no spring chicken.”

  At last, a familiar topic of conversation. “You mean the housekeeper who was interested in your grandfather?” she asked with a faint smile. “He said she’d…what was it? Set her cap for him?”

  “That would’ve been nice if it had been true.”

  “It’s not?”

  “Amos tends to give answers he’s comfortable with,” he answered, then changed the subject. “There was no mention of it in our newspaper ad, but would you be able to drive him to his physical therapy sessions when I can’t get away from the store? We have two part-time high-school kids who help out, but I don’t like to leave them alone if I can help it.”

  “Of course. Just give me directions. I’m not familiar with the area yet.”

  “You’re sure? He has PT on Tuesdays and Fridays. I can take him tomorrow, but we’re expecting a fairly large shipment on Friday, and I need to be there to unload it. I don’t want Martin or the kids hoisting eighty-pound feed sacks.”

  “I’m sure.” But she frowned suddenly, wondering if there might be a problem. “Will your grandfather be able to step up into my van?”

  “Not without help. There’s a hydraulic lift that adjusts to any level off the back porch. I had it installed so he could ride in my Cherokee. Just steady him as he’s getting in.” Mac sighed wearily. “If he’ll let you. I prefer driving him myself so I can see and hear firsthand how he’s doing, but since I can’t, I’d appreciate it if you’d pay close attention to what—”

  He stopped himself, massaged the furrows over his eyebrows. “Never mind, I can phone his therapist. As for directions, the hospital’s not hard to find. Amos can direct you.” He met her eyes. “Okay?”

  It took that moment and that worn look to see that Amos’s illness had taken a very large toll on his grandson, too. “How long has it been since his stroke?” Erin asked quietly.

  “Ten months.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  “Yeah. It’s been a long haul for him.” He glanced around as though he might say something else, but then his lips thinned. “I’d better get back. I don’t like leaving him alone for too long.”

  Hopping up from her puffy nest, Christie ran after them, and automatically Erin took her hand as they went to the door. But her thoughts were still on Mac. It had to be a strain, putting your life on hold to tend to another person’s needs, no matter how much you loved them. Although, she sensed this man wouldn’t have it any other way. Handing his home over to strangers probably wasn’t helping his peace of mind, either.

  “See you in the morning, Terri,” he said, closing the screen door and heading for the steps.

  “See you. Thanks again for setting up the bed.”

  Then, out of the blue, Christie delivered a giggling announcement that drove the air from Erin’s lungs and threatened to dump her on the floor.

  Slowly Mac reversed directions, his dark eyes sharp again. He repeated Christie’s innocently spoken words. “Terri is Mommy’s new name?”

  Blood thudding in her temples, Erin scrambled hard for another lie. It came to her like manna from heaven. Swinging Christie into her arms, she laughed, “Not ‘new’ name, sweetheart, nickname.” She grinned wryly at Mac. “We had a talk this morning about the names we use being short for our given names. Apparently, she got things a little mixed up.”

  But Christie’s little brow was still lined in confusion, and her rosebud lips were opening. Before she could breathe another syllable, Erin peppered her face and neck with noisy kisses that started Christie squirming and shrieking at the top of her lungs. “And now that you have a bed, Lady Jane,” she teased over the noise, “it’s time for your nap.”

  “I’n not Wady Jane!”

  “Shouldn’t that be your new nickname?”

  “No!”

  “Okay,” Erin agreed over the pounding of her heart. “I like the old one better anyway.”

  When her daughter’s giggles had dissolved into a sparkling smile, Erin faced Mac again, praying desperately that he believed the performance he’d just witnessed.

  He seemed to.

  “If you need to reach us at Amos’s, use the intercoms. There’s one in my room, one at the desk in the computer room, and one just inside the great room. Just press the button and speak.”

  “I’ll do that, thank you.” But as he climbed inside the old blue truck and drove off, she knew she wouldn’t. There was no point in giving him an opportunity to ask more questions.

  Easing Christie back a bit, Erin released a lung-clearing sigh and touched the tip of her nose to her daughter’s. “Okay, chatterbox, let’s get a sip of juice and visit the potty, then take that nap, okay?”

  “Are you ezausted, Mommy?”

  Erin smiled wanly. “You have no idea how exhausted I am, precious girl.”

  She considered having another talk with her about their new last name, but thought better of it. To tell her again that it was a secret that only they could know might confuse her all the more—and might invite yet another knee-buckling announcement. As the old adage went, it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

&nbs
p; Fifteen minutes later, with Christie curled warmly against her and softly snoring, Erin stared up at the ceiling from Mac’s bed. Varnished pine tiles in various sizes and shapes formed a lovely mosaic overhead and met smooth, pine plank walls, just as they did in the rest of the house.

  They were in. They’d passed the test. They had a job and a home until Amos no longer needed them. And Christie… Gazing down at her slumbering child, Erin felt a rush of emotion that brought tears to her eyes and thickened her chest. Christie was happy and secure, now. There were no longer any signs of anxiety or fear. No furious thumb sucking, no cries in the middle of the night. She stroked her daughter’s glossy hair, smoothed back several damp strands from her temple and cheek.

  Children should never be afraid.

  Between household duties and keeping Christie entertained, Tuesday morning and afternoon flew by smoothly. The only glitch happened at breakfast when Mac walked into the kitchen, fresh from his shower in a hunter-green oxford shirt and snug jeans. But he only stayed long enough to shatter her composure, tell Amos to be ready at one o’clock for his appointment, and say goodbye. The butterflies that had gathered in Erin’s stomach left through the same screen door.

  It was nearly six o’clock when Amos shuffled into the living room to his recliner and the evening paper, and Erin started the dishes. She’d pushed two vintage, chrome and red-vinyl kitchen chairs together so Christie could stand beside her at the double-bowl sink and “help.”

  Christie was butchering a nursery rhyme and dumping water from a plastic cup to a metal pan when Mac walked up behind them, nearly soundless in his stocking feet. He slipped his coffee cup into the frothy soap bubbles, and his warm arm grazed Erin’s. “Supper was delicious,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

  Chills of awareness drizzled from the nape of her neck to the soles of Erin’s feet. Like a second shadow, the heat emanating from his body warmed her side and back.

  “You’re welcome. I figured I couldn’t go wrong with chicken.” She hazarded a brief glance over her shoulder at him. He was standing so close, she could count every whisker in his end-of-day stubble, detect the faintest hint of a musky aftershave.

  Her gaze rebounded to the plate she was washing. “The two of you left so quickly this afternoon, I didn’t have time to suggest a menu.”

  “We eat anything,” he returned, settling a hip against the cabinet. “We’re not fussy.

  “Still, you could have had a choice. What do you prefer?”

  As she rinsed the plate and stacked it in the drainer to her left, Erin glanced at Christie. The front of her daughter’s pink-and-white shirt was drenched, and water slopped over the side of the pan as she stirred “water soup” with a big plastic spoon.

  “Since Amos’s stroke, we’ve been trying to eat meals that are a little healthier.” He laughed softly, and his warm breath somehow carried to her neck. Or maybe she just imagined it. “Which only means,” he continued, “that I bought a bunch of those TV dinners with less fat and more vegetables.”

  “I saw them in the freezer. I can serve those for lunch if your granddad likes them. I could also look for some reduced fat recipes—” a convenient thought struck her as she finished “—on the Internet.”

  In time, she’d planned to ask a favor of him, but now that she had an opening, there was no point in putting it off. She hoped she wasn’t too early with the request.

  Swallowing, she rinsed their silverware, placed it in the drainer’s cup and turned to face him. The sheer height and breadth of him still took some getting used to. He had to be six-two without his boots, seven full inches taller than she was.

  “I have a laptop with a modem,” she began hesitantly. “But I won’t be here long enough to make subscribing to an Internet provider worthwhile. I was wondering if—”

  He seemed to read her mind. “No problem. You’re welcome to use the computer in my office.”

  “Thanks. Do you have any objection to my e-mailing a friend from time to time? I’ll pay any charges, of course.”

  “There won’t be any. I have a local server. Just let me know when you want to use it. I’ll type in my password.”

  Feeling like a child asking permission to do something wrong, Erin nodded her acceptance, then summoned a shaky smile. “Not to press the issue, but if you have a moment later, the sooner I dig up some recipes, the healthier you and your granddad will be eating.”

  “Sure. I’ll come over after I bring in the horses and get Amos settled for the night. Probably around eight. He usually naps on the way home from PT, but he didn’t today.”

  “Great.” She wouldn’t abuse his generosity. But she was afraid to use the phone or regular mail to contact Lynn, and after all her help, her friend needed to know that she and Christie were okay and settled somewhere new.

  Thoughts of Lynn brought back the reason they were running, and an involuntary chill moved through her.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No, not at all,” she said with another quick smile. “I was just thinking it’s good that you have a lot of chicken and fish in your freezer if you want to eat healthy.”

  Which had nothing to do with her shivering, but he didn’t call her on it.

  “I wike fish!”

  He smiled at Christie before his gaze rebounded to Erin’s. “I do, too, but we are going to have beef once in a while, aren’t we? Maybe the occasional pork chop?”

  “Of course,” she laughed, “I work for you. You can have anything you like.”

  The flicker of desire in his eyes brought back the disturbing flush that was now becoming second nature to Erin whenever she was around him. It was a look that made her think of warm nights and soft whispers, even though daylight still shone through the window over the sink.

  Looking away, she busied herself searching for more silverware beneath the bubbles. “I don’t think an occasional steak or roast will do any harm.”

  “Good,” he murmured. “I’d hate to think we were raising steers for the fun of it.” He pushed away from the sink. “I’m going to catch the news with Amos. Don’t dry the dishes—just leave them in the drainer. I’ll put them away later.”

  “I can dry them. There aren’t that many.”

  But Mac was nodding at Christie. “Leave them. Take her back to the house and get her into some dry clothes. It’s after six now. Your time’s your own.”

  “All right,” she answered, realizing that Mac might want some private time with his granddad. She pulled the plug in the sink and lifted Christie down from the chairs, ignoring her flailing and whining for more playtime. “I’ll just finish up and see you in the morning.”

  Mac’s gaze fell to the front of her shirt…and clouded.

  Erin looked down.

  There was a wet, child-size handprint darkening the light-blue fabric of her blouse. It couldn’t have been more strategically placed on Erin’s left breast if she’d handed Christie a diagram. Reddening, she looked back up at Mac, who finally realized he was staring.

  Clearing his throat, he turned away, echoed her “See you in the morning,” then disappeared into the living room where Amos had suddenly turned up the volume on the TV set.

  Erin swallowed hard as she dried the water splashes from Amos’s sturdy chairs, then returned them to the table. Because from the way Mac had stared at her, there was no mistaking the fact that, given the chance, he would have gladly made that wet mark on her breast man-size.

  Chapter 3

  The night air was still warm, fragrant with pine when Mac arrived at eight-thirty. Erin felt more than a little awkward when he knocked and waited to be admitted into his own home. Or maybe she was uneasy because darkness was falling, Christie was already asleep…and the last look they’d shared had been laced with tension. She mentioned her initial reservation as Mac walked inside.

  His boots thudded softly as he crossed the large circular rug on the hardwood floor. “For the time being, this is your home,” he answered. “I’d never invade
your privacy by just walking in.” He glanced around as he stepped into the office off the foyer and clicked on the small gooseneck lamp atop the computer desk. “Is Christie asleep?”

  “Yes. She crashed around seven-thirty.”

  “How does she like her bed?”

  “She loves it—but she’s not in it.”

  “No?”

  She watched him frown at the collection of boxes he’d shuttled from the spare room to this one. Then, digging in, he moved a maple chair to the computer area and began stacking the boxes in the far corner of the room. Every movement showcased the powerful flex and play of his back muscles through his white polo shirt.

  Erin gave herself a mental shake and answered his question. “She has fun lining up her dollies and stuffed animals on it for their naps, but I think she feels more secure sleeping with me right now. She’ll adjust. She always does.”

  Mac slanted her another of those critical looks, then left the pile of boxes to turn on his computer. He motioned Erin into the office chair while he pulled the spare maple one close. Tiny blips of excitement danced along her nerve endings as he dragged his chair even closer, and the shifting air carried a scent to her that was part fresh citrus and all musky man.

  “It’s pretty standard,” he said. A dozen bright icons appeared on the monitor. “Click on the telephone icon to connect to the Internet, then when the search engine comes up, you’ll see another icon on the task bar. Click on the little mailbox, and you’re in.” He paused. “Go ahead.”

  When his e-mail page came up, he reached across her, the dark hair on his forearm brushing her arm. With a few quick keystrokes, he entered his password and set the computer to remember it. Then he sank back in his chair. “Okay, my password’s saved, now you can use it whenever you want. All I ask is that you use the start button to park it before you shut it off.”