“Are you kidding? We walked for hours, then you made dinner, cleaned up and did your whole inventory of any useful items. You’re tired.”
She rolled her eyes, giving him the tiniest smile. “I work longer than this on any given day. I’m sure you do, too, on the farm.”
The work she did in Santa Barbara couldn’t be as hard as what her body had been through today. But it was a good time to press for details. “I do work hard on the farm when I’m there. What do you do?”
She glanced away. “I’m between jobs at the moment.”
“I’ll bet you were in business. At an office? I can totally see you as an executive.”
“Ha. I wish. No such luck.”
He smiled. “A secretary, then? No shame in that.”
She tried to slide her hands back from his, but he wouldn’t let her. He needed to get her to open up to him. He rubbed his fingers along her palms, trying to calm her, since she kept glancing back to the door and windows.
The texture of her hands didn’t register at first. The hardened bumps where her fingers met her palms. When he realized what they were, he stopped his rubbing and turned her hands over.
Her hands had noticeable calluses. Ren recognized them for what they were because he had similar ones on his own palms. They’d been even worse when he’d lived on the farm.
They came from holding a wooden handle of something in your hands all the time. In his case it had been shovels or brooms, or even the horses’ bridles. Days and years of hard work.
He wasn’t ashamed of his calluses, and would never think poorly of a woman who had them, either—the opposite, in fact.
But for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why Natalie Freihof’s hands would have them. He’d watched her for the last week go to office buildings and a bar. Business meetings and parties.
Nothing that should have her hands in this shape.
She looked down at her hand resting in his. “Not so pretty, huh?” Her eyes immediately flew back to the door.
He didn’t mention her hands again. He wasn’t going to get any info out of her when all she seemed to be able to focus on was the fact that the door wouldn’t lock.
It didn’t make any more sense than her snow phobia did last night. But he could see she was on the path toward another breakdown.
“Natalie, look at me.”
He could tell it cost her effort to look away from the door and meet his eyes, but she did.
“Can I tell you something I’ve realized about you in the short time I’ve known you?”
She nodded.
“You’re strong. When you thought I might need help at the train, you were coming to do it, even though you were hurt. Today when we had to walk, you did it without complaint. Once we got here, you got to work doing what needed to be done.”
“But now I’m freaking out,” she whispered. “Just like I did last night. You have to think I’m crazy.”
He pulled her closer. “No, I don’t. But I do think a body only has so much energy and it can only be utilized so many ways. You’re completely exhausted right now, and because of that, your fears about the locks on the doors and windows are overwhelming you. If you weren’t so exhausted you’d be able to handle it better, right?”
“Not always, but usually.”
“How would you do that?”
She looked away. “I have a method of making sure I’ve locked the doors and windows. I use sticky notes. It’s stupid.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed about. You had a problem and you figured out how to work it.”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t help me much now.”
“How about if we pull one of the kitchen chairs over and wedge it under the door handle? It doesn’t exactly lock it, but it will be damn loud if someone tries to open it.”
