He arrived daily, without fail, and tackled each repair in a sensible manner. And aside from the first day, when he’d purchased the supplies without speaking to her first, he always consulted her before commencing a new project. He’d patiently explain the different options and then answer any questions she’d had.
Did she want the porch painted white or brown to match the stone accents on the house? Which part of the roof needed to be repaired next? And would she mind if he added bins in the pantry when he repaired the cupboards?
His presence was comforting and consistent. And he never chastised her if he caught her wiping a tear or, on the one occasion, when he’d come upon her sobbing in her garden.
He’d simply taken the hoe out of her hands and gone to work digging up the last of the potatoes in her stead.
When she had pulled herself together, he’d handed it back and squeezed her hand reassuringly.
“At least now you won’t have to worry about watering them,” he’d said.
And she’d gone from crying to almost laughing. It had not been the first time he’d done that for her. Given her the chance to grieve and then brought her back to the present in such a way that she knew she could go on.
On the eleventh day of her widowhood, Naomi determined it was time she did some real work on the nursery. Water stains aside, the white color of the room had grown dull and gray from age, and the pale-yellow paint Arthur had purchased over the summer had yet to be applied. Surely, she could manage to brush the color on herself. How difficult could painting be?
She dressed in her oldest frock and, after eating a simple breakfast, some eggs and a cup of tea with cream and sugar, she climbed back up the stairs and entered the charming little room she’d selected for her baby.
Wanting to be able to actually see what she was working with, Naomi drew back the heavy drapes covering the window but then immediately bent over coughing from the cloud of dust she’d unsettled. The weak, gray light of a rainy day came pouring in, but she could hardly see through her watering eyes.
“Want some help?” Luke’s sudden appearance made her jump.
“You need to make more noise when you walk.” She blinked away the dust in her eyes and then sent a mock glare to where Luke was standing in the doorway. “Perhaps you should consider wearing a bell.” He had a habit of appearing out of nowhere, often leaning against a doorframe and giving her that crooked smile that was becoming far too important to her.
He pointed at the rain-spattered window. “I can’t do much outside until it stops, and Ester has shooed me out of her kitchen.”
“She must be baking bread.”
“And an apple pie.”
“Well then, we mustn’t hinder her in any way.” Ester’s pies were legendary, and Naomi’s appetite seemed to have returned almost voraciously.
The volume of droplets on the window increased and the thrumming rain was now a dull roar. Autumn was flying by unapologetically. Whereas a few weeks ago the rains had felt almost warm, a biting wind now accompanied them. At least half the leaves had been blown off the trees and the other half glowed red, orange, and yellow quite spectacularly. But picturesque or not, Naomi could hardly expect Luke to work outside in the rain.
“I’ve never done anything like this before.” She gestured toward the walls with one hand, rubbing her belly with the other. “But I’d like to fix the room up for my little radish.”
“She’s becoming more of a potato now. Far too big to be a radish.”
“You’re assuming my little potato is a girl.” She shook a finger at him. But as she splayed her hand over the mound growing inside of her, she winced. “Or pumpkin, rather.”
“Nah, it’s a girl—Cockfield intuition.” Damn that grin. “And perhaps a cantaloupe, but not quite a pumpkin.”
“Cockfield intuition? Ha! I don’t think I believe you.” She couldn’t help but shake her head at that. He was so very good at this. Making her laugh at the simple things when a week ago she’d doubted she could ever laugh again.
“But I wouldn’t mind a little guidance with the room.” She winced as she stared at one of the walls. “This color is too dreary, regardless of whether or not my… cantaloupe is a girl or a boy.”
Luke pushed away from the doorframe and sauntered in. After running his fingers along the wall in various places, he brushed his hands together, scowled, and came to a decision. “We need to wipe it down first.” He startled her for a moment by jumping up and down a few times. “Floor seems solid enough, though.” When something in the darkest corner of the room caught his gaze, however, he frowned. “I thought I’d repaired this leak already.”
The rusty-colored mark showed where water had been seeping through from above to trail a path down one of the corners. Such marks were ubiquitous throughout the house.
She grimaced when a large drop splattered onto the floor. “I’ll get a bucket.” She’d learned that such leaks were what had been ruining all of her floors.
By the time she’d returned from the kitchen, Luke had retrieved a ladder and was pulling soaked strips of plaster away from the corner, shaking his head.
The plaster fell away in sopping heaps that reminded Naomi of strips she’d once used as a child to make a paper mâché elephant.
“Oh, hell, Naomi.” He looked concerned as another large strip dropped to the floor. “Hand me that bucket.” He stepped up higher on the ladder so he could examine the ceiling.
Naomi watched him in concern, but as he stretched and reached, she found herself noticing how the muscles in his thick thighs rippled when he twisted. And beneath his shirt, where the material pressed against his abdomen, the flesh wasn’t soft but firm with obvious strength.
