Falling for the Mom-to-Be Read online

  “I’ve got an idea,” he said, glancing at his watch. “It’s only two-thirty. Why don’t we get outside and take in some fresh air? I’ll show you the City College and where your mural walls are located. What do you say?”

  She glanced back again, as if his idea wasn’t half bad.

  “Who knows, maybe it will help you get unstuck.”

  Her face brightened at the suggestion. “You’re on. Just let me change my shoes.”

  *

  Marta enjoyed the distraction of driving around the quaint and colorful city of Heartlandia. She looked out the window, taking it all in.

  “We’re heading north past Heritage, the main street in our downtown section. That’s the Heritage Hotel, oldest building in town. Now we’re heading toward our hill that we like to call a mountain, Hjartalanda Peak. It’s not exactly Saddle Mountain, over there—” he pointed eastward toward a large pine-covered mountain range off in the distance “—but it’s good enough for us.” He smiled at her, and a weird fizzy feeling flitted through her chest. Those eyes. Must be those crystal eyes.

  “Heartlandia City College is halfway up the hill between the Ringmuren wall and downtown, which took a lot of campaigning to approve clear-cutting a large section of our pines. In the end we agreed that we needed the jobs, the incentive for our kids to stay home to go to college instead of leaving the area and the influx of new blood the school would bring into town. Plus, I promised not to cut down one more tree than necessary and to plant a whole lot of other trees somewhere else.” He looked at her and smiled again. “I’m not going to lie—I’m very proud of the college.”

  “Your company built the entire college?”

  He nodded. “My father started his construction company fifty years ago from scratch. He built half of the bungalows and sloping-roof Scandinavian log houses you see scattered across the hills. When he was fifty and I was twenty he developed rheumatoid arthritis and asked me to take on more responsibility for when the time came he couldn’t do the hard work himself. I learned the business from the ground up for the next ten years, and when my dad moved to Arizona at sixty, I took over. I’m glad to say the business didn’t fall apart when I stepped in.” He flashed a smile she could only describe as charming, and there went that fizzy feeling again. “I’ve actually brought the company to a new level but only because of the foundation my father laid down for me. And the work ethic he instilled in me.”

  “That’s very impressive,” she said, meaning it.

  “Thanks.”

  They pulled into a large lot and parked close to a long and low building to the left of the main three-story administration center and a cluster of other one-and two-story structures. They’d gone the clean, midcentury modern route with a definite Scandinavian influence in architecture.

  He opened the door for her, and she followed him toward the long, low bungalows.

  “This is the history quad,” he said. “We thought this would be the best place to put your mural. See those walls over there?”

  She nodded and sped up her pace to keep up with him.

  “Those are your walls.”

  She liked the sound of that—her walls.

  “The mural will be visible to everyone as they enter the campus. Pretty good, huh?”

  “Fabulous. Now I’m getting excited but nervous, too.”

  “No need. You’re very talented. I’d say quit stressing about your artist’s block. Things will work out in their own way. You may be surprised. Just keep getting your grid together.”

  She walked ahead of him and followed the long twelve-foot-high walls, imagining what her mural would look like when she’d finished. “Wow, this is great. See, I’m getting goose bumps.”

  He politely took a look at the raised hair on her arms. “I’ll get right to work prepping these walls for you. When you’re ready to start, nothing will hold you back. I guarantee.”

  “I wish I had as much confidence as you do.” What if she couldn’t break through the mental block about the beginning of Heartlandia’s history? What would she do then? She’d been hired based on two reasons, and she was sure the first carried the most clout. Her great-great-grandfather had designed and built the town monument. Also, the mural committee liked her style of painting. She’d only done extralarge canvas paintings so far and they were much smaller than these walls, but the committee had chosen her once she’d submitted her preliminary vision for these walls. They must have seen something they liked.

  “Are you kidding? You’re a fantastic artist. Listen, if it will help I’ll arrange with the school librarian and the history department chair to get you more books and photographs from our town. We have a great Maritime Museum with loads of old pictures, but it’s undergoing renovations after a recent fire. There’s all kinds of stuff for you to look at right here.”

  “That’s really nice of you. Thanks.” It meant a lot to her to hear Leif praise her work.

  “I want to help in any way I can. I built this college and I want to see it at its full potential. Your mural will make all the difference in the world.”

  If she could only believe in herself half as much as he did. She couldn’t let her personal circumstances and disappointment hold her back on this project, or let the insecurity of not being wanted by the father of her child spread to her art, and she silently vowed to make this mural her best work yet. She needed the job for financial security and the recognition it would bring for her and the baby’s future.

  “So what will you need?”

  Lost in her thoughts, she glanced at him blankly.

  “For painting,” he said.

  “You mean paints?”

  “Yeah, and brushes and drop cloths and any other supplies.”

  “Acrylic mural paints are a must, and I’ll be needing gallons and gallons of the colors. It might be tough on the city budget.”

  “Do you have a list of your colors yet?”

  “I have a good idea what I’ll need.”

  “Then, let’s go shopping.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Dead serious. It’s four o’clock, so we better hurry because our hardware and paint store closes at six on Sundays.”

  With that they rushed back to the truck and hopped inside. Marta hadn’t felt this excited and full of energy in weeks.

  “Tell me about your family,” she said as they drove, deeply curious about the man, a near stranger, who had so much faith in her abilities.

  “My people came here in the 1800s. They were fisherman, like most of the other Scandinavians in this area. I think my first relative might have been an indentured servant on a fishing boat from Denmark. I’m Danish, by the way. Well, I’m actually an American of Danish descent. I guess you’d say that is more accurate.”

  She understood. “My ancestors are from Argentina, but like you, I think of myself as American with Latino roots.” Her mother had always been too traditional for her taste, and overprotective, but that was to be expected and it was her way of showing she loved Marta. But they’d argued constantly about her free-living lifestyle, and it had driven her away. Now she wished with all of her heart she could have mended their differences before her mother had died. Family had taken on a whole new meaning eight weeks ago.

  Leif ran down his brief genealogy chart while they headed for the paint store, then he suddenly hit a bumpy patch in the story. “My father died eight years ago, so we moved my mother back here from Arizona where they’d retired. I’d originally built the guesthouse for both of them to come and visit whenever they wanted. Five years ago, Mom had a massive stroke and died on the way to the hospital.”

  “I lost my mother last year and can only imagine how tough it must be to lose both parents.”

  “Yeah, I guess that makes me an orphan.”

  “I believe you’re right.” So who had he built that big gorgeous house for? “Were you ever married?”

  “Yes.”

  Of course he was a traditional kind of guy. The kind
of man she’d never run into while living her sophisticated artist’s life.

  “I built my future wife’s dream house as a wedding gift. I had to do something to get that woman to marry me.” He worked at a smile, but it came off as wistful and far from his eyes. “My wife was Norwegian, since we’re talking about Scandinavian ancestry.”

  “Are you divorced?”

  “No.” He grew quiet for a moment. “She died from ovarian cancer three years ago.”

  Things suddenly added up—why he’d offered her the master bedroom and studio, why he hadn’t slept in that room for three years, why he stayed in the big house by himself rather than sell it. “I see. I’m very sorry to hear that.” Not only was he an orphan, but he also was a widower and had lost everyone he loved. “That’s a lot of people to lose in a very short time.”

  “You’re telling me.” He inhaled as he parked and cut the engine. “But losing my wife was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through in my life.” He gazed solemnly out the windshield. “Ellen… She was the one who suffered the most.”

  The thought sent a chill through her. “You don’t have children?” She turned toward him rather than move to get out of the car.

  He faced her, too. “That’s how we found out about her cancer. We wanted to be a family. A big family. Decided to have a bunch of kids. We tried for that first baby for a couple of years and finally decided to go the fertility clinic route, first checking out my plumbing, then hers. That’s when they found her cancer. Already too late.”

  His distant glance over her shoulder was tinged with agony. It nearly broke her already raw heart.

  Overcome with compassion and respect for this man who’d lost everything he’d loved, making her own situation pale in comparison, Marta leaned across the bucket seat, reached for his forearm and squeezed. “You suffered, too, Leif. I can only imagine.”

  Their eyes locked for a couple of moments. New understanding passed between them. He studied her as if he was trying to figure out if he appreciated her concern, or if he resented the pity. It wasn’t pity, as far as she was concerned. This connection was an honest desire to offer him comfort. She wondered how he’d managed to survive losing his entire family. How lost he must be all by himself. In such a short time, she’d already figured out he deserved much more than this lot in life. And she had nothing to complain about. She had her health, a baby on board and a profession she loved. She almost had everything…except a man.

  “If it wasn’t for the business, I think I would have gone nuts.”

  “You’re a survivor. A person can tell that about you right off.” She started to remove her hand, but he reached for it and squeezed, holding tight for a moment before releasing her. His warm touch surprised her. In twenty-four hours it had already changed from their initial mechanical handshake.

  “What do you say we go shopping?” He’d obviously had enough of this heavy conversation. His story was probably the last part of Heartlandia history he’d wanted to dig up today, but she was glad he had. It helped put so many things in perspective.

  “Let’s do it.” She smiled and he returned it, in obvious relief. They’d come to a realization—they’d both been knocked in the teeth by life. The major difference was his love had died, and though she’d broken off with the person she once thought was the love of her life, she had a new life growing inside her. She wasn’t about to complain about that, especially when all Leif had been left with was an empty house.

  With masks firmly back in place, they got out of the cab and she followed him into the store for some major distraction.

  *

  An hour and a half later, ten minutes shy of the hardware closing time, they rolled two shopping carts filled to overflowing to the checkout. Gallon after gallon of top-quality mural paints in a dozen different colors plus protective clear varnish to ward off the effects of weather. Primer, which Leif would apply after preparing the walls for her. Every size and shape brush she could possibly need, drop cloths and plastic basins for mixing colors. Thinners. Thickeners. On and on and on the supplies piled up on the counter.

  “Oh, we can’t forget these,” Marta said adding several packages of paint odor valved respirators to the pile.

  When the total rang up, Leif didn’t blink. Marta tried to not look but noticed anyway and was surprised by the total. “Put it on my account,” he said.

  Both pushing a cart back to his truck, she couldn’t ignore where her thoughts had been heading since they’d walked into the store. “So you’re the town benefactor for this project?”

  He tried to look surprised but did a poor job of it and immediately came clean. “I made a bundle building that college,” he said while opening the tailgate and beginning to unload the supplies. “When the topic came up about the mural, the committee balked at the expense. I volunteered to see it through. That’s all.”

  “I’m being paid very well. You must be a rich man.”

  “Like I said, I’ve been blessed with a successful family business.”

  “That you’ve obviously grown into a mega business.”

  He nodded, playing down the blood, sweat and tears that must have gone into the process. “True.”

  She tapped his chest. “You’re far too humble, Leif Andersen.”

  He laughed. “Not that humble. Truth is, I want this mural to be a kind of legacy for my family. For my father, who added so much to this community, and my mother, who’d always been a patron of the arts. And for my wife, who believed in the community college from the start, when everyone said it was a crazy idea.”

  “Like I said, you’re too humble.” As she handed him another can of paint, their gazes clicked with perception and they finished unloading in silence.

  One more unsettling thought occurred to Marta as they emptied the carts. There was a huge similarity to his position of benefactor and her recent personal history with Lawrence. Hadn’t she vowed to never let that happen again? The difference was, this was a job. She’d been hired. There was nothing personal between them. Though they’d definitely reached a new understanding this afternoon. She’d opened up to him, and he’d opened up to her. They’d shared a special moment in the car.

  Something had come over her after hearing his heart-wrenching story, and she couldn’t help herself. She’d reached out for him in the parking lot and they’d connected. Spending the afternoon with Leif had been the highlight of her day, and how crazy was that for a pregnant woman?

  She was in Heartlandia for a job, and though the city had hired her, Leif was writing the paychecks. No matter how appealing he was, she’d keep everything between her and Leif from here on out strictly professional.

  She had no choice.

  Chapter Three

  It had been four days since Leif had told Marta about his wife and she’d told him about the pregnancy—and they’d shared a special moment. But she’d pulled back. He’d gotten up each morning and left for work before she was awake, though a time or two he’d heard her losing her cookies before he’d left. When he came home, he’d walk the dogs. Inevitably, by the time he’d gotten back she’d have left a note on the kitchen counter saying she’d already eaten and not to cook for her.

  Mostly, she’d stayed in her studio. He knew she was working hard at placing the grid on her preliminary mural, but wasn’t she getting cabin fever? The most surprising part was how he’d already missed what little interaction they’d had those first couple of days. Here he’d been living as if he didn’t need anyone anymore, yet her presence made him hungry for companionship. What was that about?

  He didn’t think less of her because she was pregnant, but did she think he did? Maybe it mattered to her that he was a man who’d never managed to get his life back on track once he’d lost his wife. Or maybe she felt as though she’d told him too much and wanted to keep things on a different level. He couldn’t figure out the change in her by guessing, that was for sure.

  One thing he did know—he owed her some kind of explanation
about why she was blocked with her painting. It wasn’t her imagination; there was a reason and she deserved to hear it, yet he’d kept her dangling in the dark. Sure, there was going to be a town-wide meeting tomorrow morning breaking the news, but why let Marta think she was a little cuckoo for having those weird feelings about the beginning of Heartlandia’s history for one more day? Besides, it would give him an excuse to draw her out of the artist’s cave.

  She was one perceptive woman, and he hoped his reason for asking her to take a ride with him right now wasn’t nearly as transparent as he suspected it might be. He missed her and wanted to spend some time with her. Was that a crime? Something about her, besides her good looks, called out to him.

  Whatever the reason, it was only three o’clock on a beautiful day. Why not take advantage of it? He rushed up the steps and tapped on the studio door.

  “Come in,” she said softly.

  “Haven’t seen you in a while.” He entered the studio, aware of the huge mess. “How are you?”

  “Doing well.”

  That was not how she looked. Weren’t pregnant women supposed to have some kind of glow or something? She looked pale and tired and maybe even a little thinner than when she’d first arrived. How long was morning sickness supposed to last?

  “The grid almost done?”

  She nodded. “I’ll be ready to go by next week. I’m going to work backward with the painting, like we talked about, and see what happens when I get to the beginning.”

  “Sounds like a solid plan.”

  “I’m just not sure how much space to leave.”

  “I guess that’s something to take into consideration.”

  Her eyes drifted back to the grid with a fretful stare. Maybe he could make her day a little better.

  “Oh, hey, I was just thinking it’s really nice out and you’ve kind of been cooped up in here for a few days, and the dogs and I are going to—”

  “Sure, I’d love to.” She went to the sink and washed her hands.

  He cocked his head and suppressed a smile. “How do you know what I’m asking?” Did she always cut people off?