Falling for the Mom-to-Be Page 7

  With her explanation the world seemed far too complicated to navigate. “It’s way too early for me to think, let alone wrap my brain around that, Marta.”

  A quick smile creased her lips. “I’m pretty sure thinking had nothing to do with what happened last night.”

  Wasn’t that the truth! That moment of insanity, kissing her as if it might be his last kiss ever, thrummed through him. He had to make things right.

  “Look, I can arrange to store Gunnar and Lilly’s things and move into the guesthouse if—”

  “Not at all necessary on my account. Please.” Those pleading chocolate eyes made their point without further words.

  She was okay with what had happened.

  There was no need to ask if she was sure or not; the tilt of her chin settled it. He drank her in with the next sip of coffee. She was fine with things as they were. “Okay. But keep in mind you may be too intuitive for your own good.”

  He poured more coffee into his travel mug and headed out the door to take the dogs for a quick walk. Once he’d let off steam, he’d go right on to work. The less he saw of Marta right now, the more in control he’d feel, and he definitely needed to take back some control.

  But as the day wore on, his strategy didn’t pan out. He thought about Marta spending too much time on her project. He worried about the baby. Was Marta eating the way pregnant women should? Was she getting enough rest? And though they’d apologized to each other that morning, it didn’t feel official enough. He should do something more. To distract himself from the barrage of thoughts, he worked hard right along with the crew putting the finishing touches on Gunnar’s house. As he did, an idea for multitasking occurred to him.

  “Rick and Dexter, I want you guys to head over to the college and start scraping off the stucco on those bungalows we talked about in the history quad.” The only way to keep Marta out of his hair—and mind—was to keep her busy and out of the house. The sooner he prepped those cement walls for her, the sooner she could begin painting her mural and—though he hated to think about the next part, it was necessary—the sooner she would leave town.

  End of problem.

  The intuitive artist made him squirm with feelings that for three years he’d managed to keep at bay. She could recite all that “meant to be” business as much as she wanted, but he wasn’t buying it. Nope. She was a beautiful woman and he’d fallen for her looks. That was all. He was nothing but a shallow man and her beauty had done him in.

  But what about her quiet ways and how it calmed him knowing that she was at work in the studio? What about the energy she’d added to the big empty house? Ack. He pounded a nail into submission, then used a framing nail gun to zip through the rest. The loud and distracting compressor tools were his friends today, as they had been on many rough days in his life.

  By lunch, the demanding physical activity had drained the tough-guy barriers right out of him. He felt raw and real, and as he ate a sub sandwich, Marta crept back into his thoughts.

  Not the sexy-vixen Marta, but the pregnant, fresh-from-a-broken-relationship version. His vulnerable and appealing houseguest. That line of thought needed to stop. He jutted out his jaw, took another ravenous bite of his sandwich, then put his lunch away and went back to pounding nails and using his drill and power tools, thankful they required his undivided attention to detail.

  It didn’t work.

  Marta’s unguarded, wide-eyed expression, bordered with bed hair, planted itself into his mind. Sage or seductress? And why was everything about her so damn appealing?

  He tossed his hammer on some nearby grass. “You guys finish up today. I’ve got an errand to do.” He grabbed the towel he kept with his gear and wiped his face and neck. Then, secure in his handpicked crew finishing the job without supervision, he headed to his truck.

  He’d become a pro at shopping for healthy groceries when his wife had first been diagnosed. He also knew the perfect power-food soup that, if good for a cancer patient, must be guaranteed to increase a baby’s IQ and boost a mother’s vigor. Off he went to the supermarket with a mental list already prepared.

  By four o’clock he was cleaned up and standing in front of the stove stirring vegetable stock, adding chopped this and that and finally the skinless, boneless chicken he’d cut into bite-size pieces and browned in a pan. He’d also stopped by the bakery and bought some fresh dark rye bread, which was still warm and smelled great.

  Forty-five minutes later, Marta hadn’t stirred from her studio, so he carried a tray with two bowls of soup and a basket of bread with butter up the stairs. Nothing said “I’m sorry and I hope you’re taking care of yourself” like a healthy home-cooked meal.

  *

  Testing a new color, Marta heard a faint tap on the door. “Come in!”

  Leif used his shoulder to push through the door. He emerged with a tray of food, and because Marta hadn’t eaten in a few hours, the aroma set her stomach juices to dancing. Well, that and the natural-born male delivering it. “What’s this?”

  “My special power-play soup. You’re gonna love it.”

  “If you say so.” She’d always liked confident men, and on so many levels Leif fit the bill—except when it came to venturing toward her. What a sweet gesture, though. “Wow, it looks great.”

  He put the tray on the kitchenette sink and delivered both bowls to the small table in the corner. “Let’s eat, then.”

  Blowing over her spoon with the first bite, watching Leif do the same across from her, she was touched. His thoughtfulness seemed so different from the crazed-with-lust man who’d kissed the air out of her last night. This was the Leif she’d first found so appealing—the earnest, caring guy who’d been dealt a lousy hand in life. But the man she’d encountered last night was what’d sealed the deal for her on the concept of Scandinavian lovers. Roll both men together and, wow, she felt like the luckiest girl in the world…that was, the luckiest single pregnant woman in Heartlandia.

  Maybe she needed to put a little more thought into this. Besides her being in the family way, the man was an emotional landmine, which until last night she’d only suspected, and now she knew for sure. She wasn’t doing so great in that department lately, either, and she was definitely in no condition to deal with those feelings right now. She had a job to do—a big job. The biggest job of her professional life. And the most important.

  So much for her meant-to-be philosophy. Not this time. She’d said it to him without realizing the extent of Leif’s issues, and in that regard, boy, had she been wrong for so many reasons. The two most obvious being she was pregnant and he was still mourning his wife.

  Their timing was colossally off for any kind of potential relationship. Sad but true.

  “You should market this soup. It’s fantastic,” she said, hoping to put her mind back on food instead of the overwhelmingly appealing man across from her. Especially after her compliment when his proud, sexy grin nearly undid her.

  “I told you. This is going to make that baby do somersaults.”

  “Oh, gosh, I hope not. I’ve just only gotten my appetite back.” She gave a self-deprecating smile, knowing how much they’d shared over nearly four weeks and how generous he’d been throughout. “The last thing I need is my baby rolling around inside.”

  He grinned again, genuine and handsome, and it cut right into her heart.

  What in the world was she going to do for the rest of the time it would take to paint the mural?

  After another bite, she sat straight. “I’ve been thinking about your offer of the guesthouse.”

  She could have sworn there was a flash of disappointment darkening his gaze, but he covered it well and pasted on a smile. “You stay in the house. I’ll move out there. It will only take a couple of days before Gunnar and Lilly are ready to take their furniture back to their new house anyway.”

  “That isn’t necessary. This is your house. All I have to do is move my suitcases.”

  “The suite and studio suit you. You should s
tay and I’ll—”

  “You know what? That’s just a bad idea. Neither of us should go. Forget I ever said anything.”

  “But the last thing I want is to know I’ve made you uncomfortable or that I’ve kept you locked away in this house if you don’t want to be here.”

  The way you keep your heart? “You’ve rented a car for me, remember? I can come and go as I please. I don’t feel the least bit like a prisoner. I’ve just been concentrating on the mural preparation, that’s all.”

  “Good.” He looked down to the last of his soup, which he sopped up with a chunk of brown bread.

  This man was so honest and real. So thoughtful even under fire. Overcome with sweet feelings, she reached out and touched his arm, his gaze quickly finding hers. Then, overcome with his vulnerable side and wanting more, she stood and walked to his side, bent down and delivered a gentle kiss on his stubbled cheek. “Thank you for everything,” she whispered.

  He looked up, an entire story written in those aqua-blue eyes, yet his mouth was set tight, as if trying not to respond to her kiss.

  She couldn’t help but suspect his thoughts and repeat them out loud. “If only things were different, right, Leif?”

  He cleared his throat and on an inhale stood, wordlessly gathered the dishes and placed them on the tray. In a completely different manner from last night, he solemnly left the room, his response to her query left unspoken.

  *

  Three days later, after barely making contact with each other over the weekend and his treating her respectfully but only as an acquaintance whenever they did pass in the hallway, she’d had enough. Early Monday afternoon, he was out back with his dogs filling their water bowl, having just returned from a walk. She rushed out the kitchen door, leaving it flapping behind her, and approached him.

  “Hi!”

  He turned, looking surprised. Had they made a silent agreement to keep clear? No! Not her, but it certainly had been his recent approach to their relationship.

  “What’s up?” he said, affably enough but far from personal.

  “I was wondering if you’d take me somewhere.”

  His brows came together, and he surreptitiously glanced toward her rental car with a puzzled expression. She couldn’t let on how angry she’d been with him for completely withdrawing after they’d forged a pretty decent friendship. So what if a couple of kisses confused things? They could still be friends, couldn’t they? Truth was, she’d missed his company.

  “After reading all of those great articles and learning about the Chinook burial ground in Heartlandia’s changing history, I want to see the Ringmuren. And who better to see it with than a town native? Will you take me?”

  “Sure.” With his chin tucked, he didn’t exactly look enthusiastic, but it was a start. “How about tomorrow? I’ll let the crew know I won’t be around.”

  She stood straight, unfolding her arms with palms up to communicate she really wanted to spend time with him. “I’d like that.” She wasn’t sure whether or not her thoughts or actions fell on fertile soil or desert, but she’d done her best to make her point. Let’s spend more time together. And that would have to be good enough for now.

  Tuesday morning, meeting at the agreed-upon time, she’d dressed in her favorite jeans, which were beginning to get too tight around the waist, and a colorful loose top to hide the fact she’d left the top snap on her jeans undone. She’d combed her hair and twisted it around off her neck and splashed an extra drop of her favorite fragrance, a combination of lavender and pumpkin-pie spices, on her shoulders and nape.

  He’d also cleaned up nicely, freshly shaved, hair still damp and close to his head, a button-up tailored shirt in a minty green wreaking havoc with his blue eyes and broken-in jeans showing his long, solid legs in all their glory. All man. The grooves on his cheeks deepened with his genuine, greeting smile.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  They drove in companionable silence. The higher up the mountain they went, the greener things got. She spotted Hjartalanda Peak, and he verified it when she pointed it out. Maybe it was the fresh air or the gorgeous scenery, but Marta felt her heart lift and suddenly she had an overwhelming desire to open up to Leif. Hey, they’d known each other a month already, hadn’t they? In her opinion it was well past time.

  “When I was a little girl, my grandfather used to make a big deal about my drawings.” She did her best to imitate how he puffed out his chest and made his eyes big as teacups. “‘You are going to be an artist, mi hija.’” She also copied his accent, then lightly laughed. Leif turned and smiled along with her.

  “Maybe because my grandfather didn’t inherit the gift his father had for art, he always encouraged any little attempt I made at drawing and painting. He probably hoped the talent had skipped a generation or two. Whatever. But I believed him and from then on, that’s what I wanted to be.”

  “He was right. You’re a gifted painter.”

  “Thank you. I’ve worked hard at my craft.”

  “I can’t wait to see the finished mural at the college. And, oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you the walls are all prepped and you’re free to start any time you want.”

  She wondered if it was because he wanted the assignment completed so she’d get out of his life, but she pushed the thought away. Negativity wasn’t her style. Yet she kept waffling back and forth whether she had met Leif for a reason or not. Sometimes she was sure of it; other times she couldn’t imagine him ever letting someone into his life again. Why bang her head against his proverbial wall? But he’d offered his house to a stranger, and once that door was open, it was anyone’s guess what their ending might be. Today, instead of dwelling on the “not gonna happens” in life, she opted to go with hope. Who knew how things might turn out?

  A few minutes later they pulled off the road into an old parking lot covered in gravel, with weeds and flowers growing through jagged cracks in areas of ancient asphalt, a huge expanse of bright green grass just on the other side. A few rocks and boulders erupted through the pristine lawn here and there, giving it a rugged appearance. Gentleman as always, Leif helped her out of the truck cab and they began their trek to this side of the Ringmuren. In the distance she glanced at the long rock-and-stone wall that demarcated the park side from the sacred side. She couldn’t wait to get close enough to see the three-hundred-year-old workmanship and what lay beyond. She’d definitely add this wall to the mural.

  “Wow, this is gorgeous.”

  “It is something, isn’t it?”

  “I can almost feel the history that must have taken place here.” The fine hair at the back of her neck stood straight. “This is amazing.” Drawing closer, the wall became even more impressive. “They didn’t even use mortar to hold this wall together. How has it withstood the elements all these years?”

  “Good question. Our Chinook citizens are positive the spirits from the sacred burial ground watch over this wall. We’ve had some fierce storms over the years, but the wall always stands strong. It’s kind of a mystery, when you think about it.”

  “You’re giving me chills.” She skimmed her palms over her arms.

  “I don’t mean to scare you or anything.”

  “Oh, no. On the contrary. I find this fascinating.” She walked on, exploring the wall and peeking over it from the beautifully manicured side to the other rugged and left-to-its-own-resources side. The sacred burial ground. For several moments she stood there, studying and wondering. Leif courteously gave her space to go inward and she imagined the past, how the Scandinavian sailors had joined forces with the Chinook to delineate hallowed from natural ground. How the endeavor must have forged new respect and cooperation between the two groups. How they’d used that respect to go up against the pirates. To fight for their lives and their families.

  When she’d thought long and hard enough, adding new vision and a few extra details to her mural, she turned and smiled widely at him. “Thank you for bringing me here. I
f I ever run out of inspiration, I’ll come here to refuel.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  They walked together toward a group of trees and a small clearing where another bench sat. This one turned out to be dedicated to Leif’s mother, Hannah. It was exquisitely carved from a huge tree stump, and the workmanship both touched and impressed her. It made her think of her own mother, Gabriella, and there went that usual pang in her heart for her.

  They sat in silence for several minutes, Leif with his legs outstretched and his feet crossed at the ankles, his arms lounging across the back of the rugged bench.

  A few moments later he cleared his throat. “You know, I’ve always envied people who could put their feelings into art.”

  “And I’ve always envied people who could build beautiful houses.” She shared another smile with him, his eyes picking up the color of the distant Columbia River, and felt warmth spread across her chest. “By the way, who carved the intricate work on your mantel around your fireplace?” She already had a hunch about the answer.

  He used his thumb and index fingers and touched the edges of his mouth. “I did.”

  “Uh-huh, and what about this bench? It looks similar in style. Is this your work, too?”

  He dipped his head.

  She tapped his thigh. “How can you not consider yourself an artist? Your work is beautiful and like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

  He quirked a brow. “You really think so?”

  “I know so, but it doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is how you feel about it. You need to shape up and admit that you, Leif Andersen, are a gifted craftsman and wood artist.”

  Obviously trying not to show his pride, he still looked tickled and a little doubtful. “I do enjoy it. I like to leave a special touch in every house I build. Like the bookcase I’m installing at Gunnar’s house. It’s kind of like my signature.”

  “It’s a good signature. An artist’s signature.” She smiled just before a somber veil dropped over her expression. “My mother used to worry being an artist was not the right kind of profession for a young woman. I fought her on it, pushed for my independence. Pushed her away.” Marta glanced at her folded hands in her lap. “I wasn’t at her side when she died, and to this day I regret all the thoughtless things I said to her. She couldn’t understand how I lived. I bragged I never wanted to get married, that it would hold me back.” She quietly shook her head. “How that must have hurt her, a woman who wanted nothing more than a loving family, could only have one child, and she got me.”