The Widow's Protector. Rachel LeeЧитать онлайн книгу.
house had been built back around 1902, but the mattress had been replaced at some point and was in great condition. The bedding was fresh, too—since she’d had a burst of energy just a week ago and washed all the linens. A battered but large old chest of drawers completed the furnishings. Minimalist but adequate.
She pulled a thawed chicken out of the fridge. She had been planning to roast it tonight anyway and use the leftovers for meals during the week. Ryder looked like he might have a big appetite, but if the chicken disappeared at one sitting, it wasn’t as if she’d be left hungry. She had other things in her freezer to cook if she needed them.
But after the way he had climbed up on her roof, braving the elements, to protect her house from further damage, there was no way she was going to let him just leave without a decent meal and a night’s sleep.
She’d been scared watching him up there. Sometimes the lightning had seemed so close, and then those bands of rain had blown through with strong winds and she had seen him struggle with the tarps. Fear that he might get struck by lightning or take a fall had never been far from her mind.
What would she have done if he had gotten hurt? Her phone was out, and she couldn’t have moved him by herself, certainly not in her present condition.
His willingness to risk his neck to save her from additional damage was startling. She wasn’t used to men like that. Jeff, her late husband, probably would have shrugged, popped the top off another beer and told her he’d get to it when the storm passed. If he got to it at all.
Although, seriously, she didn’t see how he could have avoided it. This house and the land was all that had stood between them and starvation.
It wasn’t like they could sell it. Jeff had tried that when he first lost his job, but nobody was buying rundown farms in the middle of nowhere. At least not at a price Jeff considered fair, assuming he ever had an offer. He’d said not, but as she had learned, Jeff hadn’t always told the truth.
She sighed, rubbing the chicken with olive oil and seasonings after rinsing it. Good thing she had a propane stove, because the power seemed to be out, too. She had better get out a couple of oil lamps before the day got any darker.
They were in the pantry, and while she was in there getting them, she found a package of wild rice a friend had given her before they had moved out here, and she decided that now was as good a time as any to make it. Jeff hadn’t liked it, and she’d never felt right about making it just for herself.
So Ryder provided an excuse to go all-out on a meal for the first time in a long while. Cooking for one and eating all by herself rarely inspired her to get fancy.
A loud crack of thunder startled her and the baby kicked in response. “It’s all right,” she murmured, rubbing her belly gently. How she longed for the day she’d actually be able to hold her daughter in her arms.
She lit the two lamps, heard the shower running upstairs and smiled at how suddenly and unexpectedly this place felt homey. While the elements raged outside, she was cozy in her house, saved by a total stranger, and she was going to have company for dinner.
She decided that for tonight she wasn’t going to worry about how she would manage to fix her roof. Wasn’t going to worry about anything.
As she had learned all too well, life brought contentment only rarely.
The power was out, the shower had been lukewarm at best, but Ryder felt considerably refreshed as he headed back downstairs in a fresh flannel shirt and dry jeans. His walking boots were sodden, so he’d switched to a pair of joggers, which made his feet feel suddenly light.
He found Marti in the kitchen. The first sizzling of a roasting chicken filled the air with its aromas, and she was perking a pot of coffee on the stove top.
“Thanks for the shower,” he said. “I needed it.”
She turned from the stove. “Thanks for covering my roof. It needed it.” Then she smiled. The expression was unexpected, warm and genuine. In fact, it almost stole his breath. He felt a little icicle in his heart crack.
“Um …” He had to hunt for words as he drank in that smile. “I need to check your attic for leaks. How do I get there?”
“There’s a drop-down ladder in the hall at the end away from the guest room.” She paused to rummage in a drawer, then handed him a big flashlight. “You’ll need this. You probably noticed the electricity is out.”
“I did. I’m afraid I used whatever was left of your hot water.”
She shrugged. “That’s okay. As long as there’s lightning I wouldn’t get in the shower anyway. And without power, we’ll just be using cold water regardless.”
“True.” He took the flashlight and smiled. “Whatever you’re making sure smells good. I shouldn’t be gone long unless I find a problem.”
“Thank you so much for everything.”
“My pleasure. It’s not like I’ve done all that much.”
And he really didn’t feel as if he had, he thought as he climbed the stairs again. Putting up a few tarps had probably done him as much good as it had her.
The springs on the attic stairs squealed their thirst for some oiling as he dropped them and locked them into place. Well, that would be easy enough to fix, he thought. A can of oil and about thirty seconds. He’d take care of that, too.
The ladder was sturdy despite its age. He climbed up and then crawled out onto some plywood that had been laid over the rafters to protect the ceiling underneath. He crawled along until he ran out of plywood, seeing that nothing was wet, then reached the area were he had tarped the roof. Everything was damp, but he expected that. He didn’t see any fresh puddling, and a scan of the tarps overhead didn’t expose any water drips. He waited a few minutes, listening to the steady rain drum. It seemed to be okay, but he’d have to check again later. He’d be surprised if there wasn’t at least one leaky patch in tarps this old.
But as usual, now that he was looking around, he saw other things that needed doing. There were places where the roof decking looked as if it was starting to pull loose as wood dried and stopped holding the nails. Screws and some glue would be better.
Then he caught himself. Not his house, not his problem. So why the heck was he making a mental checklist?
Maybe because he knew somewhere deep inside he was going to try to help this lady out. He had the time. He had the know-how. He even had the money.
And the thought of leaving her in a tumbling down house in her state sorely troubled him.
When he rejoined her in the kitchen, the aromas were enough to make his stomach growl. Marti had a saucepan simmering on the stove now also, and she stood at the counter cutting fresh broccoli.
She turned, wiping her hands on a bib apron. “Coffee?”
“I’d love some. Just tell me where the cups are.”
She pointed to a cabinet and let him serve himself as she resumed slicing the broccoli. “I hope you like wild rice and broccoli.”
“I love both.”
She flashed him a smile then went back to work as he sat at the table with his coffee. “How was it up there?”
“Dry so far. Well, dry considering the rain that got in before I could put up the tarps. I’ll check again later for leaks.” He paused as another thought occurred to him. “I don’t know how things work out here. Do you get city water? Or are you on a well?”
“On a well. There’s a backup generator for the pump, but that’s about all it runs. As long as it holds we won’t be without water. Why?”
“Just curious. It struck me you might be on a well out here, but we still had running water.”
“My in-laws did something right,” she remarked, leaving him to wonder how much they had done wrong. “I’m glad it