Everything but the marriage (9 page)

She set the box on the ground and looked at the remaining items in the car. Everything she owned in the world was in that car. She doubted if all of it, including the car, would bring more than fifty dollars.

She was twenty-five years old, with no marketable skills, emotions that seesawed between optimism and despair and no idea of where she was going to sleep tonight.

No, that wasn't quite true. She hadn't known Devlin long, but it was long enough to be sure that he wasn't going to throw her out in the street. Or in this case, the field. He'd see her settled somewhere. But where?

"There's a washer and dryer in the utility room behind the kitchen. You're welcome to use them." Devlin had come up behind her with that quiet walk she was coming to associate with him. He stood looking over her shoulder at the car's rather meager contents, his expression unreadable.

"I was just thinking that it's not a lot to show for a quarter of a century." She forced lightness into her tone. Devlin's gaze shifted from the car to her.

"I've never thought it was a good idea to measure success by what you have. Possessions are the easiest thing in the world to take away.''

"True. So I suppose I'm in a pretty good position since I've got nothing left to lose."

"That's one way of looking at it," he said with a half smile. He glanced down at the box of clothing. "There's soap in the cupboard over the washer. If you need anything else, let me know."

Annalise's eyes followed him as he walked away. She bent down to pick up the box, but her thoughts followed Devlin. Did he ever smile all the way? Something more than that cautious upturn at one comer of his mouth?

It wasn't any of her business if Devlin Russell never smiled again, of course. But something about him suggested a hard-won reserve. As if he'd found that being open was too painful, that caring too often ended in hurting.

"I suppose Fm the last one to tell him different," she said, addressing the remark to Beauty, who'd risen from her comer of the kitchen to follow Annalise into the utility room.

"Fm hardly a walking advertisement for the benefits of caring about people." She dumped the clothes into the washer and started the machine. Beauty beat a hasty retreat from the sound of the water. Annalise followed her into the kitchen, bending to pick up the rotund little animal, cradling her against her chest. Beauty immediately began to rumble her approval of this treatment, kneading her paws against Annalise's arm.

Annalise carried the cat with her as she left the kitchen. For the first time since her rather unorthodox arrival, she really looked at the house, trying to envision it with the walls finished and proper flooring laid down. With furniture and curtains and pictures on the wall.

It had the potential to be a beautiful home. The rooms were big and airy, the windows occupied almost as much space as the walls, bringing the outside in, making the rooms seem even larger than they were.

Was he building this house for himself? Did he plan to share it with someone? Just because Kelly had turned out to be his sister didn't mean there wasn't a woman in his life, someone who'd had a say in de-

signing the open floor plan, in picking out the tile in the bathroom, the kitchen cupboards.

"I don't think so," she murmured to the cat, whose eyes were nearly closed. There was something about Devlin that spoke of aloofness—an indefinable reserve that made it hard for her to believe that there was a special someone in his life, someone he let down his guard with. Someone who'd seen him really smile.

She sighed and set Beauty down. Whether he smiled and whether he had someone to share this house with were not her concern. Her concern was figuring out where to go from here. One of her foster mothers had once told her that every journey began with the first step—a useful truism. The problem was figuring out in which direction that first step should be.

With the vague idea that taking an inventory of her belongings might bring some inspiration, Annalise went back outside. She'd assumed Devlin was working on the section of the house he'd been shingling the day before. Instead, she found him bent over the engine compartment of her car, wrench in hand. Two spark plugs lay beside him on the fender already.

He looked up as she stopped across the car from him. "Well, the plugs definitely aren't helping things any. And the points are badly burned. The oil is low and it's also filthy. It has to be changed. Your plug wires could use replacing, too. Until I can get it running, it's hard to say what else might be wrong. Maybe a tune-up is all it really needs."

He set a third spark plug beside the other two and reached for the next one. "I've got some things I need

to pick up in town this afternoon. I'll get the parts while Fm there."

"You can't!" The worlds came out more forcefully than she'd intended. Devlin straightened away from the car, resting his greasy hands on the fender as he looked at her.

"If you're worried about the money, forget it."

"I can't forget it. You've already done so much for me.

"I haven't done that much, and the cost of a few parts isn't going to cause me any problems."

"That's not the point," she insisted, her voice nearly strangled with embarrassment. "I can't just keep on taking and taking from you. You saved my life. You've taken care of me. You don't even know me.

"Look, we went over this before. You thanked me for saving your life. And as far as taking care of you goes, I haven't done anything incredible. A place to sleep and a little food aren't going to get me nominated for sainthood."

Annalise twisted her hands together in front of her, struggling for the words to make him see how she felt. All her life, she'd always taken her fair share of any work that was to be done. Her parents had been killed in a car wreck when she was eight and she'd been put in foster care. One thing she'd quickly learned was that it made her life easier if she did her best not to be a burden to anyone.

It was a lesson that had carried on into her adult life. She'd continue to work after she and Bill were married, not because they needed the money but be-

cause she had to know that she was pulling her own weight, even if it was in low-end secretarial jobs that didn't pay that much.

Bill had laughed and said he didn't care what she did as long as she as happy. But she didn't think Bill had ever understood just why she needed her "little job," as he'd called it. If Bill hadn't been able to understand, even when he'd loved her, how was she supposed to make Devlin understand?

But Devlin did understand. More than she could have imagined. The need to be beholden to no one was something he understood very well. From early childhood on, he'd known what it was to have only himself to depend on. His father had been abusive. His mother had simply retreated into another world where unpleasant things didn't happen, and Devlin had learned to survive without depending on either of them.

"I wasn't going to mention this yet, but it looks like now is as good a time as any.'' He tossed the greasy rag down and leaned one hip against the front of the car, crossing his arms over his chest and fixing her with a cool blue gaze.

"Mention what?" He was probably going to tell her that he'd really hoped to get her out of his hair by now or that her car positively needed a complete overhaul. She dropped her hands to her sides, concealing their trembling in the folds of her skirt.

"How are you at organizing?"

"Organizing?" The question was so far from what she'd been expecting that he might have been speaking a foreign language.

"And dealing with people on the phone?"

"I.. .1 used to do secretarial work," she said slowly. "And I worked as a receptionist for six months."

Devlin nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds good."

"Good for what?" She hardly dared to hope that it might be what it sounded like. If he knew of a job...

"Are you interested in going to work?"

"Yes." She gripped the folds of her skirt, trying to contain the hope that was welling up inside. Just because he knew of a possible job, it didn't mean she'd be qualified for it. After all, she hadn't worked steadily in almost three years. And it wasn't as if her qualifications had been stunning before that.

"Good. I need someone to deal with suppliers for me and to organize the paperwork on building the house. I've beai throwing everything in a drawer. I can offer you room and board and a reasonable salary."

The figiuie he named seemed more than reasonable, when you added in room and board. Aimalise swallowed the urge to shout an acceptance.

"You don't have to invent a job for me," she told him, her chin lifting in an unconscious gesture of pride. "If there's something I can help you with, I'd be happy to do it. There's no need to pay me."

"Not very practical of you," he commented, arching one brow. "Besides, I always believe in paying someone who works for me."

"But you've already done so much for me," she protested.

"We've already talked about that." He waved one hand to dismiss the issue. "I could use someone to

handle the paperwork and the suppliers. Do you think you could do it?"

"Yes." She nodded slowly. The kind of work he was describing wasn't difficult, and it was similar to jobs she'd held in the past.

"But you don't have to pay me for it. Room and board would be more than enough."

"The salary goes with it," he said flatly. "That's my offer, take it or leave it."

Annalise stared at him, wondering how it was possible to feel so much gratitude toward someone and, at the same time, have the urge to smack them. He knew she didn't have a real choice. What else could she do? It occurred to her to wonder if she was crazy to be upset with him for being too generous.

"All right," she said at last. "But don't think I'm not going to earn my keep."

"I wouldn't think that." Though his expression was solemn, Annalise could see the smile in his eyes. He held out his hand and she put her own into it. His fingers closed over hers, warm and strong.

Annalise smiled, hoping he couldn't feel the way her pulse had accelerated. Nerves, she told herself. It was just nerves.

Chapter 6

N^hen Devlin got back from town that afternoon, he had not only car parts and the nails he'd needed for the shingling, but also a new bed and a small chest of drawers.

Annalise had started out with great plans to begin work immediately on the rather large box of papers he'd handed her before he left, but sometime around one o'clock, she'd found herself nodding off at the table. She'd settled onto the sofa to rest just for a moment and didn't wake until Devlin pushed open the front door two hours later.

Startled, she jerked upright, staring at him dazedly as he carried a mattress through the living room and into one of the unfinished rooms off it. He passed by her again, nodding to her as he disappeared out the door.

Annalise pushed her hair off her face, trying to shake off the thickheaded feeling that was an inevitable result of sleeping in the middle of the day. She had only partially succeeded when Devlin entered the house again, this time with a box spring balanced on his back.

She cleared her throat as he reappeared. "What was that?"

"A bed," he said, and disappeared out the front door.

Annalise blinked. A bed. Of course. Why hadn't that occurred to her? She'd thought it might be a rhinoceros.

This time, when he came back in carrying pieces of a bed frame, she followed him. He put the pieces on the floor and pulled a screwdriver out of his pocket before kneeling down to begin assembling the frame.

"What are you domg?"

He shot her a look that said he was beginning to have doubts about her intelligence. "I'm putting together a bed frame."

"I know that. Why are you doing it?"

"Because it won't hold the box spring and mattress unless if s put together."

He was being deliberately obtuse. She knew it and he knew it. He was hoping she'd drop the subject and the argument he sensed she was going to offer.

"Did you buy this bed for me?" Obviously the only way she was going to get a real answer was to ask the real question.

"Generally, when you're offered room and board, the room includes a bed," he said without looking up from the task at hand.

"I could have slept on the sofa," she protested, distressed that he'd spent money on her.

"No, you couldn't."

"Then, you can take the cost of the bed out of my salary."

"No."

The blunt refusal silenced her momentarily. She stared at him, searching for something to say. When the silence stretched, Devlin looked up. Seeing the distress in her face, he put down the screwdriver and stood up.

"Look, don't make a bigger deal out of this than it is. I'd planned on this being a spare bedroom," he lied without hesitation. In truth, he'd been thinking of putting exercise equipment in this room. "It can't be a spare bedroom without a bed. I just bought the bed a little sooner, that's all."

"It seems like I've already taken so much from you," she said unhappily.

"Like what? You don't eat as much as that cat. Besides a few ounces of food, what have I given you?"

"It's not material things I'm talking about."

"Well, the bed is very material and I'm not taking it back and you're not sleeping on the sofa. I'm going to put this together and then you can sleq) standing up in the closet if you'd prefer."

Annalise recognized defeat. "At least, let me cook dinner."

"Can you cook?"

"Yes.'*

"Then the kitchen is all yours."

It wasn't until she went to bed that she realized that a bed wasn't the only thing Devlin had bought. A small chest of drawers sat against one wall and a thick throw rug had been placed next to the bed so that her feet wouldn't encounter the wooden subfloor first thing in the morning.

There was a set of sheets and two pillows placed neatly in the middle of the new mattress. And not just plain white sheets, either, she saw when she opened them. They were off-white with a delicate sprinkling of lavender flowers scattered over them. There was a night table and a simple porcelain lamp beside the bed.