Sheltering Hearts (3 page)

She followed Clay at a comfortable distance. He went into his house, and she went into hers. Dory apologized to Austin, gave him a hug and reminded him to always check with her before going anywhere with anyone. And he promised he would.

D
ory didn’t see Clay for a few days, which was probably for the best—allowing them both time to think about what had happened between them down by the river. He might be avoiding her, which she couldn’t blame him for. But if he was also avoiding the kids, who seemed to really like him, that made her feel kind of bad.

Since she had never had such innocent differences of opinion with her ex-husband, this was new territory for her. She talked to Corsica about the situation. “Perfectly understandable,” Corsica said. “What would resolve the situation is if you could tell him the reason behind your reaction. When you’re comfortable that you trust him, of course.”

“He seems trustworthy, but I tend to be overly cautious.”

“Do you like him?” Corsica asked.

“What’s not to like? He’s cute, funny, nice, helpful. But I always worry that I’ll pick up all the wrong signals and a man who is not
good for me will seem all right. I’ve been through years of these support group meetings and the number of women who have multiple abusive partners is not small.”

“Give yourself a little credit,” Corsica said. “Your senses are very heightened, your consciousness is sharpened, you pay attention to details. You would definitely pick up clear signals.”

“Are you so sure about that?” Dory asked her.

“Fairly confident,” she said with a shrug. “Listen, you can have a very productive and fulfilling life as a single mother without ever finding a new partner—I certainly have. But there is no crime in actually falling in love and marrying the right man the second time. Take your time. Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater.” Then she smiled.

As for her transportation troubles, Dory replaced the Pathfinder’s old battery and for a couple of days it seemed to be running well. That was until she was driving home from work one day and the car started making a lot of bad noises again. Grinding, engine-skipping noises. And she knew that the next thing she absolutely had to do was find out what was wrong.

Then first thing the next morning when she and the kids were leaving the house for work and school, what did she see but her neighbor under the hood of her car, poking around. Her neighbor, whom she hadn’t yet attempted any amends with.

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

“I heard you come home last night,” he said as if talking to the engine. He came out from under the hood. “I don’t like the sounds of the truck. It might be a transmission problem. Listen, here’s an idea. I have a friend who’s a mechanic and will look at it for you, fix it if he can, tow it to his shop if necessary. And he’ll do it on
the cheap as a favor to me. I don’t think you should drive the car until this is figured out.”

All that stuff she’d just put to rest over the past couple of days came rising back up again. He was doing too much. That she couldn’t possibly repay him went without saying—she didn’t want to owe him more than she could afford to give, because she feared those feelings of
obligation.
She didn’t want him making decisions for her, taking over her life! She was afraid he’d begin to control her, isolate her.

Dory’s old tapes were running in her head and she knew it, but it was impossible to stop. She kept hearing Trip’s voice, not Clay’s, even though Trip was never truly helpful—he was purely manipulative and domineering.

An ordinary woman without all her emotional baggage would be able to appreciate a nice man lending a hand now and then, and she
so
wanted to be an ordinary woman.

Not only was Dory wearing out that old lament, but she was also trying to figure out whether it was safe to take her own car to town, drop the kids off at school and go to a mechanic.

“You can’t be doing that,” she said. “You can’t be making decisions for me!”

He seemed not to even hear her. He closed the hood. “I start a twenty-four-hour shift this morning at the firehouse. If you drop me off at work, you can use my car while yours is being worked on.”

She shook her head. “You can’t do that,” she said sharply. “You can’t tell me what to do, make my decisions for me like that.”

“I’m just trying to help, Dory!”

“You’re telling me what to do—and it’s invasive, controlling and abusive!”

He stared at her in wide-eyed shock.

And Dory stood frozen. Watching his eyes. Thinking.
Blushing
at her outburst. Finally he smiled slightly.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I overreacted.”

“No kidding. I just bring out the best in you, don’t I? I didn’t mean to take away your freedom of choice and, for God’s sake, I would never be abusive. You seem to be a little on edge or something.”

“I have become wary of strange men bearing gifts….”

“Strange men? Come on!”

“Why would your mechanic friend fix my car on the cheap? I mean, that’s suspicious!”

“Because I helped him move three times, landscape his last house and install a fancy hot tub—now, that was a
huge
pain! We moved these big friggin’ boulders his wife had to have decorating her backyard. And I also babysat three kids over
night
so he and the wife could get away for their anniversary. One of the kids had the flu. The
stomach
flu. He has to fix about nine cars cheaply to get even with me!”

Suddenly she had to cover her mouth so he wouldn’t see her laugh. Mr. Good-Looking Bachelor, wiping up kid puke. She bet that was worth the price of admission. She sobered. “Still. You’re poking around in my car without being asked. Without asking.”

“Because for some reason you won’t let me be a good neighbor!” He took a breath and leaned on the hood of her car.

Sophie and Austin stood on the porch, watching. Clay saw them and softened his voice. “Dory, I’m in the safety business. I have a bunch of nieces and nephews. I’d get in my sisters’ business if I thought there was a chance the vehicle they were taking the kids to school in might not be a hundred percent safe. Let’s not fight about it.”

“Well,” she said, considering. “As long as you think of me as a sister and there’s no more of that date business. Because I don’t date.”

“I thought we might have a good time, but I’m changing my mind about that. You’re too angry about something, and I’m not interested infighting my way through the anger. And since your kids are fun and well-adjusted, I doubt you’re angry
all
the time—maybe it has something to do with me specifically. So how about if I just lend a hand when it’s no trouble for me and you forget I ever asked you out? How about that? Can we start over then? I swear, I’ll never ask you out again. Believe me, I’ve received your message loud and clear.”

She was flooded with disappointment and relief.

“Besides,” he said. “You’re too busy to date.”

“I am,” she said. “I have my job, plus overtime when I can get it, and I volunteer for this nonprofit organization that helps single moms.” She shrugged. “I have a vested interest there, obviously. Listen, I can’t repay you for all your help.”

“No one cares,” he said.

She sighed heavily. She cleared her throat. “So you don’t think I should drive my car?”

“It could be fine for a while longer, or maybe not. It doesn’t make much sense to drive it if you suspect the transmission is failing. Would you drive it if the brakes weren’t working so well?”

“How do you know it’s the transmission?” she asked.

“It sounds like the transmission—it’s running rough. It’s having trouble with a gear.” He shrugged. “I could be wrong—but it’s a mechanic’s call. Till then, my car will sit at the firehouse for twenty-four hours. You might as well use it. You’ll have to pick me up tomorrow morning when I get off, but if you can’t, let me know and I’ll hitch a ride. You can return my car when you get home.”

“What if you have to run an errand?”

“Not a problem—I have a whole crew with cars and trucks to borrow. I wouldn’t have offered if it was inconvenient. Really, I haven’t been trying to trick you. I was just trying to be a nice guy. The way I was raised, being nice is considered a positive thing.”

She felt like crawling under the car. She was seeing a negative side to her determination to blaze her own trail, be in charge of her own life. “Clay, I’m sorry. Not just about the car, but about everything. I just want to be independent. I’m afraid of giving my will to anyone.”

“Apology accepted. I don’t want to take your will away. I wouldn’t want to spend time with a woman who didn’t want to
willfully
spend time with me anyway.” He picked up his small duffel. “What’s it gonna be?”

“Clay, may I borrow your car?” she asked, purposely not saying please. She’d have said please to any woman offering a favor, but she feared giving her power to any man, even the nicest man in the world.

“Yes, you may.”

“What will happen to my car?”

“I’ll have my buddy drive out to look at it, and, if need be, he’ll take it in to his shop. Whatever happens next, it’s going to happen with a mechanic, not me.” He swung an arm wide toward his big SUV. “After you.”

“Come on, kids,” she said. “We’re going to school in Clay’s truck.”

Sophie and Austin smiled, shouted hooray and dashed for the SUV. Dory removed the booster seats from the Pathfinder and followed them.

At her back she heard Clay say, “But you can’t make me think of you as a sister.”

C
LAY WAS WORKING OUT
in the weight room at the firehouse, straining against the weights. Staying fit and strong was part of his job, but today he’d been at it a little longer than necessary. He was doing biceps curls, concentrating on his breathing, grunting with the effort, pleased by the burn, because he was in a mood.

Then Charlie, one of his work buddies, sauntered over, sat on a bench and propped his feet up on the weight shelf. He sucked his big cola down past the ice, making that loud, annoying slurping noise, so as not to be ignored.

Clay let the barbell fall with a crash. “Do you mind? I can’t concentrate with that going on!”

Charlie lifted his brows and said, “Girl trouble?”

“What? No!” He bent to lift the weights again.

“The little honey next door turn you down again?” Charlie asked casually.

Clay dropped the weights again and got in Charlie’s face. “Do
not
call her that! It would be a
bad
idea to call her that!”

“Whoa, Kennedy, get a grip, buddy. I don’t think she heard me.”

Clay backed off immediately, feeling stupid for almost losing his temper. He didn’t have a temper! He was the most sweet-natured guy on the crew. He grabbed his towel and wiped off his neck. “Sorry,” he muttered under his breath.

Charlie slurped through the straw again, making that irritating rattle against the ice at the bottom of his big plastic cup. Then he grinned at Clay’s scowl. “Come on, tell Uncle Charlie what’s wrong. Before you rip all your muscles apart.”

In defeat, Clay sat on the opposite bench. “I did a stupid thing, but that doesn’t mean I know what’s wrong.”

“I think you started the story in the middle there, bud,” Charlie pointed out.

Clay shook his head and took a breath. “Her car’s got mechanical issues. It’s twelve years old and has a billion miles on it anyway, but I know she’s gotta be on a tight budget—she’s a grocery-store clerk with two kids. So I heard her pull in last night, because the thing was grinding and slipping. This morning I decided to take a look, see if I could see anything. She came out of her house and I was under the hood of her car. She didn’t like that so much—that I was digging around in her car without talking to her, without asking her. But I thought I could fix her up with a good mechanic who works cheap—”

“Your buddy Stan?”

“Stan, yeah. He’d do it cheap for a friend of mine if—”

Charlie sat up straighter. “He never did it that cheap for me, and I’m a friend of yours!”

“You’re not a broke woman with a couple of kids! Stan’s got a family to feed, too, you know? You wanna hear this or not?”

“Yeah,” Charlie said in a semi-pout. “Lay it on me.”

“I said she shouldn’t drive the car, especially if it’s the transmission. And told her she could borrow mine. But you know how me doing her a favor always seems to be a big issue with her…”

“If I recall, you’ve done everything but paint her house and she won’t go out with you, if that’s what you mean by an issue,” Charlie said.

Clay narrowed his eyes at his friend, but he continued. “So I suggested she use my car and I’d have Stan look at hers.” He swallowed. “She went ballistic. Accused me of being controlling and abusive.”

Charlie whistled. “What? You?”

Clay hung his towel around his neck. “Thinking about it later, I realized I should’ve knocked on the door, told her I had heard the engine and offered to help instead of just doing what I wanted.”

“Ya think?”

“I just didn’t want her taking any chances. And it seems like if the choice is between accepting a hand from me or taking a chance, she’ll go with the chance.”

Charlie shook his head. “You should brush up on your approach, my brother. The lady is not into you.”

“I’m not going to ask her out again. I promised her that—it upsets her too much. I just wish she’d relax a little and let me be a friend.”

Charlie pitched his empty cup halfway across the room and hit the trash. Then he sat forward, elbows on his knees. “Listen, I know you’re used to good luck with the ladies, although I can’t figure out why. But once in a while you pick out a smart one and get turned down. It doesn’t usually put you all upside down.”

“It’s not me, Charlie. It’s her. She’s got no reason to keep me at such a distance—I haven’t done or suggested anything that should put her guard up.” He just shook his head. “But I’ve learned my lesson—I haven’t seen a meltdown like that since my little sister Beth had a conniption fit because someone closed her romance novel and lost the page.” He smiled. “And with four sisters, I come from experience with conniptions.”

“What’s your plan now?” Charlie asked. “Because for some reason you probably don’t even know, you really like this girl. I don’t think you’ve been out with anyone else since you moved next door to her.”