Still Not Over You Page 11

  “What are you doing?” The words sliced into the quiet morning.

  Looking back, she cringed. Ryder marched toward her, disapproval wrinkling his brow.

  “Walking to the beach.” But glancing down the road that once took ten minutes, Phoebe knew she’d never make it. The crutch had rubbed her raw and her shoulder ached.

  So close now, almost too close, Ryder bent his head. Tipping her chin up, he forced her to meet his eyes. “So you want to go to the beach?”

  “Ah, huh.” She tore her eyes away, embarrassed by the feelings rippling through her. The beach? Right now she wanted more than sand and water.

  “Tonight, okay?”

  “Tonight? Really?” Hope surged.

  “Yeah, tonight I’ll take you down there.”

  “Oh, right. The beach.” Mentally she beat back thoughts that had no business in her head.

  “That’s what you wanted, right? To go to the beach?” Now it was his turn to look confused.

  “Absolutely.” Not.

  His head swung back toward the house. “Right now I’m...”

  “That’s all right, Ryder. I’m fine.”

  He dropped his hand. Goosebumps still chased up her arms. Must be the cool morning air. “No, you’re not, Sweet Cheeks. We’ll go tonight. I promise.”

  The concern in his eyes flowed over her like molasses. Phoebe never knew she liked molasses this much.

  “But I’ll be taking you from your work.” The faster he finished the projects, the sooner she’d be free of him. Right? Her eyes traveled from that badass bandana down to the work boots, taking a few detours in between. She needed him gone. The man was dangerous.

  Putting his hands on his hips, Ryder looked toward the sound of the waves. Were they getting to him too? “Our evenings are free, as far as I can see.”

  Our? There he went again. All this us stuff was making her nervous, like he was encroaching on her territory. But who was she to fight this? Her aching arm told her to cool it. Caution flattened her excitement. If his evenings were free, then what were all the calls about? Every time she turned around he was on the phone.

  Maybe he was calling the garage. But the therapist she’d visited during her divorce had told her not to make excuses for someone else. “Get the facts,” Dr. McCabe had advised.

  Phoebe wasn’t real good at that, and now she had no right to ask Ryder anything. And why did she care if he was calling some other woman? “Okay.”

  Slowly, they made their way back. Phoebe felt grateful that he’d stopped her. She never would have made it. With every step, the crutch sank deeper into the loamy sand. She pictured herself collapsed in one of the ditches, now filled with brilliant orange tiger lilies. What a picture that would make.

  Finally they reached the gravel driveway. The going got easier although Ryder’s touch on her elbow gave her an erratic heartbeat.

  “The yard looks terrible,” she said when they reached the back door. “Will you just look at those poor daisies and hollyhocks?”

  Ryder shrugged. “Looks fine to me.” He’d never been much of a flower man.

  Her eyes swept the scene. Drop cloths and paint supplies littered the grass, which hadn’t been mowed in a while. “Pretty soon it’ll be the Fourth of July.”

  “You got that right.” Ryder eyed the house, as if he wondered if he could finish this up before then. The thought made her surprisingly sad.

  After the Fourth, Clancy’s would be crowded with carts. The wait time for restaurants would skyrocket as summer got into full swing. Usually by the time a few freckles had bloomed on her cheeks, she was taking daily trips to the beach. This year?

  This year all she had was her broken leg and Ryder. And she didn’t know which one was worse. Having him around often felt like a pebble in her sandals. But then again, she was a girl who collected rocks. Strewed them across her dresser until her mother coaxed her into pouring them into a pot. Phoebe loved them, each one so unique.

  Oh, her ex-husband was unique all right.

  Ryder went back to the ladder. Peering up at the roof, she saw the neat edges and the orderly pattern of the roofing tiles. “You did a great job, Ryder.”

  He stood back, obviously proud. “Thanks, honey.” The word slipped out so easily. Ducking, Ryder sucked in a breath through set teeth. “Sorry. I meant, ‘Thanks, Phoebe.’ ”

  Stepping into the cottage, she pretended she didn’t hear him. Honey. She wanted to hug that word to her chest and wasn’t that silly? But she’d been his honey. And she’d liked that security. Until it changed.

  Inside, she pulsed with newfound energy. Putting eggs on to boil for egg salad, she tried to straighten up the cottage. Crutch tight under her arm, she folded quilts and afghans, arranged magazines on the coffee table. Taking a sponge, she wiped down the shelves in the refrigerator, carefully balancing on her cast.

  What had gotten into her? Making the egg salad, she grated more of her fingers than she did of the eggs. But she fixed it just the way he liked it. Lots of brown mustard and pickle relish. Then she took a loaf of olive bread from the freezer. She may not be a great cook, but she knew how to buy the right stuff and pop it in the freezer.

  When she took out the potato chips, she noticed some games stacked in the pantry. She remembered when she’d bought the checker game, but they never had time to play. Taking it down, she carried the flat box out to the porch.

  When Ryder came in for lunch, the table was set outside. After washing his hands, he sat opposite her, staring down at his plate.

  “Olive bread.” He lifted one of the toasted pieces of bread heaped with egg salad as if it were the key to his next Harley. Taking a bite, he munched on it, eyes closed. Watching him was killing her. The open face sandwich was pretty good, and she nibbled on her own. But watching him eat was way more fun.

  “More?” She started to push up from the table after he finished his second piece.

  But he jumped up before she could move. “Stay right where you are. I’m fine. I don’t want to put on weight.” Then Ryder grinned. This had always been one of their private jokes. He’d make comments about his weight so she didn’t have to. Phoebe was the one always worrying about the extra pounds. But Ryder insisted that he liked her curves.

  Her mouth dried. The last bite of egg salad was hard to force down. On his way back into the kitchen, he spotted the checker box on the table next to the futon. “What’s this?”

  “Just something that was tucked away.”

  “Guess we never had time to play.” And then he stopped. They both knew how they’d spent their weekends and evenings.

  “Except at Cracker Barrel. Remember how we sat at that huge checker table in front of the fire?” She could almost feel the heat from that crackling fire.

  “Yeah, we used to go up there a lot in winter.” His eyes softened. “That was fun.”

  “Maybe we could play some night.” Phoebe was getting a little nervous about how they’d fill their evenings. “I’ll whip your hide.”

  “You’re on.” Wearing a grin, Ryder went back to work. Phoebe put their glasses into the dishwasher. Having a plan made her feel better. This felt almost like a date. But wasn’t that silly?

  After lunch she was ready for a nap. The cast wore her out, and she was glad she wasn’t going into the salon. Then she heard the car coming up the driveway. Peeking out, she watched Diana step from her yellow VW.

  “Hey, girl. You’re back.” Phoebe called from the open door.

  “Thought I’d check up on you.” Diana walked toward her, blonde hair ruffling in the breeze.

  It wasn’t easy to hold out her arms and keep the crutch in line but Phoebe tried.

  “I am back and just in time.” Stepping back from a cautious embrace, Diana gave her a critical eye. “What happened to you?”

  “I decided to paint the house.”

  With a crooked smile, Diana glanced up to the roof. “Looks like you found a handyman.”

  “Temporary help,” P
hoebe muttered, leading the way back to the cottage. “Come on. Let's catch up over some lemonade.”

  Comfortable on the porch with frosted glasses in hand, Phoebe began the interrogation. “So, how did it go?” No way was she asking Diana about the mosquito bites on her face and arms. Her gorgeous friend was very aware of her looks. That moon-shaped scar on her face shone white against her honey-colored skin

  But Phoebe didn't have to mention the bites. Running a hand across her cheek, Diana said, “Will you just look at my face? Upper Michigan has so many mosquitoes. They could export them to other countries.”

  Phoebe smiled. “Did you forget I grew up there? Those deep woods breed armies of mosquitoes.”

  Diana blushed. “No insult intended.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Did you enjoy camping?” Although her dad had tried to turn Phoebe into a wild woman who liked to sleep under the stars, it never worked. But for Will’s sake, Diana had thrown herself into her outdoor honeymoon with enthusiasm.

  Her friend’s stormy expression almost made Phoebe laugh. “Camping lasted exactly three nights. Do you know you have to share a bathroom with other people at those campsites? There were a bunch of guys in a camper next to us who partied all night. Don’t get me wrong. I like Willie Nelson but not at three in the morning.”

  The mental picture made Phoebe explode with laughter. “Did you cook Will’s breakfast over one of those cute little campfires in the morning?” Diana definitely wasn’t a campfire person.

  Her friend’s jaw dropped. “Did you just meet me? Do you know how hard it is to find a fast food place in the wilderness? Finally, Will took pity on me. We found a room at a resort with ten little rental cabins near Mackinaw. The owner played the accordion around a campfire in the evening. That was our entertainment.” By this time they were both chuckling. “Some people go to Vegas for their honeymoon and big stage shows. Me? I have Michigan.”

  “And Will,” Phoebe reminded Diana.

  “And Will.” The way she said her new husband’s name was so darn cute.

  “Newsflash, Diana. Honeymoons are not about entertainment. At least, not that I recall.” Now it was Phoebe’s turn to blush.

  “Probably right.” Flipping her blonde hair behind her shoulder, Diana leaned closer. “So what's with the guy on the roof? From what I can see, he’s hot.”

  How to explain this? “That's, er, my ex-husband. He's helping me out with some projects.” Although Phoebe tried to be casual, Diana's gasp told her she’d failed.

  “That’s your ex? You never told me.” Her brows drew together as if she were trying to make sense of the tidbits Phoebe was tossing out. Where to start? Diana was a good friend. Phoebe purposely had never said much about Ryder at book club. It had been a year, and she still couldn’t talk about her divorce.

  “The situation’s awkward, Diana. We own this cottage together, but it’s falling apart. I love this little place and had big plans to work on it this summer. Ryder offered to help after I broke my leg.”

  Diana’s lips formed a perfect oval. “Wow, Phoebe. I go out of town for a week. You break your leg and enlist the help of a Greek god, who just happens to be your ex.” She shook her head. “No one could write a story as crazy as this.”

  Might as well come clean. “That's only part of it. I’m still pretty mad at him. Carolyn and I figured I could have some fun by showing him just what he’s missing.” Looking down at her cast, she shook her head. “What was I thinking? I offered to let him stay in the guest room upstairs. He was doing so much driving back and forth.”

  “Ah, huh. How interesting.” A Cheshire cat smile tilted Diana’s lips. “How's that working out for you?”

  “He's only been here a couple nights, and I can hardly stand it.”

  “I can see the problem. Geez.” Diana tossed her curls.

  Phoebe drummed her fingernails against the glass. “Carolyn and I cooked up this scheme. I’d drive Ryder crazy in my bikini top.”

  “Really? Is it working?”

  “No. The tables turned. Ryder in a white T-shirt? Sexy as all get out.”

  “I can see your point.”

  “Yeah, well. I should feel grateful. After all, he rescued me when the darn ladder broke.”

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

  “That’s all right. This arrangement is weird but it makes sense. After all, we do both own the house, so we’re both responsible for it.” She wouldn’t mention the check she’d torn up. Diana owned Hippy Chick, a shop along the main street. They were both businesswomen who worked hard for their money. Diana might think she’d been crazy.

  “So, has he remarried?”

  “I don’t know what his situation is right now. He lives up past Stevensville, so I hardly ever saw him until this summer.” She leaned closer. After all, they were on the porch and Ryder was painting just around the corner. “I’m wondering if he wants to fix up the place so he can get me to sell it.”

  Diana’s eyes darted to the corner and back. “Would he do that?”

  This lemonade needed more sugar. “I don’t know but it’s a possibility.”

  Looking out at the peaceful setting, Phoebe thought about last night. How familiar it had all felt. “The truth is, Diana, having him around is making me crazy.” But she didn’t want to go into simple things like olive bread or cannolis and how they felt right shared with Ryder.

  “Give it some time,” Diana said. “We all have our own crosses to bear. Will’s niece is working at Hippy Chick this summer. Maisy is a handful. She gave Rachel a hard time while I was gone.”

  “But she thinks the world of you, Diana.”

  Her friend lifted a shoulder. “She likes us just fine, but she also likes to have her own way. Will’s parents rented a place in Gull Harbor to be with Maisy this summer. They’re delighted to spend time with her. Get to know her better. But she’s a teenager with growing pains.”

  “And a neglectful mother, as I recall. Remember last Christmas when you brought her into the salon? Not a peep out of her until I suggested the green streak in her hair. I wish I could work with her again, but Jen will do a great job. She’s managed the shop just fine without me.”

  “Of course she has. You have a competent staff.” Setting down her empty glass, Diana squeezed her hand. “Well, time to hit the road. I have to go grocery shopping. Doesn’t that sound domestic? Kind of like, gotta feed my man.”

  Thinking back on the dinner of cole slaw and beans, Phoebe giggled. “Sounds good to me. I’m ordering from Clancy’s almost every day, or Ryder drives down to Whistle Stop or the Roadhouse for takeout.”

  The visit had worn Phoebe out. She just didn’t have the same stamina since she broke her leg. Waving goodbye to the happy bride, she fought a twinge of jealousy. She remembered those post honeymoon days. Having Ryder around had brought back that special time with an uncomfortable rush.

  But the itchiness that plagued her under the darn cast got her attention. Grabbing her ballpoint from the side table, Phoebe tried to ease it under the tight white tube. But the pen didn’t extend far enough. She could not scratch that itch.

  Chapter 12

  Ryder was wielding a paintbrush in the hot afternoon sun when he heard the sound of his own pickup truck. What the hell? Setting the brush on the edge of the tray, he turned. Sure enough, his black pickup turned into the drive, Stanley slouched at the wheel. Ryder’s shoulders tightened. Now what? His dad looked “growly,” as his mother used to say.

  Swatting at mosquitoes, he trudged toward the driveway. If this heat was June, he didn't even want to see July. Would he still be here then? That all depended on Phoebe. He had to find more projects after he finished the painting.

  His dad pulled up behind Ryder’s Harley and got out. He was the last person Ryder wanted to see right now. Was Stanley checking up on him? Hitching up his jeans, his dad looking more like a Mafia hit man than a nosy father.

  “Hey, Dad. What are you doing here?” Stanley gave the back
door a furtive glance. Oh sure. He was hoping Phoebe would rescue him. Ryder didn't want his ex-wife to know that this was a full-out, father-son assault. His dad was going to blow it.

  “So how's it going?” Not about to be blocked by a moody son, Stanley edged around Ryder to squint at the back door again. Yep, he definitely wanted to see Phoebe.

  “Fine. So who’s watching the shop?

  His father worked on his spearmint chewing gum. Stanley was trying to quit smoking. Again.

  “Mick. You making any progress here?” His dad’s eyes swept the yard as if he expected to find snipers in the bushes.

  Taking his father's elbow, Ryder eased him out of earshot. Since her accident, Phoebe had started taking a nap in the afternoon. The last thing he needed was the two of them ganging up on him. “If you mean am I getting the painting done, it's going slow.”

  “That's a good thing right?” His father's eyes brightened.

  Ryder wiped the back of one hand across his brow. “Not in my book. It's hot as a bitch out here, and the mosquitoes are having me for lunch.”

  His father's eyes narrowed. “Let's remember. You’re a man with a mission. Missions take time. Endurance.” Widening his stance, Stanley hunkered down.

  “I’m well aware of that, Dad.”

  A smile tickling his lips, his father scrutinized the cottage. “Pink, huh?”

  “Incredible, right? She insisted.”

  “And you followed orders?” Stanley looked pleased. “I’m starting to enjoy this.”

  “Well, I’m not. Look at me.” He stared down at his jeans and shirts, splattered with pink paint. “I’m going to have to throw this stuff out. Her bedroom’s half pink too.”

  “You’ve been in the bedroom?” Hope sparked in his father’s eyes.

  “Not really.” The words cost him. “Only to well, tuck her in.”

  “Tuck her in?” Head swiveling to face him, Stanley repeated the words as if they were sacred. Or foreign.

  “She’s tired, Dad. It’s the cast, I think. Anyway, I’m getting nowhere fast, at least with Phoebe. I’m about ready to throw in the towel. Hire a professional to paint the place.”