Sapphires And Sagebrush (Country Brides & Cowboy Boots) Page 7

  Once again, the fluidity of Cressa’s thoughts poured into Owen, where they settled in a pool of hope. Her racing heart over her poor judgment in reaching for Spencer stilled and her face reddened for the second time that morning as guilt stamped out the emotional force of Spencer’s presence.

  It didn’t matter that she and Owen were officially broken apart. She didn’t need to be thinking of Spencer. His job was to take care of her cows and fix her parents’ house. There was nothing in his bid that offered to fix her broken and empty heart.

  Ten

  Spencer led the way into the house and checked in with the Marshalls, who were sitting on the couch, watching a movie. The couple on the screen were just about to kiss, and Spencer felt a twinge of embarrassment as the color rose in his face as he recalled his actions just five minutes ago in the driveway. Had he been so stupid as to think Cressa Marshall—no, Doctor Marshall—would be interested in him? He was just the guy who was going to work on her house and who needed stitching up when he’d practically sawed off his thumb. Not exactly a great first impression.

  Standing in her hallway, part of him eagerly looked forward to their time together, but dread overcame that fragile anticipation. It was his first day on the job and already everything was stupidly awkward, and it was his fault. The way she’d pulled away from him and hurried to her car validated the voice in his head that said his attraction to Cressa was laughable and she held no interest in him. He hoped his weakness in that moment they’d shared would slide from her memory.

  It was possible she would let it go. Cressa was kind, capable, and even engaging. But something didn’t feel quite right. It was as if she carried her professionalism into her home.

  Spencer dismissed the thought. He didn’t know her well enough to make that assumption. Of course she would be professional. He needed to squelch his earlier curiosity and see this opportunity as a paycheck that would enable him to keep current on his child support before moving on to his next job.

  Still, a deeper sense of interest wouldn’t let him rest. There was something about Cressa that he couldn’t quite figure out. It was as if there was some unseen barrier between herself and the rest of the world. It showed in the way she went about breakfast with perfunctory efficiency, and how easily she shut down after moving away from him. There was no lingering regret in her eyes or even a hint of embarrassment. It was as if she didn’t feel at all.

  Andrew stood beside him in the hallway. “So, where do we start?”

  Spencer was grateful for Andrew’s interruption, and he focused on the job. He and Andrew began laying heavy tarps down to protect the floor that led out to the front porch. Using heavy duty tape, they pulled the tarps tight and secured everything to keep Cressa’s father and Agnes from tripping. Next, they worked outside, setting up a makeshift carport to keep the heavier equipment out of the weather.

  “We’ll have to work on demolition first,” Spencer said. He showed Andrew how to tear out the vanity and sink, and the two of them worked together on the toilet and flooring. The work took all day. And when five o’clock came, Spencer was surprised. The hours had passed with brisk productivity. He was also astonished at how much he liked working with Andrew. The young man was helpful and seemed to have a knack for when to step in and when to move out of the way.

  He also appreciated Andrew for focusing on the work instead of chatting. Their conversation centered on the job, which suited Spencer. In the past, he had labored with men who liked conversation, which distracted and frustrated him. Andrew’s reticence fit nicely with his own quiet approach. It also helped Spencer overcome his earlier embarrassment from the tender moment between him and Cressa. If Andrew had seen anything, he didn’t mention it. That gave Spencer time to think about what needed to come next. Should he act like nothing happened? That would follow Cressa’s lead. Eventually, if he behaved himself, it would be as if nothing did. He could make sure he arrived at work just in time to see her off in her car. No more coffee or breakfast.

  A twinge of regret needled Spencer. He’d enjoyed his few minutes with Cressa over coffee and appreciated the home-cooked breakfast. Sitting at the table with the Marshall family was as easy as wearing his favorite pair of boots. Their company fit in all the right places and offered warmth and comfort. Her parents were appealing and inviting, and Cressa was beautiful in the morning. Her eyes were a brilliant hue of jade, and her hair was the color of new fall chestnuts pulled back into a barrette with soft tendrils framing her beautiful face. It was a lovely vision at the break of day.

  He pulled himself back to cleaning up the job. There were other things he needed to remember. The way she escaped from his presence and hurried to her car when Andrew appeared. Her bright and impersonal smile as she quickly drove away. Whatever Cressa’s feelings were for him, it was obvious she didn’t want it to go any further than businesslike breakfast and a good job done on the bathroom remodel. And that was where it would remain.

  Throwing his coat over his shoulders, he made the decision to speak to Cressa. The best defense was a good offense. If he apologized for his behavior, maybe they could just move on from this moment as if it never happened. And if he was really lucky, maybe they could be friends … someday.

  * * *

  Spencer waved Andrew out of the driveway before hurrying to the barn to feed and water the animals. Once finished, he leaned against the fence and watched the cows munch their hay, his only company the cold, stiff March breeze. It pushed against him, making his eyes water as the light faded from the day. A skiff of gray clouds stretched across the horizon, dimming the evening light to a frosty color of ash.

  Spencer began making his way back to his truck, when he almost bumped into Cressa. “Oh!”

  Cressa stumbled backward, and Spencer grabbed her, pulling her close to make sure she didn’t fall. The faint warm aroma of jasmine surrounded him for a brief moment, and he wondered how she could still smell so fresh after a day filled with wounds, illness, and antiseptic. It took all of his strength to set her apart from him instead of pulling her even closer, but he put her at arm’s length and offered a smile.

  Cressa cleared her throat. “How did things go today?”

  “Have you been inside?” Spencer asked.

  “Yeah, I took a look around. The bathroom looks completely destroyed, but I’m guessing that’s a good thing. I was just coming out to find you.”

  Spencer stood close but did not touch her. “Yeah. Everything went well. The demolition is finished, and the new vanity is scheduled to arrive tomorrow. But we’ll have to wait for the flooring, which should be here in a couple of days.”

  “How is that going to work?” Cressa asked.

  “We’ll lay the linoleum tiles first.” He stopped. “By the way, I think you’ve made the right decision. Ceramic tiles would be very slick. What you’ve chosen will give the look of tile without the danger.”

  Cressa nodded seriously. “I’m so glad you’re doing this work. A thousand YouTube videos and I couldn’t put this floor in, or the vanity.”

  Spencer shrugged. “Sure you could,” he said. “Anybody can do it, really. It’s not like saving a life or stitching a wound.”

  Cressa gazed up at Spencer, and a rush of heat invaded his skin and seeped through to his bones. “I couldn’t do it,” Cressa asserted. “Your work is every bit of a specialty as mine.”

  Spencer sucked in his breath. He’d never considered his work to carry much value, especially here in Montana where boys grew up fixing fences and building barns. A wave of gratitude tumbled over him for Cressa’s ability to acknowledge something he didn’t recognize. The desire to pull her close almost overwhelmed him, but he ignored his ache for her touch. “Thank you. That’s kind of you to say.”

  “How did things go with Andrew?” Cressa asked.

  “Things went well. He’s helpful without being a pest. And he’s eager to learn.”

  “And you don’t mind teaching him?”

  “No. Not yet
, anyway.” Spencer considered Cressa’s earlier words about his work. “It’s nice to pass on what I’ve learned about construction,” he said. “My father is a master carpenter. Since I was ten, I’ve worked most of my summers with him. He built beautiful homes, and I was lucky to tag along and help. He taught me everything I know.”

  “Well, Andrew is lucky to have you as a mentor.”

  Spencer blushed. “Thanks.” Reaching his vehicle, he faced her. If he was going to apologize, it needed to be now. His hands began to sweat. He cleared his throat. “Cressa. I’m really sorry about this morning. I shouldn’t have—”

  Cressa shook her head. “Don’t worry. We both got a little carried away.”

  “Well, it won’t happen again.” Spencer wondered if his words upset her, but nothing registered in her expression. She looked almost blank, and a small kernel of frustration lodged itself in Spencer’s heart. Did she ever feel anything?

  “It’s probably best that way.” She sighed and dropped her arms to her sides as if resigning herself to some sad unspoken truth. “I left a man in Salt Lake.” She gave a little laugh. “Or I guess I should say he left me.” She looked up at Spencer. “To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure what happened. But he’s there, and I’m here.”

  Spencer held his breath, honored that Cressa would share something so personal, and waited for her to continue. When she stayed silent, he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to know more. “Are you two still together?”

  Cressa looked away, gazing into the dying gray sunset. “I guess it depends on who you ask.”

  Spencer stopped himself from taking a step closer. “I’m asking you.”

  Cressa was silent for a minute before returning her gaze to him. “Even though I don’t think there’s anything left between us, I still expect him to get in touch.” Her earlier look of saddened resignation deepened, in spite of her hopeful words.

  Spencer nodded, knowing he should simply wish her all the best and walk away, but this was the first bud of emotion he’d seen in Cressa. Even though it was resignation and sadness, he was grateful to see her feelings existed. She was sharing something important, and he wasn’t going to let that go easily. “How do you know him?”

  Cressa smiled, and Spencer noticed a spark of something come alive in her eyes. “We were both physicians working in a trauma one, so we see all kinds of cases.” Her voice grew soft. “His name is Owen.”

  The flicker of light in Cressa’s eyes told Spencer as much as her words. She was in love with another doctor. Lindsey’s warning rushed back to him like a speeding freight train, and he had to admit to the truth of his ex-sister-in-law’s words. Regardless of what Cressa thought of his abilities or how she valued them, she would never be interested in someone like him as anything more than a hired hand.

  “Well, he’s a lucky man,” Spencer said as he stepped away from their intimate twosome. He continued to back up. “And look, you don’t have to cook me breakfast, okay? Tomorrow, Andrew starts with the cattle, and I’ll just show up at eight and begin my work. I imagine as a doctor, your first inclination is to take care of people, but I’m okay.”

  Cressa looked stunned, but then she nodded. “All right.”

  Spencer noticed her earlier resignation coming back into her eyes.

  “Well, I’d better go.” He stepped around her and opened the door of his truck, but something in her eyes made him stop. “What is it?” he asked with quiet sincerity.

  “I was just going to ask you in for dinner.”

  Desire mixed with his earlier eagerness to once again sit at the table with Cressa and her parents. He longed for the connection of family and sharing a meal, but Spencer shut it down. “Probably best if I just go on home.”

  Cressa nodded before stepping away from Spencer’s truck with a small wave. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she said.

  He nodded and waved before shutting the truck door and heading down the long Marshall drive under the falling night sky.

  Arriving home, he pushed open the door to his dark and cooling living room. Hurriedly, he put a log on the dying embers of the fire in the woodstove, the flames sparking to life.

  For several minutes he stood in the dark, watching the flames devour the wood. A wisp of smoke curled around him. The warmth of the fire began spreading through his clothing layers to his skin. He shrugged out of his coat and was greeted by the scent of a delicate tendril of jasmine. The aroma surprised him, making his pulse tick up. He sat on the couch. No matter how hard he tried, there didn’t seem to be any way to remove Cressa from his thoughts or his senses. Her jasmine followed him everywhere, as did the reality that every time she turned her gaze toward him, it was as if she was looking into the deeper corners of his heart, chasing the cobwebs and bringing a beam of light into the shadowed chambers of his doubt where he questioned his ability to love.

  The fire snapped, and Spencer jerked back into the moment. This was folly. He couldn’t offer Cressa anything she didn’t already have, and he wasn’t so needy that he would chase after another man’s woman. No. It was better to put the possibilities of Cressa behind him, instead of lingering over a promise that was found in the sweet perfume of a flower that didn’t exist in the snow.

  Eleven

  Cressa went through the motions of making a meal while her mother busied herself with the salad. She was grateful for her mother’s presence, but wary. She hoped the construction wouldn’t upset her too much, and her mother’s expression was a little pinched.

  “How did things go today?” Cressa ventured.

  “It’s so noisy,” her mother complained. “All day, it was just so loud. I wanted to take that buzz saw and throw it into the creek behind the house.”

  Cressa smiled. At least her mother remembered the events of the day.

  “And your father about drove me crazy, too. Up and down. Up and down. He and Agnes probably checked on that worker guy and his friend—” She stopped. “What are their names again?”

  “Spencer and Andrew.”

  “Oh, that’s right.”

  Cressa waited for her mother to continue, but she didn’t. Cressa prompted her. “You were saying something about Dad getting up and down a lot.”

  “Was I?”

  Cressa furrowed her brow as she finished browning the chicken. She looked to her father, who was seated next to Agnes in the family room. “Dad? Did you visit with the guys who were working in the house today?”

  “I sure did,” her father replied. “Nice young men. Andrew looks good. They’re doing a great job. They cleaned up everything before they left.”

  “That’s good to know.” Cressa plated the chicken and began cutting her father’s meat and mixing small pieces of salad with the chicken. The heat from the chicken would help wilt the vegetables just enough, and with the small bits of food, he would be able to get most of his dinner down.

  Sad fear washed through Cressa. Her father’s demise was coming on so gradually that she hardly noticed it, except for when she remembered that just a year ago he was still running his half mile and walking for two. Now, she needed to cut his food into small bites and his walking trips were curtailed to a patterned routine around the house with Agnes. With the coming of summer, he’d be able to get out a little more, even though Sunrise Creek didn’t cater to the elderly or the disabled. It would be hard for him and Agnes to manage the cracked and uneven sidewalks and road shoulders. She would have to find a level and easy place for him to walk during the warmer months so he could enjoy the season. Her father loved the outdoors.

  She pulled her thoughts back to the remodel. She had not considered how this project would affect him and his activity level or his need for social interaction. Her mother was fine cloistered inside the house without any visitors, but her father required society. Spencer and Andrew would be a party to him, while they would make her mother anxious and perhaps even confused.

  Tears sprung to her eyes, but she swallowed them. She would not cry in
front of her parents. She couldn’t serve them if her feelings overran her common sense. She had to think about this situation like a doctor. What was best for her folks?

  Once seated at the table, she pushed her food around on her plate while choosing her words carefully. “Dad, I know it must be really nice to have some company, but Mom will probably need you to stick close. You know how the noise and hubbub will put her on edge.”

  “Boy, that’s the truth!” her father exclaimed. “She about jumped out of her skin every time that saw went off or there was a loud crack coming from the hall bath.”

  “I don’t see why we even need this remodeling project,” her mother mumbled. “We’re fine just the way we are.” She glared at Cressa. “Are you trying to sell this house out from underneath your father and me?”

  “Now, Janean,” her father began. “You know Cressa would never do anything like that. She moved all the way from Salt Lake to help us.”

  Her mother gave Cressa a furtive glance before turning her attention back to her plate.

  The sharp suspicion shocked Cressa, shutting off her appetite. “No, Mom. I told you before, I’m trying to get this done now so we keep you in this house for as long as possible. Remember?”

  Cressa offered an urgent prayer that her mother would recall their earlier conversation, but it went unanswered when Janean narrowed her eyes at her. “Whatever you say,” her mother muttered before turning back to her meal.

  Cressa stopped, her fork posed midair. This new sense of suspicion left her off-balance. Her mother had never treated her or anyone this way. When it surfaced last weekend for the first time due to the erroneous idea that Cressa wanted to sell the house, she had simply brushed it aside. Now it hit her full force. It never occurred to her that the remodel might be so stressful on her mother that it would push her further into the changing moods of dementia. She’d thought there might be some memory loss, but not loss of disposition.