An Act of Love (New Beginnings Book 6) Page 4

  Rachel washed down the sink. When she turned from it, she spied Max in the doorway, studying her. That flash of vulnerability flared for a second in his expression and vanished.

  He smiled. “I thought I’d better be heading home. I’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow if I’m going to start on Monday with Kevin.”

  “Yeah, I’d better go round up my crew and leave, too. See you at church, Rachel.” Jordan strolled from the kitchen, glancing back over her shoulder with a small grin playing at the corners of her mouth.

  Leaving her alone with Max. Rachel draped the washcloth over the sink, then closed the space between them. “Don’t forget I’ll be over to help you tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  For half a minute, silence reigned between them. Rachel couldn’t pull her gaze from his. Heat returned to flush her cheeks. She swallowed several times, trying to come up with something to say. Finally, she blurted out, “Did you get the recipe from Granny yet?”

  He chuckled. “Nope, but not from lack of trying. She’s a tough cookie.”

  “That she is. You won’t be able to crack her.”

  “I have the time. I could wear her down.”

  “I want to be there the day she gives it to you.”

  “You can have a front-row seat.”

  “You seem awfully sure of yourself.”

  A frown furrowed his forehead. “I was taught to make decisions and be sure of them. In some of the situations I’ve been in, that’s the only way to be.”

  A lot like Lawrence had been. Decisive. In control. “Is that a prerequisite for being a doctor?”

  “Especially for an emergency room one,” Max said with no inflection in his voice. He started for the foyer. “Or a doctor who serves on the front lines in a war.” At the door he swung around. “Dinner was good. Thanks for asking me. I’ll have to return the favor. I’ll cook you and your family a dinner some evening.”

  “That’ll be a first.”

  “What? Someone cooking you dinner?”

  “No, a man doing it. My husband couldn’t boil water. Once he had some on for tea and forgot about it and the kettle burned a ring into our stove.”

  “I can assure you I can boil water.”

  “What made you learn to cook?” Rachel swung the door wider as Max stepped through the threshold onto the porch, the cool, autumn breeze sending her hair dancing about her shoulders like a marionette.

  “I started out because I like to eat good food, and there wasn’t anyone else to cook for me except myself. Soon I realized I would relax and totally forget about my worries when I did.”

  “You’ve never been married?”

  His mouth firmed into a straight, tight line. “Once for a few years. A long time ago. It didn’t work out.”

  He might as well have said, “And the subject isn’t up for discussion,” which only aroused her curiosity. “I’m sorry,” she murmured before she really thought about what she was saying.

  “Why?”

  “Marriage can be a good thing. I was married for thirteen wonderful years to a kind man. I hate to see when others don’t get to have what I did.” It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. She immediately thought of her mother and her marriage to Rachel’s dad. She could still remember the yelling the day her father had stomped away from the house and never come back. Maybe she should try to fix Mom up with Kevin. He was a nice man who could make her happy, feel loved. For that matter, maybe there was someone she could think of to set Max up with a date.

  “From what I saw it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “You just didn’t find the right person.” There was Carrie Peterson. She might be a good match for Max. No, she worked thirteen-hour days.

  “That’s all right. I’m not looking. See you tomorrow.” He grinned, tipped his head and left.

  She closed the door and leaned back against it. Maybe Anne would be right for Max. Heading back to the den, Rachel frowned. No, Anne loved to flirt but didn’t want to get serious about any man.

  She’d sleep on it and take a look at some of the women she knew at church. Surely there was someone who would be perfect for him.

  * * *

  But by Sunday afternoon as she crossed the street to Max’s house, Rachel had nixed every woman she’d come up with. Jordan might want to play matchmaker, even Granny, but she didn’t. She would be his friend, help him get acclimated to Tallgrass, but he would have to take care of his own dates.

  He answered his door within a few seconds. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. I didn’t realize I had so many possessions. I didn’t have much in the army and I’ve only been out two years.” Stepping to the side, he waved her into his house. “I’m working in the den.”

  When she entered the room slightly behind him, she came to a stop. Stacked cartons surrounded what little furniture there was—a couch, a lounger and two end tables. “What are in these boxes?”

  “Books. Did I tell you I love books?”

  “No. Medical ones?”

  “Some. That’s how I would escape in my off hours on base. I would read everything I could get my hands on.” He gestured toward the built-in bookcases on three walls. “Those are one reason I bought the house.”

  “You think these boxes of books will all go on those shelves.”

  “No. I’ll have to get more and put them in my office. I’m turning one of the bedrooms into an office.”

  Rachel put her hand on her hip and slowly rotated in a full circle to take in the work before them. “I’m glad Taylor is going to come over and help when she gets home from the youth group outing.”

  “Taylor’s coming over?”

  When she faced him, his expression went blank, but she had caught the surprise in his eyes. “She wanted to. I think she’s trying to make up for being rude yesterday. If it’s not okay, I can tell her no.”

  “No. No, I could use all the hands I can get.” Turning away from her, he swept his arm across his body. “As you can see.”

  “Okay, then let’s get started. Is there any type of order you want them in?”

  He stroked his chin. “Mmm. I guess medical books need to go into my office. The rest in here.”

  “By genres? Authors? How?”

  A teasing glint entered his gaze. “Were you a librarian?”

  “We won’t go that far and use the Dewey Decimal System. But we could start by separating the fiction from nonfiction, then you can decide.”

  “Sounds good to me.” The smile that started in his eyes spread to encompass his whole face.

  And Rachel responded to it, a warmth enveloping her—almost as if he’d wrapped his arms around her. There should be a warning put on that expression. Maybe she could open a window and get some fresh air in here. She slid her gaze to a box nearby. “I’ll start with this one. Fiction on that side of the room—” she pointed toward the far wall “—and nonfiction over here.”

  As he delved into one carton next to him, Max said, “I may have to rethink keeping every book I get.”

  “There’ll come a time you’ll run out of space.” She lifted up a thick volume on the history of ancient Greece. The book below that one was an equally long text on the history of Rome. Then another on medieval Europe. “I know if Taylor ever needs some research books, you’re the person to come to.”

  “What can I say? I love history.”

  “You sound like my nephew. I wish Taylor loved to learn like Nicholas.”

  “What does she like to do?” Max carried a stack of books to the fiction side.

  “Oh, let’s see. Boys. Fashion. Video games. And occasionally writing. She is constantly writing in a journal. I gave her one after her father died, and she’s gone through five.”

  “A lot of kids hate to write.”

  “That’s about the only thing she likes. Maybe one day she’ll be an author of one of the books you collect.”

  “If she gets a book published, I’ll find a special place to put it o
n my shelf.”

  Listening to the sincerity in his tone, Rachel caught his gaze. The room separated them, but suddenly she felt as though they stood inches apart. Her pulse rate picked up speed. “That’s sweet, especially after how she behaved the past few days.”

  He raised a shoulder. “She’s a teenager.”

  Tearing her look from him, she dug into the bottom of her first box. “That’s no excuse, and she knows it.”

  Five minutes later when the doorbell rang, Rachel set her armful of books on the floor. “I’ll get it. It’s Taylor, and I want to make sure she’s on her best behavior.”

  “Sure.”

  She hurried toward the door, afraid in Taylor’s impatience she would press the bell again. Nothing happened fast enough for her daughter.

  When Rachel pulled the door open, her daughter marched inside. “Are we gonna be here long?”

  “All afternoon.”

  “That long!”

  “What’s going on? Why did you offer to help then? Moving isn’t a job that’s done in half an hour.”

  Taylor scanned the foyer then stepped a few feet closer to Rachel. “Someone’s got to chaperone you two.”

  Chapter Four

  Rachel’s eyes widened. “Taylor! Surely I didn’t hear you right.”

  She shrugged. “Well, for an old man he’s not bad-looking. And I noticed you like him.”

  “As a friend, hon.” Touching her wedding ring, Rachel twirled it around her finger. “Men and women can be friends. He’s new to town and doesn’t know anyone.”

  Taylor snorted. “If you say so.” She started for the den. “What do ya need me to do?”

  Snagging her daughter’s arm, Rachel stopped Taylor’s forward motion. “I don’t want you to stay if you aren’t going to behave. There’s a lot to do, and I don’t have time to put up with your drama.”

  Taylor crunched her mouth into a pucker and thought for a good minute. “Sure.” Then she yanked her arm from Rachel’s grasp and plodded toward the room.

  Reinforcing herself with a deep breath, Rachel entered quickly behind her daughter, praying that a war hadn’t already been launched.

  Taylor stood in the middle of the mountain of boxes. “These are all books?”

  “Yep. I like to read.” Max stuffed his hands in his front jeans pockets, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

  “Wow, you sure do. I only read what I’m forced to at school.”

  Before her daughter declared how much she hated to read, Rachel moved toward her and tapped the top of a box. “We’re separating the books into fiction and nonfiction.” She pointed to the respective areas of the room to place them.

  “What if I don’t know?” Taylor’s eyebrows slashed down.

  “I’ll tell you.” Max took the carton across from Taylor. “I just appreciate any help I can get.”

  “Mom, you should have asked Sam and Will. They love to tear into boxes.”

  Rachel laughed. “And double our workload? No, Nana is doing her part watching those two little munchkins. I think she’s taking them for some ice cream.”

  “Ice cream? I love ice cream.” Taylor pouted, looking out the window at the front yard.

  “It just so happens I do, too. And since I do, that’s one of the things I have on hand. When we take a break, I can fix you all a fudge sundae, double dip,” Max said.

  Taylor’s eyes grew round. “You will? That’s my favorite.”

  From that moment on what tension had been in the room dissipated. Her daughter even giggled at some of the titles of Max’s books, especially the medical ones. Rachel relaxed, bent over and dug into the bottom of the carton for the last volume.

  When she straightened, Max’s gaze ensnared hers for a long, few seconds before she dragged it away, staring at the book in her hand and not really seeing its title. Instead, she latched on to the ring on her left hand, the light gleaming off its platinum surface as though reminding her she’d had the one love of her life. Lawrence had been a good husband and provider. It was so hard to raise three children by herself. It took her full attention. She certainly didn’t have time for anything else in her life.

  And why was she even thinking about that? She spun toward the stack of nonfiction books and laid her text on the nearest one.

  “Mom, even I know that To Kill a Mockingbird is fiction.”

  Rachel glanced down at the hardback. “Oh. Sorry. I was thinking about something else.” A wave of heat tinged her cheeks, and she crossed the room to the correct pile.

  What was wrong with her?

  * * *

  “Look at this stash!” With huge eyes Taylor scanned the sauces, nuts, cherries, whipped cream and several choices of ice cream as she stepped up next to Max at the kitchen counter.

  He chuckled. “I did say I loved ice cream. Do you know what your mom wants?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re kidding. What person doesn’t like ice cream?”

  “Not any I know. What do you want me to do?”

  He slanted a look at his daughter, not a foot from him. “Just enjoy building your sundae.”

  “Is a triple scoop okay?”

  “If you can eat it, go for it. I’ve certainly indulged before. Actually, I have every night before going to bed.”

  “You do? You aren’t fat.” Taylor’s eyes grew even rounder. “I mean, I didn’t…” She fixed her stare on the carton of double-fudge ice cream and began scooping some out.

  “I have to exercise to work off that gratification, but it’s worth every hour I do. As I’m sweating off the pounds, I’m imagining what flavor I’ll choose that evening.”

  Taylor giggled. “I don’t have to exercise. I’ve always been able to eat just about anything.”

  “Yeah, well, I used to be able to do that then midlife hit.”

  “So, I have that to look forward to when I get old.”

  “Ouch!”

  Another giggled peppered the air. “You aren’t that old.”

  “Double ouch. I’m suddenly feeling my years. Before long I’ll need a cane to walk.”

  “I’ll get Granny to lend hers to you. She refuses to use hers or her walker.” Taylor finished filling her large bowl with different varieties of chocolate ice cream.

  Max took the scooper from her and delved into the chocolate chip. “She’s getting around all right.”

  “That’s Granny. She doesn’t let anything get her down.”

  “That attitude will serve her well.”

  “I wish I had it more,” Taylor muttered while dousing her treat with the rich chocolate sauce.

  For a second, Max wasn’t sure he heard her correctly, but a glimpse of her pensive expression told him otherwise. “There are times I feel the same way.”

  “You do? You’re a doctor. You’re smart.”

  “Does this have something to do with school? What’s going on?” Please tell me. I want to help. The words I am your father are on the tip of my tongue. He wanted to say them so badly, but the time wasn’t right. And he couldn’t without talking with Rachel first. He owed her that much.

  “I just don’t like school.” She squirted whipped cream on the top of her sundae. “It’s boring.” Grabbing her bowl, she turned from the counter.

  “Do you want a cherry?”

  “Nope. That’s a fruit. Nothing good for me in this sundae.”

  “Ah, then you haven’t heard chocolate can be good for you.”

  “It can?” Taylor paused at the door.

  He nodded.

  “Then why does everyone act like it isn’t?”

  “Good question. Probably because too much of a good thing is bad.”

  She cocked her head, looked at him for a moment then laughed. “You sound like my dad.”

  Her declaration stopped Max in his tracks. His grip on his bowl tightened. He really needed to figure out what he was going to do and soon. He felt as though he were picking his way through a field littered with bombs. “It’s the truth.” />
  “Yeah, I know.” She swung around and hurried from the room.

  If only Alicia had let him know about Taylor all those years ago. He wouldn’t be here indecisive, feeling as if any control he had in his life was slipping away. The sound of Rachel’s soft voice wafted to him, niggling him with regrets. Any way this worked out, Rachel would be affected perhaps deeper than he because she’d loved and cared for Taylor for thirteen years. What was he doing here?

  “Max, I’m going to hold you personally responsible if Taylor starts climbing the walls because of a sugar overload.”

  Rachel had materialized in front of him, and he hadn’t even heard her approach. Suddenly, she was there—her gentle features arranged in a teasing look that lessened any intended reprimand.

  “Oh, Mom, it’s just a little ice cream. You could enjoy some if you weren’t always on a ridiculous diet.”

  Red flooded Rachel’s face. “I don’t diet. I just watch what I eat.”

  Involuntarily, his gaze roamed down her body. She certainly didn’t need to watch her weight. She looked mighty fine the way she was.

  Standing at the end of the hallway, with one hand on her hip and the other clutching her bowl, Taylor sighed—loudly. “Whatever.” She swept around and flounced back into the den, spooning some of her sundae into her mouth as she went.

  Rachel tilted up her chin. “I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll make myself one.” Skirting around him, she crossed the kitchen to the counter and waited for him.

  He removed the cartons from the freezer. “Don’t let her get to you.”

  “She isn’t. She’s right. I usually pass on desserts and stuff like that because I’m worried I’ll gain weight. As a teenager I was overweight, and after I lost sixty pounds, I promised myself I would never have to do that again.” Rachel spooned out two small scoops of vanilla, then squirted caramel on them. “I’ve never been much of a chocolate person, but I love caramel. Forget the chocolate-dipped bananas or even the cotton candy at the fair. Give me a caramel apple and I’m happy.”