Debbie Macomber - The Road To Love - Love by Degree / The Rain Sparrow

“Good morning,” she cautiously greeted Reed, who was sitting at the kitchen table dressed and reading the paper.

“Morning,” he responded dryly, as he lowered his paper.

Her hands trembling, Ellen reached for a mug, but it slipped out of her fingers and hit the counter, luckily without breaking.

Reed carefully folded the newspaper and studied her face. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“My mom’s married,” she murmured in a subdued voice. Tears burned in her eyes. She was no longer sure just what she was feeling. Happiness for her mother, yes, but also sadness as she remembered her father and his untimely death.

“Remarried?” he asked.

“Yes.” She sat down across from him, holding the mug in both hands and staring into its depths. “It’s not like this is sudden. Dad’s been gone a lot of years. What surprises me is all the emotion I’m feeling.”

“That’s only natural. I remember how I felt when my dad remarried. I’d known about Mary and Dad for months. But the day of the wedding I couldn’t help feeling, somehow, that my father had betrayed my mother’s memory. Those were heavy thoughts for a ten-year-old boy.” His hand reached for hers. “As I recall, that was the last time I cried.”

Ellen nodded. It was the only way she could thank him, because speaking was impossible just then. She knew instinctively that Reed didn’t often share the hurts of his youth.

Just when her throat had relaxed and she felt she could speak, Derek threw open the back door and dashed in, tossing his older brother a set of keys.

“I had them add a quart of oil,” Derek said. “Are you sure you can’t stay longer?”

The sip of coffee sank to the pit of Ellen’s stomach and sat there. “You’re leaving?” It seemed as though someone had jerked her chair out from under her.

He released her hand and gave it a gentle pat. “You’ll be fine.”

Ellen forced her concentration back to her coffee. For days she’d been telling herself that she’d be relieved and delighted when Reed left. Now she dreaded it. More than anything, she wanted him to stay.

CHAPTER FOUR

“ELLEN,” DEREK SHOUTED as he burst in the front door, his hands full of mail. “Can I invite Michelle to dinner on Friday night?”

Casually, Ellen looked up from the textbook she was studying. By mutual agreement, they all went their separate ways on Friday evenings and Ellen didn’t cook. If one of the boys happened to be in the house, he heated up soup or put together a sandwich or made do with leftovers. In Monte’s case, he did all three.

“What are you planning to fix?” Ellen responded cagily.

“Cook? Me?” Derek slapped his hand against his chest and looked utterly shocked. “I can’t cook. You know that.”

“But you’re inviting company.”

His gaze dropped and he restlessly shuffled his feet. “I was hoping that maybe this one Friday you could...” He paused and his head jerked up. “You don’t have a date, do you?” He sounded as if that was the worst possible thing that could happen.

“Not this Friday.”

“Oh, good. For a minute there, I thought we might have a problem.”

“We?” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have a problem, but it sounds like you do.” She wasn’t going to let him con her into his schemes quite so easily.

“But you’ll be here.”

“I was planning on soaking in the tub, giving my hair a hot-oil treatment and hibernating with a good book.”

“But you could still make dinner, couldn’t you? Something simple like seafood jambalaya with shrimp, stuffed eggplant and pecan pie for dessert.”

“Are you planning to rob a bank, as well?” At his blank stare, she elaborated. “Honestly, Derek, have you checked out the price of seafood lately?”

“No, but you cooked that Cajun meal not long ago and—”

“Shrimp was on sale,” she broke in.

He continued undaunted. “And it was probably the most delicious meal I’ve ever tasted in my whole life. I was kicking myself because Reed wasn’t here and he would have loved it as much as everyone else.”

At the mention of Reed’s name, Ellen’s lashes fell, hiding the confusion and longing in her eyes. The house had been full of college boys, yet it had seemed astonishingly empty without Reed. He’d been with them barely a week and Ellen couldn’t believe how much his presence had affected her. The morning he’d left, she’d walked him out to his truck, trying to think of a way to say goodbye and to thank him for understanding the emotions that raged through her at the news of her mother’s remarriage. But nothing had turned out quite as she’d expected. Reed had seemed just as reluctant to say goodbye as she was, and before climbing into the truck, he’d leaned forward and lightly brushed his lips over hers. The kiss had been so spontaneous that Ellen wasn’t sure if he’d really meant to do it. But intentional or not, he had, and the memory of that kiss stayed with her. Now hardly a day passed that he didn’t enter her thoughts.

A couple of times when she was on the second floor she’d wandered into her old bedroom, forgetting that it now belonged to Reed. Both times, she’d lingered there, enjoying the sensation of remembering Reed and their verbal battles.

Repeatedly Ellen told herself that it was because Derek’s brother was over twenty-one and she could therefore carry on an adult conversation with him. Although she was genuinely fond of the boys, she’d discovered that a constant diet of their antics and their adolescent preoccupations—Pat’s basketball, Monte’s appetite and Derek’s Michelle—didn’t exactly make for stimulating conversation.

“You really are a fantastic cook,” Derek went on. “Even better than my mother. You know, only the other day Monte was saying—”

“Don’t you think you’re putting it on a little thick, Derek?”

He blinked. “I just wanted to tell you how much I’d appreciate it if you decided to do me this tiny favor.”

“You’ll buy the ingredients yourself?”

“The grocery budget couldn’t manage it?”

“Not unless everyone else is willing to eat oatmeal three times a week for the remainder of the month.”

“I don’t suppose they would be,” he muttered. “All right, make me a list and I’ll buy what you need.”

Ellen was half hoping that once he saw the price of fresh shrimp, he’d realize it might be cheaper to take Michelle to a seafood restaurant.

“Oh, by the way,” Derek said, examining one of the envelopes in his hand. “You got a letter. Looks like it’s from Reed.”

“Reed?” Her lungs slowly contracted as she said his name, and it was all she could do not to snatch the envelope out of Derek’s hand. The instant he gave it to her, she tore it open.

“What does he say?” Derek asked, sorting through the rest of the mail. “He didn’t write me.”

Ellen quickly scanned the contents. “He’s asking if the electrician has showed up yet. That’s all.”

“Oh? Then why didn’t he just call? Or send an email?”

She didn’t respond, but made a show of putting the letter back inside the envelope. “I’ll go into the kitchen and make that grocery list before I forget.”

“I’m really grateful, Ellen, honest.”

“Sure,” she grumbled.

As soon as the kitchen door swung shut, Ellen took out Reed’s letter again, intent on savoring every word.

Dear Ellen,

I realized I don’t have your email address, so I thought I’d do this the old-fashioned way—by mail. There’s something so leisurely and personal about writing a letter, isn’t there?

You’re right, the Monterey area is beautiful. I wish I could say that everything else is as peaceful as the scenery here. Unfortunately it’s not. Things have been hectic. But if all goes well, I should be back at the house by Saturday, which is earlier than I expected.