Terri Reed - Love Comes Home and A Sheltering Love - Love Comes Home / A Sheltering Love

The loud knocking persisted. No, he wouldn’t. She took a deep, shaky breath, opened the door and drank in the sight of him in faded denim jeans and navy polo shirt that revealed muscled biceps. His hair looked slightly damp as if he’d recently showered, and the clean scent of soap and man filled her senses.

“You okay?” he asked, concern etched in the lines on his face.

Under his considerate regard, her heart raced and her body heated. With more effort than it should have taken, she composed herself. “I’m fine. Just working on getting things packed. What can I do for you?”

His brows shot up. “You could let me in.”

“I don’t think so. I asked you not to come.”

“And I told you I would.”

She couldn’t argue that. She tried a different tactic. “I appreciate your trying to fulfill your promise to Mom G., but this is a little extreme. Honestly, Josh, the best thing you can do for me is leave.”

He stepped closer, consuming the air, making breathing suddenly difficult. She involuntarily stepped back, trying to allow more oxygen to come between them. “Josh, please.”

In a low, subdued voice he said, “Let me help. The quicker you’re done, the quicker you can leave.”

So that was it. Never mind that his words reflected her own thoughts. All his offers of help were to hurry her along her way. She shouldn’t feel this bubble of disappointed hurt choking her. Shouldn’t feel betrayed that he’d want her gone. She should be glad of the help, glad to move things along so she could leave and resume her life once again. A life without him.

The tumultuous conflict going on inside nearly made her stagger. But she drew herself up, arranging her features into what she hoped would appear as a polite, unaffected smile. “Of course. Leaving’s my priority. But I don’t need your help.”

“I’d think that you’d want the packing done quickly,” he grated out.

She bristled. “Am I not moving fast enough for you?”

“Frankly, no.”

She couldn’t let him in. She’d put off working on her old room and Mom G.’s room for fear of being swamped by her grief. Lord, I need Your strength. She was almost done with the rest of the house. “I can do this on my own.”

He let out an exasperated breath. “Rachel, you shouldn’t be doing this alone.” His voice softened, wrapping her up in its even tones.

She resented how much she suddenly wanted him to help, wanted him to take her in his arms and make all the grief disappear. “I’ve done perfectly well alone for years. What makes you think I need you now?”

His quick intake of air was unmistakable. She peered up into his face, trying to discern his expression in the porch light. A shadow obscured his features, frustrating her attempt to decipher why her words would cause him distress.

“I can’t believe you’re going to renege on your promise so easily. Let me take care of you.”

Stabbing guilt made her open the door wider and step back. He stepped in, engulfing the house with his presence.

She hastily closed the door then moved to a stack of empty boxes and watched him survey the piles she’d scattered about the living room. “I’ve boxed up what I’m having shipped and the rest will be donated to Goodwill.”

He nodded, his piercing, gold-specked gaze making a fire rise in her cheeks. She swallowed, fighting the attraction that always hovered close to the surface. He was a big, handsome man and it was natural for her to find him attractive.

Get a grip. She picked up a box and held it out to him. “We can finish the kitchen.”

In two long strides, he came toward her and took the box. “After you.”

She could do this. She marched past him and into the kitchen. They worked together in tense silence. Rachel found it hard to concentrate with only a few feet separating them. She’d catch herself watching his hands as they wrapped newspaper around dishes, those large masculine hands that with the slightest touch brought her comfort she’d never experienced with anyone else. She forced her mind to focus on her task. Soon the kitchen was packed.

“That’s done.” Josh stretched, his navy blue shirt pulling taut across his shoulders, emphasizing the broad width.

Rachel blinked and quickly turned away as she rose from her position on the floor where she’d finished taping closed the last box. Her stiff legs ached, reminding her she’d hadn’t exercised in a while.

“Now where?”

Her stomach clenched in nervous agitation. “The bedrooms.”

She hoped she could make it through this without breaking down. She didn’t want Josh to witness any weakness.

Josh followed her down the hall to her old room. She pushed open the door, expecting Mom G. had already boxed most of her things and would have used the room for her own purposes, and was surprised to find it much as she’d left it. The frilly white bed coverings were neatly made, the shelves lining the walls held the various books and dolls she’d left behind.

Josh peered over her shoulder. “It’s like walking back in time.”

She closed her eyes against the sudden images of herself as a teenager. With graphic clarity, she saw herself sitting at the desk beneath the window doing her homework, her hair held high in a ponytail, her feet tucked beneath her.

She could still remember the night Mom G. had opened her door and said she had a visitor.

Josh had walked in with his easy grin and gentle manners. She’d secretly had a crush on him since the first day of high school. She hadn’t known he’d noticed her. She hadn’t known that one day he’d break her heart.

She opened her eyes and deliberately stepped forward and began pulling books and dolls from the shelves.

Without further comment, Josh dragged in several empty boxes and placed them at her feet.

“Thanks,” she muttered, grateful for his thoughtfulness.

After a moment she paused and noticed his perplexed expression. The big, strapping male looked wholly out of place in the little girl’s frilly room and clearly he didn’t know what to touch and what not to.

Rachel stifled a smile. “You could strip the bed and pile it with the Goodwill items.”

He flashed a relieved grin that hit Rachel with the shock force of a defibrillator. Quickly she turned back to her shelves. Focus, focus, she chanted inside her head.

After those first few awkward moments, they worked together like a tenured surgical team. She’d load a box, he’d tape it closed and fill out the address label.

Slowly conversation started, tentative at first. Rachel sought for neutral subjects and Josh seemed eager to keep their talk light.

As teens they’d had similar tastes in movies and books. Rachel was mildly surprised to discover that as adults they still shared many common interests.

They relaxed into a sort of rhythm, where one thread of conversation quickly led to another and another. They laughed and companionably argued over politics, choices for the Oscars and which authors should appear on the New York Times bestseller list.

In an amazingly short amount of time, they had her old room boxed up. “Thank you, Josh, for your help,” Rachel said as they finished dragging the boxes into the living room.

“Sure thing.” He held out his large hand. “Just one room left. You ready?”

She swallowed back the sudden tears that burned at the edges of her eyes. His offer of support nearly undid her. Clearly they both knew how hard this was going to be. She shored up her defenses. She couldn’t show weakness, but she took his offered hand and allowed his warm palm to give her strength as they headed down the hall.

Mom G.’s room also was as she remembered. The double bed with its fluffy pink comforter, the dresser cluttered with trinkets and jewelry. The bedside table still held the picture of Mr. Green as a young man.