Marin Thomas - Ryan's Renovation

“The gang’s idea of fun is to barge into baptisms and weddings, threaten the guests, then steal the alcohol.” Joe rolled a chunk of concrete under his work boot.

“Fun at the expense of others.”

“Yep. The group thrives on shoplifting, selling fake green cards, dealing drugs and extorting small-business owners. You know what pisses me off most?” The younger man vented as if he believed his coworker cared.

And surprisingly, Ryan did. “What?”

“Willie’s got people who care about him. A decent home. Parents who love him. He doesn’t fit the profile of a gangbanger. He’s not a runaway and he hasn’t been abandoned or abused by his parents.”

The next time Ryan spoke with his grandfather he’d remind the old man how fortunate he was that none of his grandsons had taken to a life of crime. Although he suspected his grandfather might argue that he’d have preferred managing a recalcitrant teenager than doling out life lessons to grown men. “If your brother has a lot of time on his hands, what about encouraging him to get a job?”

Joe gaped. “He can make more money protecting prostitutes than flipping burgers.” With a snort of disgust, he added, “It doesn’t matter.”

“What doesn’t matter?”

“If Willie leaves the gang, they’ll put a bounty on his head.”

A bounty? The scenario had the makings of a Hollywood movie. “What about asking the police for protection?”

“They’d don’t care. They’d just as soon let all the gangs kill each other off and be rid of the problem.”

Frustration steamed from the top of Joe’s head. Had Ryan’s grandfather experienced this same helplessness when Ryan had determinedly walled himself off from the family after 9/11?

“All we can do is wait,” Joe mumbled. “Wait for my brother’s luck to run out.”

An image of the man’s family, gathered around a headstone in a cemetery, swept through Ryan’s mind. He had to help. This is none of your business. Keep your mouth shut. “Maybe I—”

“C’mon,” Joe interrupted. “The boss is waving us over.”

What had gotten into Ryan? If not for the boss’s timely interruption he’d have…What? Offered to save Willie? Hadn’t 9/11 taught him the danger of rescuing people? He’d tossed out his superhero duds a long time ago. No more surrendering himself for someone else—besides, he didn’t have anything left to sacrifice. He had enough of his own problems—mainly why he had no trouble conversing with the guys, but when it came to talking with Anna, he froze inside.

That’s because she unnerves you.

At times Ryan suspected her blue eyes could see his deepest secrets. Deepest fears. After his near slipup with Joe a few moments ago, he’d best keep his distance from Anna. That shouldn’t be difficult.

She was a female. And females were so far down on his list they weren’t even on the paper.

“HI, EVERYONE!” Anna waved as she shut the door of the boss’s pickup she’d driven to the work site. Since the men were stuck in Elmhurst, she decided to bring Ryan’s birthday party to the crew. Leaving the cake on the front seat, she approached Bobby, who watched Joe break up concrete with the bulldozer. Antonio, Ryan and Eryk were tossing debris into the dump trucks, while Leon used a minibackhoe to deposit the larger chunks. “Can you take a break?” she shouted above the grinding gears of machines.

“What for?” Bobby hollered.

“Birthday cake.”

“Well, heck, Anna. Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Bobby possessed a mean sweet tooth.

The chugging noise of motors filled the air as she rested the two-tiered confection on the hood of the truck. She removed the plastic wrap protecting the white-frosting swirls. Her roommate, Blair, had baked the chocolate cake, but she’d stayed up half the night decorating the layers.

“Hey, whose birthday is it?” Antonio peered over Anna’s shoulder.

Smile in place, she faced the men assembled around her. “Ryan’s.” As was his custom, the birthday boy remained a respectable distance from the group. She looked him in the eye and he took her by surprise when he didn’t glance away. She wished he had. His glower insisted he wasn’t pleased with the surprise party. Oh dear.

Pasting on a happy face, she spouted, “Ryan’s thirty-seven today.”

A barrage of old-age jokes followed her pronouncement, none of which made a crack in Ryan’s stone face. Anna glanced longingly at the box of candles on the front seat. By the time they coaxed Ryan to blow them out, the cake would catch fire.

She reached for the knife, but Joe cried, “Wait. We have to sing ‘Happy Birthday.’”

“Maybe Patrick would lead us?” Anna offered the shy man an encouraging smile. After a few seconds, raucous male bellowing drowned out Patrick’s beautiful voice. To keep from bursting into laughter at Ryan’s horrified expression, Anna locked her gaze on the bulldozer.

As the last notes of the song faded, she clapped her hands. Then, amid murmurs of appreciation, she served the cake, handing Ryan the largest piece. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks.” As if a pistol were being held to his head, he shoveled a bite into his mouth.

“Good, huh?” Antonio mumbled, cheeks bulging.

“Yeah, great.” Ryan’s glare pierced Anna.

For the life of her, she couldn’t understand what she’d done to annoy him. There was only one explanation for his pathetic lack of appreciation for her thoughtfulness—he didn’t care for her. And that hurt.

Everyone was fond of her. She worked darn hard to guarantee no one found fault with her. Ticked, she said, “Seconds, Ryan?”

He shook his head, then placed the remainder of his cake—the entire piece minus one bite—on the hood.

“I’ll wrap the cake for you to take home.”

“No,” he blurted, then lowered his voice. “I’m not fond of sweets. The guys can share the rest of it.”

Anna couldn’t explain what sparked her anger—the fact that Ryan didn’t appreciate her attempt to make his birthday special or that she’d permitted his rudeness to hurt her. And the reason his rudeness could hurt her, she decided, was that she’d allowed herself to care about him.

Stupid, Anna. Ever since you offered your baby up for adoption, you’ve tried to mother everyone and anyone. Well, Ryan Jones doesn’t need or want a mother. She lifted the entire cake from the hood and held it out to him. “Take it. After all, it’s your birthday.”

He raised his hands. “I don’t want it.”

Uncaring that the rest of the guys had stopped eating to gawk at her and Ryan, she stepped closer and insisted, “You’re being too generous.”

“No, I’m not.” He retreated.

Anna advanced a step. “Yes.” And another. “You.” Another. “Are.”

Hell. Anastazia Nowakowski didn’t recognize when to give up. Backed into a corner, Ryan decided he’d better accept the cake before the happy-birthday-girl shoved it in his face.

Anna’s blue eyes sparkled with…Tears? “You’re welcome.” She spun away.

While the guys thanked her, Ryan stood aside cursing himself for being such a bastard and wounding her feelings.

How could Anna have known he’d stopped celebrating birthdays and holidays the moment he learned his ex-wife had miscarried their child?

I’m sorry.

Ryan paced in front of Anna’s desk, rehearsing an apology in his head. Hoping to make amends for his rude reaction to her surprise birthday celebration that afternoon, he’d hung around the locker room until the men had left the building. The click-click of Anna’s heels announced her arrival seconds before she appeared in the doorway.

When she spotted him, she paused, one sandaled foot hovering an inch above the floor. Her mouth flattened into a thin line and the light dimmed in her normally sparkling eyes. After a moment, she unpaused, moved into the room and sat in the chair at her desk.