Home to Stay by Maryann Jordan
3
“Gramps, I’m headed to the hardware store.”
“Again?” His grandfather had just settled into his recliner, trying to stifle a grunt of pain. Looking up, he held John’s gaze. “You’ve been there every day for almost a week, boy.”
“Well, maybe if we’d come up with a list of things that need to be done around here, I can get everything I had to buy in one trip.”
“Told you you didn’t have to keep doing stuff around the house.”
He knew his grandfather had a lot of pride and hated there were things he could no longer do. John had been making repairs every day, each one under the guise of I’m just fixing this a bit so his grandfather wouldn’t feel as though things around the house had begun to deteriorate.
“Hmph. If you’re determined to go, don’t forget that plumber’s wrench. If I’d had that, I could’ve fixed the leak a long time ago.”
Soon, John pulled into the hardware store parking lot, having lost track of the number of times he’d been to the small store in the past week. He’d managed to replace several warped boards on the front porch, tighten the screws on numerous kitchen cabinet doors and drawers, and fix the drip in the bathroom sink. The stair railing leading to the second floor needed tightening, and as his grandfather reminded, a plumber’s wrench was needed to work underneath the sink in the kitchen.
Stepping inside the store, he offered a chin lift to Sally, the older woman sitting behind the cash register. She’d been in the same position almost every time he’d visited, finding out everything she could about him, and offering tidbits of advice.
After grabbing the tools and pieces of PVC pipe he needed, he wandered around for a few minutes, trying to think of other jobs that would need to be done so that he could go a day without coming to the store.
“It’s a mighty good thing you’re doing for your grandpa,” Sally called out. “Rupert used to come in all the time. Sometimes, I think he just wanted to chat more than actually buy something. I know he’s been mighty lonely without your grandmother, God rest her soul. A better woman I’ve never known.”
John nodded his agreement but remained silent.
“Rupert would have a fit if he knew I was saying this, but the last couple of years, I noticed his rheumatism had gotten worse. He don’t like to admit he’s got needs, but having you home to fix up the place without making him feel indebted—it’s a real gift.”
He shrugged, embarrassed at her compliments. “It’s nothing, ma’am.”
“Told you the other day to call me Sally. Everybody does.”
An unbidden grin slipped across his face. “Well, Sally, if you know my grandfather, you know he likes to look over my shoulder to make sure everything is done just the way he’d like it. Don’t suppose you have any clue as to what color he’d like the front door painted, do you?”
“Paint it red.”
His brow lowered as his chin jerked back. “Red?”
“Yep. I’m not pulling your leg. He once said he’d love to have a white house with a red front door because it would look like a lighthouse.”
John turned and headed back to the paint, stopping when he spied a woman walking down the same aisle, her attention on the paint color chips and her arms full of a variety of items. Her head was down so it was impossible to see her face; it was her outfit that grabbed his attention. A faded blue T-shirt with paint splatters was worn under an old pair of purple overalls at least two sizes too large with a rip in one knee and a swipe of white paint across the ass, distinctly looking as though she’d wiped her paint-covered fingers on the material. Her feet were encased in sneakers that at one time might’ve been white but were now covered in a combination of paint dribbles and dirt.
Her long, dark hair was pulled up haphazardly on top of her head, a bright pink clip attempting to hold the mass in place, but tendrils waved loose. As comical as her appearance was, her face in profile as she turned slightly toward him now snagged his attention. Rosy cheeks, pale complexion with a dusting of freckles. She was muttering to herself as she held up paint chips, attempting to keep the variety of items in her arms. Not close enough to understand everything she said, he managed to capture a few words.
“Too dark. Should be more green. Nope. Ooh, that one is nice.”
As he moved closer to the paint chips, she turned, her gaze landing first on his boots, and her chin lifted slowly as her dark eyes moved upward to his face. His body warmed under her perusal. It wouldn’t be the first time that a woman had looked at him in appreciation, but her reaction was surprising. She cocked her head to the side as her eyes narrowed, focusing on his face before giving her head a little shake. Suddenly, as though she just realized she was staring, she inhaled sharply, her chest heaving even though it was hard to discern much movement with the large overalls covering her body.
He started to ask if she was all right when she took two steps backward as she turned too close to the shelves full of paint cans. He watched in horror as her right foot slipped out from under her when she tried to correct her balance. Arms windmilling and flying out, the items she’d held so tightly flung in all directions across the floor. His hand snatched out, just managing to grab onto the strap of her coverall. Barely able to keep her ass from hitting the floor, he hauled her up to her feet, his hand still on the strap.
Stunned motionless for a second, her face soon flushed bright red as her mouth opened in a wide burst of laughter. She looked up, then covered her face with her hands and shook her head. “Oh, my God, I can’t believe I did that!”
He let go of her coveralls and stared down, fighting the desire to laugh along with her while her gaze now dropped to her items creating a mess all over the floor. Just as he opened his mouth to offer his help, she dropped and flipped over on all fours, scooping her items back into her arms. The overalls may have been too large, but with her on all fours and her ass pointed his way, his body reacted. Giving a mental shake, he chastised his wayward thoughts and bent next to her to help gather the variety of screws, small tools, paint chips, can of primer, and paintbrushes, placing them in a basket he’d snagged from the end of the aisle.
“Miss, are you all right?”
She looked over her shoulder, her face still flame red. “Yes, I just feel foolish. I really should pay better attention and watch where I’m going.”
“Here, let me help you.”
“Thank you,” she said, smiling. Her gaze moved over his face as though trying to place him before shaking her head again.
He wondered if he’d ever seen her before but came up empty. It’s been a long time since I’ve lived in the area, but I know I would have remembered her. Standing, he offered his hand, wrapping his fingers around her much smaller ones.
A jolt ran up his arm. She gasped, looking at their connection, and he was certain she’d felt the same electrifying shock.
Lifting her gaze, her eyes stayed pinned on his face, but he wasn’t uncomfortable. She still appeared to be searching for recognition, not resting on his scar.
“I’m really sorry to have created such a disaster.” She offered a rueful grin before turning and making her way to the front. As she walked away, she looked down into her basket, mumbling again as she reviewed her items. “Paint chips, paintbrush, faucet handle…”
Sally laughed while ringing up the woman’s purchases, and while he was intrigued, he held back, not wanting to add to her embarrassment. After she left, he approached the register. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Sally if she knew who the woman was, but he had the feeling that Sally was a bit of a gossip, and the last thing he wanted was to bring any attention to himself.
By the time he got home and put away what he’d bought, he was still distracted with thoughts of the woman. She was a beauty. A bit muddled, but a beauty.
As he headed into the living room, his grandfather was easing into his recliner while attempting to disguise a groan. Settling into the sofa, he opened a beer and handed it over before opening one for himself.
“You’re not gonna work tonight?”
“No. I thought I’d just hang with you.”
Gramps took a sip of beer, then nodded. “Sounds good.” After a few minutes of silence, he added, “It’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’re doing, John. I do. It’s frustrating as hell but there are things I just can’t seem to do anymore. It’s hard to grip a wrench. Hard to hold on to a screwdriver.”
“Gramps, I’ve got no problem helping. It’s not like there’s anything else going on, and it’s stuff I’d want to fix anyway.”
“If you’re staying, you lookin’ for another job?”
“Eventually. I’ve got some money for now, but I can’t just sit around forever.”
They both continued to sip their beer in silence for a few minutes before his grandfather piped up again. “What line of work are you looking to go into?”
“I don’t know. I’m good with my hands and know how to build things, but I never thought about going into construction, especially at my age.”
Gramps cackled loudly. “You’re still young, boy.”
“Maybe, but my thirty-four-year-old body has got a lot of miles on it to be trying to climb on roofs and haul wood for a living.”
“You were Special Forces with a security clearance. That ought to account for something out here in the world.”
He sighed, his shoulders lifting to his earlobes as he tried to stretch out the kinks in his back. The conversation with Cam ran through his mind. Lifting his hand, he scratched at the scruff on his face. “I’ve given a little thought to working in security but haven’t done anything else about it other than let it rattle around in my mind.” He felt his grandfather’s stare hitting the side of his head and added, “I figure I’ll know when it’s right. Anyway, tomorrow I’m heading to the elementary school.” Turning, his grandfather’s raised brows indicated more of an explanation was needed. “You gave my name to somebody from the American Legion and some kids wrote letters while I was overseas. I thought I’d stop by and thank them.”
Gramps didn’t reply, but he caught the barest hint of a grin as the wrinkles deepened. They continued to watch TV for a while, each to their own thoughts.
By the time John went to bed, he lay staring at the ceiling and considered putting off going to the school for another day. Rolling over, he punched his pillow, chastising himself. Gratitude. I need to show gratitude.
It wasn’t long before his thoughts turned to the woman at the hardware store and he wondered if he’d see her there again. Maybe he would ask Sally if she knew who the woman was, risking Sally’s curiosity. He fell asleep, thoughts of dark hair, warm brown eyes, and curves hidden by baggy, purple overalls filling his dreams.
