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She had reached to move the end table when behind her came, “I knew I couldn’t trust you.”
Jerking to a standing position, she looked around to find Ryan standing with his shoulder leaning against the wall.
“Are you checking up on me?”
“Do you need to be checked up on?”
“No.” The word didn’t come out as confidently as she would have liked.
He came toward her. “I think you might.” He placed his hands on the table and looked at her. “Where do you want this?”
She pointed to the other end of the sofa, where she’d cleared a space by moving a floor lamp.
Ryan moved the table into the spot. He ran a finger over a painted swirl on it. “This type of artwork is interesting.”
“Thank you.”
He looked at her. “You did this?”
“Don’t act so surprised.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” He looked around the room. “You did all of this?”
She stood straighter. “I did, even down to making the cushions and curtains.”
“I’m impressed. I like it.”
She chuckled dryly. “Now I’m surprised. Joshua hated this type of decorating. He said it made us look like we couldn’t afford better. I put most of it away when he came home. Pulled it out again when he had gone again.”
Ryan looked at her for a long moment. “Well, I like it. It’s you.”
She didn’t think anyone had said anything nicer to her in a long time. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“You’re welcome. Now, if I go paint another wall, can I trust you to behave?”
Phoebe glared at him. “Yes, I’ll put our supper on to warm. Will that make you happy?”
“Yes.” With that, he went off whistling down the hall.
Half an hour later Phoebe went to check on Ryan’s progress. He was getting ready to start on the last wall. The others were already a pale yellow. A cheerful and happy color.
The room was small but he seemed very efficient. She watched as he bent to apply paint to the roller in the tray. The muscles on his back rippled. He reached up and brought the roller down along the wall. His biceps flexed and released.
Phoebe shook her head. She had been without a man for far too long and yet was far too pregnant to consider having a relationship with one now. Still, she was alive …
Ryan turned. By the look in his eyes and the way he watched her like a cat after a bird, he knew what she’d been doing. She’d never been much of a blusher but she felt the heat rising to her face.
“So what do you think?”
Thankfully he hadn’t made a comment about her staring. “It looks beautiful.”
“The paint goes on great.”
She stepped farther into the room. “This isn’t your first time to do this.”
“No. My foster-father was a painter. I started working with him when I was fourteen.” He moved back to filling the roller again.
Phoebe wasn’t sure she should ask but she was too curious not to. “You were a foster-child?”
“Yeah. I never knew my father and my mother was a drug addict. I was five when I was taken away from her.”
Her heart hurt for that little boy. “Oh, Ryan.”
He shrugged. “It was tough but it was a long time ago.”
Something about his attitude told her it still affected him. His focus turned to refilling the roller again.
“So your foster-father let you go to work with him?”
“It was more like made me go. I was a difficult teen and he thought it would help keep me in line. Something about idle hands leaving room for trouble.”
“And did it keep you in line?”
“Not really. I ended up going into the army the day after I graduated from high school. It made my foster-parents happy, and me, too.”
“Even your foster-mother?”
He glanced back at her. “She didn’t mind, either. She was so exhausted from dealing with the smaller kids and my behavior she was glad to see me go. I should be finished here in about thirty minutes. Any chance I could get something to eat?”
He was apparently through discussing his childhood. She would see to it that her child felt loved and wanted. “It’ll be ready.”
Ryan washed up in the hall bathroom. Splashing water on his face, he looked into the mirror. What was he doing? He could feel himself getting in too deep. He’d enjoyed the afternoon more than he would have ever imagined. He spent most of his off hours in his shop and he found he rather liked being out in the daylight, spending time with someone.
He entered the kitchen. There he found more of the same decor as the rest of the house. The table had four chairs, each painted a different color yet they seem to complement each other. The eclectic look seemed to suit Phoebe.
The table was set. When was the last time he’d eaten dinner off something other than a takeout plate?
“You may sit there.” Phoebe pointed to the chair closest to him and turned back to the oven. She pulled out a casserole pan and placed it in the center of the table.
Ryan leaned in close and inhaled. “Smells wonderful.”
He didn’t miss her pleased smile. Phoebe would make a great mother. She found pleasure in doing for others.
She handed him a serving spoon. “Help yourself.”
Ryan didn’t need to be told twice. He scooped two large helpings onto his plate. Phoebe took one. When she picked up her fork, he did also.
“I see you were taught manners. Not eating until everyone else does.”
“My foster-mother was a real stickler about them.” He put a forkful into his mouth. It was the best thing he’d eaten in years. “This is good. Real good.”
“Thank you. It’s my grandmother’s chicken casserole recipe.”
He ate a plateful and one more before he sat back and looked at Phoebe. She had only eaten about half of what she’d put on her plate.
“You need to eat more.”
She looked down at her middle. “I don’t think I need to get any bigger.”
“You look wonderful.”
“You are feeding me compliments now.”
Ryan chuckled. “That wasn’t my intent. But I guess I am.”
“I’ll take them any way I can get them.” It was nice to be noticed by a male on any level.
Ryan pushed his chair back. “I guess I’d better get the paint supplies cleaned up.”
He left and she cleared the table. When done, she went to see if she could help Ryan. He was in the process of moving the desk.
“That’s heavy. Let me help you.”
Ryan jerked around. “You will not.”
“There’s no way you can move that desk by yourself.”
“It’s all in the technique.” He gripped it by each side and began walking it from one corner to the other until he’d moved it to the doorway.
“Do you have an old towel I can use?” Ryan asked.
“Just a second.” Phoebe went into the bathroom and brought back the largest one she could find. She handed it to Ryan.
“You stay out here.” He moved the desk out into the hall. Taking the towel, he laid it on the floor in front of the desk. Lifting one end he asked, “Can you put the towel under the desk as far as possible?”
Glad she could be of some help she did as he requested.
He then lowered the desk. “Perfect.” Gathering the corners of the towel into his hands he slowly pulled the desk over the wooden flooring and down the hall.
Phoebe stepped into the doorway, letting him pass. When he was by, she stepped out and began to push.
Coming to a stop, Ryan growled, “What’re you doing?”
“Helping.”
“You shouldn’t—”
“Stop telling me what to do. I’m not really doing much.”
A grunt of disbelief came from his direction but the desk started moving again. She continued to help maneuver it, seeing that it didn’t nick the walls or hit an
y other furniture. When the desk quit moving, she looked over it. Her gaze met Ryan’s. For a second his intense gray gaze held hers. Warmth washed over her. Could he see things she’d rather keep hidden?
“Why did you stop?”
His mouth quirked. “I don’t know where you want this.”
Phoebe tried to squeeze through the space between the desk and the wall.
“Hold on a sec and let me move it.” Ryan grabbed the desk and shifted it so she could join him.
“I want it put over there.” She pointed to the space she had cleared under a window.
“Okay.” He began walking and shifting the desk until it was in place. “I’ll go get the chair.” He left.
The desk really needed to be centered under the window. Phoebe placed one hip against the side and pushed. It only moved a few centimeters.
“I can’t leave you alone for a minute.” Ryan’s deep voice came from behind her.
