The Widow of Conard County by Rachel Lee

Author:Rachel Lee
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-10-17T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Painting the barn came to a halt. The paint Sharon had chosen was on back order. Everything, Sharon thought, seemed to be on hold. Liam seemed to have withdrawn in some way, probably because she had kissed him, and she couldn’t exactly blame him. She wanted him, yes, but this was getting a bit heavy for both of them.

It wasn’t just Chet. No. Liam was still struggling to deal with his changed circumstances, and she was just emerging into a world that needed a whole lot of rebuilding in the wake of Chet’s loss. Rebuilding she had seriously neglected.

They were a couple of walking wounded, she thought without humor. Liam’s withdrawal exhibited more sense than her own behavior. Except, how was she measuring his withdrawal? Just because he hadn’t tried to kiss her again?

A little space and a little time on that score would serve them both. She’d been alone too long, and maybe she couldn’t trust her judgment. Although she certainly hadn’t felt even the least spark of interest in any man before Liam’s arrival. No, it was specifically Liam who attracted her, but what did attraction amount to? It was a fleeting thing, an unreliable guide.

She tried to follow his lead. He liked to be busy with his hands, so she made him a list of repairs around the place. He worked his way through it religiously, and when he needed help, he didn’t hesitate to ask.

She saw in him, however, a growing confidence. With each task that stymied him, they’d go to her computer, find directions, talk them over, and then she would watch as he steadily organized the steps so he could follow through.

He really wasn’t as bad as he thought, except with the reading. He had a command of simpler words, and little by little he began to write again, a word here and there as a reminder. He liked that he could tuck scraps of paper in his pocket and pull them out when he needed to.

Diagrams were easiest for him still, but he definitely was beginning to leave that in the past, relying instead on short written steps, carefully numbered. In short, he was learning, and a man who could learn could do a lot.

His bursts of frustration came less often, although they could still erupt. It remained, however, that she was seeing what she considered to be remarkable improvement.

Part of her wished she had known him before the injury, but another part of her wisely realized that it was probably better for both of them. He did enough of his own self-comparisons, and when he did she could see the frustration build. She felt a pang every single time she heard him mutter, “I ought to know this!”

Anger still simmered beneath his surface, too. That concerned her, but she didn’t know how to bring it up, nor was she sure she should. God knew, he had enough to be angry about. As long as he wasn’t directing it at her, it wasn’t her business.

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