Love by the Yard (9 page)

This man could have been a pro wrestler. His worn, black T-shirt molded huge, well-defined pecs, a washboard stomach, and a trim waist. The sleeves were ripped off the shirt, probably because they couldn't stand the strain of surrounding his upper arms—which were huge and bulging with well-shaped muscles. Tight jeans showed off the most muscular pair of male legs she'd ever seen. On his feet were scuffed cowboy boots—very large cowboy boots, but then a man so tall had to have feet to support his height.

She looked up. Way up.

He wasn't movie-star handsome, but he was still quite good-looking. His dark blond hair was cut short on the sides and spiked up on top for a rough, trendy look, not the style of a business executive. He had full lips, which she'd never thought of as being attractive on a man, but on him they looked good. She couldn't make out the exact color of his eyes from across the foyer, but they were light,
so they weren't brown. He narrowed those mesmerizing
eyes and gritted his teeth, which accented the lines of his very masculine square jaw and high cheekbones. With the tightening in his expression, his nostrils flared slightly, drawing her attention to a nose that was a little too big for his face but added to his appeal.

The nose. . .long and accented with a rounded hump in the middle.

She'd seen that nose before.

Her heart pounded. “Brendan?” She gulped.

His tight expression relaxed, and he smiled. His eyes sparkled. “Hey, babe.” His voice came out low and husky. Flirty. And possessive. “You okay?”

A flock of butterflies went wild inside her stomach. Her voice wouldn't work. She didn't know whether to shake her head or nod.

He stepped toward her, causing Ray to back up. Brendan stepped between them, then brushed her cheek with the side of his thumb. The small movement flexed the muscles in his arm.

While he was still touching her, he turned his head toward Ray. The harsh tone of his voice contrasted vividly with his gentle touch. “I don't believe you were invited.”

Ray backed up another step but didn't leave. “I've got business with Shanna.”

“Then that makes it my business, too. Got a problem with that?” Brendan's eyes narrowed.

Ray backed up again. One hand went behind him to the door handle. His eyes widened slightly when he realized it was locked, even though he was the one who had locked it.

One corner of Brendan's mouth tipped up and one eyebrow quirked. He flexed the muscles in his arms, and his voice lowered in pitch. “I know where you live,” he said.

Ray spun around and turned the lock button. “This isn't over,” he said as he stomped out.

Brendan moved so fast Shanna's hair moved with the air current. He opened the door and stepped in the doorway, standing prominently with his arms crossed over his massive chest, making his presence known to Ray and anyone who cared to watch.

Shanna watched him from behind. This new Brendan looked mighty fine, even from the back. Fit and trim and confident—as if he knew how good he looked and wasn't afraid to show it. The top of his spiked hair brushed the wooden edge of the doorframe, and his shoulders didn't have far to go on either side.

“You know, Ray,” he shouted, “you're wrong. It's over because
I
think it's over.”

Ray hopped into his truck and drove away with a squeal of rubber.

Brendan turned around to face her, then stepped forward, closing the door behind him. “I hope that makes him think twice.”

All she could do was stare. If she could turn the clock back ten years, he was everything she would have looked for in a man in her younger days. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, except that he was blond. In addition to his good looks and obvious strength, he knew how to get what he wanted, and he followed through. Knowing him as she did, she knew that he was also ambitious and goal oriented, intelligent, and a hard worker.

Ten years ago she could have fallen in love with him. But now she knew what could happen. Now, older and wiser, she wanted a short, dignified, gentle, nearsighted accountant. Brendan wasn't an accountant. He wasn't even good with numbers. His boxes of business documents proved that.

He waited for her to say something, but no words would come.

He gave a short laugh and rubbed his chin with his thumb and index finger. “I found out this morning that I'm just as ugly as I was eight years ago.”

She wanted to reassure him that he was far from ugly, but her mouth didn't work.

He lifted his hand and ran his palm along the tips of his spiked up hair. “You wouldn't believe how much gel it took to do this. The woman at the salon assured me that it would all wash out easily, but I'm not so sure I believe her. Do you know how stiff this is?”

The short hair and the shaved face suited him. It suited him too much.

“Why did you do that?” she asked when she could finally find her voice.

“I'm not really sure. I thought I'd look a little more convincing if I didn't look like just the gardener, but when I changed into my old clothes, my hair looked too sedate. So I went to get a haircut. The lady suggested that my new haircut would look better without the beard, so off it went.”

His expression told her that he really didn't know how appealing he was, both clean-shaven and dressed as he was—or how tempting. If it were anyone but her looking at him.

“It suits you. I don't understand why you cover your face with that beard.” Not that it was an ugly beard. It was always short and well trimmed. But it was always there.

He rubbed his chin again, the movement of his fingers causing the muscles in his arm to ripple. “It grows too fast. My five o'clock shadow begins at two. If I have to go anywhere in the evening, I have to shave twice. It was easier to just let it grow. I trim it once a week. It's easier that way.”

She couldn't imagine shaving her legs twice a day. Sometimes she didn't even shave twice a week.

She continued to stare at him. In addition to the new haircut and missing beard, the clothes had changed his appearance. She knew he'd be muscular, but reality far exceeded what she'd imagined hidden beneath the loose flannel shirts he always wore.

Likewise, the baggy green work pants completely
camouflaged everything his jeans showed off.

Even the cowboy boots looked good compared to his usual rubber boots.

“Thanks for stepping in like that. I hope this makes him think twice before he comes again.”

“I hope so, too. But I have a feeling he's going to need to see more of me—and us together—to make him think that he's not going to be able to talk to you without going through me first.”

“Excuse me?”

Brendan slid his hands down his sides, like he was going to slide his hands into his pockets, but his pants were too tight for that. He stiffened, then crossed his arms over his chest. “So far, no one has seen us together. I've been doing a lot of thinking since we last talked. To give this relationship more strength, we should be seen together in public, in places where Ray or his friends will see us and then tell him you're no longer alone.”

“I'm not going to the bar.”

“I didn't mean places like that. I was kind of thinking of big, public places. Places where lots of people go, from all walks of life. Certainly he has friends who have families, friends who would report back to him if they saw us together. He's got to think that he's never going to catch you alone again, or that if he does, he'll have to answer to me for anything he does. Although I hope and pray it never comes to that, because I don't want to fight him. I just want to scare some sense into him.”

“I don't know if that's possible.”

Again Brendan rubbed his chin, like he couldn't believe the feel of his own bare skin on his face. “I still think it's a good idea to go out in public together. We could start out with something easy. Like on Sunday, I can go to church with you and the kids.”

“Church? You're never going to see Ray or anyone Ray knows at church.”

Brendan grinned. “I know. But I was thinking of another reason. I haven't seen Harry for a while. I want to see if he recognizes me with my new haircut.”

She certainly hadn't recognized him. “I see you came in from the back, which was a good idea since Ray locked the front door on me. Did the kids recognize you?”

“Actually, they did. But that was because of Boffo. Boffo didn't care about the beard or my new haircut, so he greeted me right away, and the kids heard me talking to him before they actually saw me. They were surprised, but they already knew it was me by the time they actually saw me. They said they liked the new me.”

That would explain why she hadn't heard any commotion, allowing Brendan to sneak into the house.

He stepped closer to her. “What do you think? Should I stay this way?”

She stared upward. She did like the change. But she didn't know why what she thought would make a difference. “I like it. Why are you asking me?”

His voice dropped to a gruff whisper. “I don't know.” He reached forward again, cupping her cheek with his palm. His hand was rough and calloused. The hand of a workingman.

It had been a long time since a man had been so gentle with her. She couldn't help herself. Shanna closed her eyes and leaned into his hand.

She hadn't wanted to enjoy his touch, but she did. He made her crave what she had never had—someone who valued her and treated her gently and with respect, someone who, when there was no work to do and no pressing needs to fill, would relax with her and help shut out the problems of life for a while. She craved it more than anything, but she knew she couldn't have it—at least not with Brendan. His gentleness now only served to remind her how strong he really was and how quickly the situation could turn around, if that was the way he wanted it to be.

For now it was good, but she knew things could turn very nasty. She'd lived that way for too many years. When the day came that God chose for her to marry again, He would send her that quiet accountant she'd been dreaming of.

But for now, she couldn't help herself. She was attracted to Brendan, and that was wrong. Just like the books said, she was falling into the same predictable cycles, only she could now realize it and break the cycle.

Since she knew she was falling back into it, she obviously needed another self-help book for victims of abuse, only this time Roger wasn't going to be around to threaten her for daring to read it. This time she could read it at her leisure and reread the parts she needed the most, which was to learn why she was falling into the same trap.

Brendan's movement as he shuffled closer snapped her to attention. She opened her eyes and looked up just as his eyes closed and he lowered his mouth to hers. She was too shocked to resist.

His kiss was gentle and sweet, and she found herself drifting into him. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy the experience. It felt as if she were dreaming, but this was too good not to be real.

Slowly, he broke away, but instead of stepping back, his hand dropped to her shoulder. Using his other hand, he tipped her face up with one finger under her chin. “I was worried about you. When I saw Ray was already here and the door was closed, I thought I was too late. Are you sure you're okay?”

She nodded, but when his other hand drifted to the shoulder Ray had shoved, she winced.

He jerked his hand up.

She blinked back a tear.

His eyes narrowed. “What's wrong? Don't lie to me. Did he hit you?”

“No. He only pushed me out of the way so he could close the door.”

“Let me see.”

She lifted her hand to shield herself from him, then winced at her own touch.

“That looks like it hurts. I want you to show me.”

“No!” If it were just her arm, it would have been easy to simply roll up her sleeve. She wasn't going to unbutton her blouse and show him where it hurt. That was much too personal.

He pulled out his cell phone and pushed one of the buttons in his auto dial.

“Who are you calling?”

“My mother. She's not working today. If it hurts that bad, he did more than just push you out of the way. I don't know why you want to protect him. If he hit you, say so. By hiding what he's done, you're protecting him and only hurting yourself. We're going to leave the kids with my mother, and I'm taking you to the clinic so this can be documented.”

One of the chapters of one of the self-help books flashed before her eyes.

Brendan was right. Ray would say he only “shoved” her, but by shoving her so hard, Ray really had hurt her. By any other name, he had hit her. She couldn't allow it to continue, or she was going to make everything even worse.

“Okay. I'll go. But don't you have a job to go to?”

He punched a text message into the phone and hit
Send
. “Not anymore. Get your purse. The second my mother gets here, we're gone.”

Eight

Brendan leaned forward, toward the mirror, checking to be sure he hadn't missed a spot. He'd been shaving for only a few days, and he could already list all the reasons he hadn't missed it for the past eight years. But today was the big day. It was Sunday morning, and even though he'd miss all his friends at his own church, today he was going to Shanna's church where he would see his friend Harry, whom he hadn't seen for a few weeks.

He grinned at the clean-shaven stranger in the mirror. Out of respect, he had to remember to address his friend with the official title of
pastor
in front of members of Harry's congregation, even though he'd known Harry since high school, years before Harry chose his path and entered Bible school, then gone on to seminary to get his master of divinity.

Today he would see if his friend recognized him in the crowd, although Harry's church—or rather, Pastor Harry's church—was fairly small. The congregation was approximately 250 people, a friendly size, but not one that had room for a lot of programs and special needs groups. His own church was huge. They had three services, all of which were packed; and outside of Sunday services, they had singles groups, over-sixty-five groups, athletic interest groups, single-parent groups, three different youth groups, college and career groups, women's and craft groups—anything a person might want to do could be done with a group of other believers.

Brendan's smile dropped. One group he would have wanted to know about was a women's abuse group for Shanna, or at least a counselor. Even though physical violence was against God's will within a marriage, it still happened within the Christian community. Despite his involvement, knowledge and information about groups that could help her would be unavailable to men for obvious reasons.

He turned away from the mirror and returned to his bedroom to get dressed.

What was his involvement with Shanna? As a Christian brother he wanted to help her, but where did the desire simply to help another believer end?

The nurse at the clinic had shooed him out of the examination room in order to assess Shanna's shoulder, but the amount of time he was made to wait in the lobby took much longer than the time it would take to check for injury, even more than simple bruising. On the way home, Shanna had been very quiet, and she'd refused to look at him. He'd also thought a few times that she was crying, but she didn't give him the chance to see much of her face while he was driving.

When he'd taken her home, his mother was upstairs with the children in the living room. Even knowing his mother could walk in on them anytime, he'd still wanted to embrace Shanna and tell her that she was strong and everything would be okay, but she wouldn't let him touch her. The sinking feeling in his heart was more than disappointment at not being able to hug a friend. He'd felt the sting of rejection over something that wasn't his fault, and he wanted to make it right.

Brendan didn't know how much longer his mother had stayed at Shanna's house after he left, but he knew she would never tell him what he wanted to know.

He'd been at Shanna's house every day since then, working on her fence. To make the project last longer, he'd taken part of the playscape apart to make it bigger and better. Yet she never asked him what he was doing.

She was avoiding him, and he wanted to know why.

If she was afraid of him because of how the other men in her life treated her, he wanted to march over to Ray's house and give Ray a taste of his own medicine.

Brendan squeezed his eyes shut. What he was thinking was wrong. It wasn't his job to serve justice or to be judge and jury over Ray. It was his job as a Christian brother to protect Shanna and to help her overcome what Ray, and probably her husband, had done to her over the years. If Brendan threatened Ray physically to win the battle, that would make him no better than Ray. Brendan didn't want to lower himself to that level, even though it was very tempting. The right thing was to suggest that Ray go for counseling, even though Brendan knew that Ray would never do it.

Once he'd buttoned his shirt and tucked it in, Brendan stood still, more aware of his own size than he'd been for years. He was six feet five inches tall in his stocking feet, and the last time he'd stepped on the scale, he was 260 pounds, none of it fat. Yet as large as he was, when he'd arrived at Shanna's house in the clothes that showed off his physical attributes to the best advantage, he'd seen a glimmer of interest in her eyes. Then, less than an hour later, she was frightened of him.

It didn't make sense.

But that didn't matter right now. What mattered was that it was time to leave to pick up Shanna and her children and escort them to God's house of worship. For an hour and a half, within the walls of the church building, she would be safe from the troubles of the world and could soak in the warmth of God's love without worry.

❧

Shanna pasted yet another smile on her face as she introduced Brendan to another interested couple. She'd suspected that they would attract attention, but she'd never thought it would be like this. She could just imagine the chatter of the next week—that she had come to church with a man.

Not only was Brendan completely relaxed in the church crowd, but he was also perfectly sociable, happily chatting with everyone who wanted to meet him, which was most of the people there.

To make the picture more interesting to onlookers,
instead of running around before the service like they usually did, Ashley stayed glued to Brendan's hand, and Matthew wouldn't leave Brendan's other side. Walking in a row—
with Ashley between Shanna and Brendan—they looked like a typical, happy family unit, except that the male member of this family happened to be the Jolly Green Giant.

Shanna tried to banish the picture from her mind. Without a doubt, Brendan was the tallest person in the room, which probably wasn't unusual for him. She wondered if he'd thought about his choice of wearing a green shirt that morning.

She didn't have to turn to look at him to know how good he looked. She liked his shaved chin, and the new haircut suited him. He made her laugh countless times, complaining about the gel he had to use to keep it spiked up. He looked positively dashing in the green shirt, despite the connection of the color to his height, along with pressed black slacks, black shoes, and a black tie. Not a lot of imagination there with the color coordination, but it looked great on him. She also wondered if he kept his wardrobe basic because he had a difficult time buying clothes so big.

Brendan automatically seated them in the back row, something she'd never done, but his consideration of anyone who might have to sit behind him impressed her.

He knew all the songs and sang with enthusiasm. When the children were called to go into Sunday school, he wasn't shy when Ashley gave him a big hug—he hugged her back without hesitation or reserve before she scurried out of the room with the rest of the children.

Watching it happen almost brought tears to Shanna's eyes. Her children were more responsive to the landscaper than they were with their own father. And he responded as if it were normal.

It was difficult not to be jealous of her children's ability to be so open and trusting. She wanted to be the same way. For the first time in her life, she'd met a man who didn't judge her or insult her for being stupid, and he made her feel valued as a person. She wanted to be hugged the same way as her daughter; yet as soon as Brendan came within two feet of her, she couldn't control the gut-wrenching terror that the fantasy was over and it was payback time.

She felt the movement of Brendan beside her, accented because of her heightened awareness of him
and
his size. He leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Harry, er, Pastor Harry is a good speaker, isn't he?”

“Yes. He is.”

Brendan snickered. “When he was still in college, whenever our senior pastor let him speak for a Sunday service, I used to sit in the front row and do everything I could to distract him. I keep telling him that's why he's such a good speaker. Because of me. It keeps him humble.”

“Shh! He's about to start. Pay attention!” she whispered without turning her head.

As Pastor Harry shared his sermon, not only did Brendan pay strict attention, but he wrote notes in both his bulletin and in a very worn Bible, already full of notes in many different colors of ink.

Shanna forced herself to breathe. How could she think that Brendan was the least little bit threatening? He'd gone to church all his life, and his best friend was a pastor. His Bible was well-read and full of notes, obviously used often—probably every day. Her children loved him. Even her dog loved him. She didn't know what was wrong with her that she couldn't do the same.

“Shanna? Are you okay?”

She looked up at him. Even though they were both sitting, he was still big. “I'm fine,” she muttered. “I was just thinking of something.”

Before she realized what he was doing, he reached down and picked up her hand. He twined their fingers together, gently closed his fingers over her hand, then patted their joined hands with his other hand. “Everything will be fine. I promise.”

He smiled, straightened, then settled back into his chair, except he didn't release her hand.

Her first impulse was to pull away, but before she actually did, she realized that he was holding her hand without any pressure—he was allowing her to pull her hand out without resistance if that was what she wanted.

That wasn't what she wanted.

He was giving her a choice, and she chose to keep things as they were.

Her heart raced, and her cheeks grew warm.

She wondered if this was how the teens felt holding hands in church.

It was innocent yet meant so much—at least it meant a lot to Shanna. Even when they were dating, when Roger held her hand, he made it clear that they were holding hands because he wanted to, and he didn't release her hand until he was ready. Even then it was a demonstration of power. He'd just told her it was because he thought she was special.

Brendan was making it completely her choice, putting himself in a somewhat vulnerable position to be rejected if she chose to pull away. That he was willing to let her make the choice showed that he didn't need to demonstrate his power—his strength was inside, where it could be seen only if a person cared to look.

She gave his hand a little squeeze to let him know she appreciated his gesture. He smiled without turning his head, still paying attention to Pastor Harry's sermon.

Shanna sighed. If only Brendan were a foot shorter, a hundred pounds lighter, and an accountant. And didn't wear green.

When the sermon was over, Brendan released her hand to stand and sing the last song.

All through Pastor Harry's benediction, Brendan grew restless beside her. At the closing “amen,” instead of filtering to the table at the back of the room to get coffee and a doughnut before the children were dismissed, she followed Brendan to the front of the church.

Pastor Harry smiled when he saw her, although she did notice that he tried to hide his surprise that she'd come with a man.

“Shanna! It's so good to see you!” Pastor Harry extended his hand toward Brendan. “And I see you brought a friend.”

Brendan's hand met his friend's, but when he spoke, he spoke with a fake accent so bad that Shanna couldn't tell what he was trying to imitate. “Reverend Harry. Shanna, she has told me so much about you.”

Pastor Harry's smile faltered momentarily when Brendan didn't let go of his hand. “That's good to hear. . . .” His voice trailed off. “Do you live nearby?”

Brendan increased the speed of the handshake, and his fake accent thickened. “I come from very far away. Very, very far.”

“How long will you be visiting our country? Would you and Shanna care to be our guests for lunch?”

When Brendan still didn't stop shaking his hand, Pastor Harry looked down, while Brendan replied, “Ah, yes! It would very much honor me to accept your invitation. I hear your wife, she is a fine cook. Makes good borscht but doesn't use beets.”

Pastor Harry raised his head, his eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward. “Brendan?” He straightened and began to laugh. “Brendan Gafferty! What did you do to your face?” Both men laughed, released each other's hands, and embraced in a manly, back-slapping hug.

When they stepped back, Brendan was still grinning. “I hope you know that you can't take back your invitation for lunch.”

Pastor Harry wiped his eyes and grinned. “I wouldn't dream of it. Noon?”

“See you there. I hope you've got good ice cream.”

“Brendan!” Shanna hissed.

“Don't worry. His wife always keeps a couple of cartons of Rocky Road in the freezer. One of them has my name on it.”

Before Shanna could say any more, Ashley appeared in front of Brendan, offering up the craft she'd made in Sunday school.

He hunkered down and accepted it graciously, then looked up at Shanna. “I'm sorry. I should have asked you first. I hope you don't have plans.”

“I was expecting to go home, but I'll gladly accept the invitation, even though I think you took advantage of Pastor Harry.”