Her Gentle Giant Read online

  She'd set the timer to go off about five minutes before the food would be ready so she would have time to warm the rolls and fill Emmy's sparkly pink sippy cup, even pouring some soda for herself, which she didn't usually indulge in.

  She lifted Emmy onto her own chair—with a booster seat.

  "Piktha for dinner! Yay!" she yelled excitedly.

  "No, love, we'll save the piksa—pizza—for dinner another time. We're going to have a lovely baked ziti that someone left us! I'm sure it'll be wonderful!" She did her best to sell it while her daughter's face began to cloud over.

  "But I fought we were gonna have piktha tonight!" she whined, a little bit of rebellion seeping into her tone.

  Emmy was not usually bratty in the least, but this trip had been hard on the both of them, and they were both exhausted.

  "Well, we kind of are, actually."

  That earned her a deeply suspicious look that Ari had a hard time not laughing at.

  "This is macaroni pizza."

  "Macaroni piktha?"

  "Yes. It's sauce and cheese—you love sauce and cheese! Only it's got macaroni—ziti—instead of crust. And you don't eat your crusts, anyway. You might find you like this better!"

  Emmy could be hard to convince about things like this, and she was duly skeptical.

  But she ate her entire helping, regardless, Arianne was glad to see, and even asked for more. She wisely refrained from crowing about that, though, and just dished it up gratefully.

  There was no butter for the rolls, so Em refused one, but she used it to sop up all of the flavorful gravy.

  Even though it was early once they'd finished cleaning up—most of which Emmy did, because it was really just throwing things away—they stretched out on the bed in her room and turned on the television.

  The next thing Arianne knew, someone was knocking at her door, and when she opened her eyes at the sound, the sun was shining.

  Chapter 2

  Even though she knew her husband wasn't likely to find it necessary to knock—never one for subtlety, he was much more likely to start by trying to knock the door down entirely—she nevertheless pushed the curtain aside a bit on the window next to the door to see who it was.

  It was a woman, so she opened the door.

  "Can I help you?"

  "Hi! It's me, Bev Conroy, the property manager. We spoke on the phone?"

  "Oh yes, Ms. Conroy—"

  The older lady demurred. "Oh, please. Call me Bev. Everyone does."

  "Bev. Please call me Ari. That's what everyone calls me."

  "Great! I just wanted to check and see if you were settling in all right and if you found the house to be just as was described." She was a warm, pleasant woman who looked as if she could fit the bill of "generic grandma" on a sitcom.

  "I did, but how did you know we were here?"

  Bev chuckled. "It's a very small town. Everyone knows everyone else's business around here, you'll find."

  Hmm. She didn't much think she'd like that aspect of small town living, but she tried not to let it show on her face. Instead, she smiled and said, "We got into town just about sundown last evening. Thank you so much for the wonderful dinner!"

  The other woman looked confused. "Dinner?"

  "Yes. The ziti and rolls? You even included plates and silverware and everything for easy clean up!"

  "I'm sorry, honey, but that wasn't me."

  Arianne was momentarily distracted by her pleasant drawl, but then her face fell and she felt immediately worried. Whose food had they eaten, then? They'd survived, so it was good food, but still. The idea was unsettling. "Oh, uh, I see. There was a glass pan of it on the welcome mat when I got here. I assumed it was from you."

  "No, not me, but I bet I know just who it was."

  "Who?"

  "Hoyt Chandler. He owns the house, although I manage the rentals for him so he doesn't have to. He likes to cook, and as the owner of the house, he knew when you were due to move in."

  "Oh. Okay. Do you think you could give me his address? I'd like to return his pan and thank him for the meal. It was great not to have to cook or clean, really, last night. We were beat!" She wasn't sure how she felt about that. He was a man who probably—definitely—had a key to the house. But then, if she wanted some place out of the way, it wasn't likely that she'd be dealing with a faceless corporation as her landlord, which was kind of what she preferred.

  She told herself she had nothing to worry about then tried to make sure that her expression matched her thoughts as she grabbed for her purse, pulling out an old receipt and a pen to write on, which only made her miss her iPhone just that much more than she already did.

  Bev seemed to hesitate a minute in giving her the information, but then she smiled awkwardly. "I guess that would be okay. It's not like you're not going to find out eventually anyway." She shrugged.

  Arianne wondered just what it was that she was going to find out about him, but she didn't have the guts to ask.

  She took down the information and thanked Bev for it. "Oh, could you recommend the best town to go into for groceries? I was at, uh, Uncle Al's, was it? But I don't want to pay their prices if I don't have to, and I need to get some food and sundries."

  "Sure!" Bev gave her several suggestions of stores in a town that was about an hour away.

  "Thank you very much. I have a feeling that's what I'm going to spend today doing."

  "That's understandable. Well, I don't mean to keep you—"

  "Mumma, I'm 'hungarian'," Emmy announced sleepily, coming to cling to her leg. Her tiara had fallen off, the pink bow was undone and barely hanging on by a hunk of baby fine hair, and her tutu was askew, but she managed to charm Bev nonetheless.

  "Bev, this is my daughter, Emmy. Emmy, this is Mrs. Conroy."

  Emmy gave her a winsome smile.

  "Aren't you just as cute as a bug in a rug!" she complimented, and Emmy eagerly nodded in agreement, which had the adults laughing. "You just let me know if there's anything I can do to help you settle in," she said to Arianne then turned away while waving at Emmy all the way to her car.

  She was right about how they spent the day. Right after breakfast, they ventured to the nearest Aldi's and stocked up then came home and put everything away. After she'd transferred the leftovers into some of the new plastic containers she'd bought and thoroughly washed the pan, she piled Emmy into her car and they went exploring, with the ultimate mission of thanking their Good Samaritan benefactor and returning his pan. She kind of wanted to get his measure, too. If she didn't like the look of him, they probably wouldn't stay very long, as much as she really didn't want to leave again anytime soon.

  All she had was the address Bev had given her. But it was a small town. How hard could it be to find her landlord's place?

  It turned out that it could be quite hard. She found downtown, such as it was, the small school, the even smaller post office, and ended up at Unka Al's again, where she figured she could ask for directions.

  The girl from last night wasn't there, but the woman who was might well have been her mother, perhaps.

  She bought a bottle of water she didn't really need then asked for directions to the address she'd taken down.

  "Why do you want to go to Hoyt's place?" she asked, sounding somewhat suspicious, for no reason Arianne could fathom.

  Although she was inches away from telling her that it was none of her business, she instead backed herself down and said, "He did a favor for me last night and I wanted to thank him." And, she realized with a start, this was the second person who seemed to balk at the idea of giving her information about the man, for some reason. Maybe it was just how small towners felt about strangers—protective of each other? She'd never lived in a place this small in her life, so she didn't know.

  There wasn't just a surprised look on the other woman's face—she was downright shocked. "Really? Uh, well, I guess that's okay then."

  Apparently, she'd missed the turn she needed to take about five tim
es. The sign for Oak Hill Rd, which was by Oak Hill Cemetery, was well hidden—as if by design.

  And if Ari'd thought the road to her own place was deserted, she was wrong. It had nothing on this one. The only house on it seemed to be his, and it was at the very end of the lane, so that she drove right off the road and onto the property in front of his house, parking next to a truck that looked like someone should have taken it out into the woods and put it out of its misery.

  Leaving Emmy in her car seat, she gamely got out of the car with the pan, as well as the remainder of the paper plates, etc. She'd already gotten stuff to replace them, so she didn't want to keep them. He could probably use them himself.

  The yard was a bit unkempt—not that she was judging in the least, just observing—but the house was immaculate. It had a porch that wasn't much different from her own little house, perhaps a bit bigger, but minus the furniture, as if the owner of the house never spent any time sitting outside.

  She took a big breath and knocked at the door.

  Silence.

  She knocked again, a little more forcefully.

  Arianne thought she heard a deep "woof" but couldn't be sure.

  She figured she'd try one more time then leave. She rapped again, much more loudly.

  Finally, there was the sound of heavy footsteps heading toward her, which inspired the impulse to back up, but she forced herself not to.

  When the door opened, it was barely a crack.

  "What do you want? It's the middle of the goddamn night!"

  That was hardly a friendly greeting. Not to mention that he was wrong, although she wasn't likely to point that out to him. That was neither here nor there, of course, but it caused a lot of her nerve to desert her right from the get go. She didn't know him, but he was a man, and men now inspired in her a healthy nervousness bordering on fear.

  She couldn't see anything of him, but she jumped when she heard him say in a very sharp, commanding tone, "Back, Luci," even though he wasn't talking to her.

  Arianne heard toenails ticking on hard wood and a slight whine, but nothing more.

  So, she'd been right about the "woof".

  "Well?" Now he was talking to her and in the very same stern tone as he'd used with his dog.

  "Um, I-I came to—to return your dish a-and plates and stuff. Thank you very much for the meal. It was de-delicious."

  "You're welcome. Just leave it on the front porch. I'll get it later."

  The door closed, and that was that.

  She hadn't been given a chance to introduce herself or shake his hand or anything.

  Arianne did as he asked, leaving the things she'd brought piled neatly to one side of the door and turning to leave, saying, "Thank you again for the food. It was nice to… almost meet you." Much braver with the door between them, she almost sounded like she had before she'd met Matthew—feisty and funny and sarcastic.

  She wouldn't have thought she had much of any of that left in her.

  They drove home the long way, enjoying the country scenery and seeing a small herd of deer before they ended up back in their cozy little abode.

  He knew she hadn't seen him pull back the curtain just slightly to see who was at the door, but he'd recognized her from the store. He'd had a hunch about who she was that evening but couldn't be bothered at the time to do any more investigating.

  He was in too much pain to really care. She could have been an assassin, but he wasn't that lucky.

  But there she was, on his doorstep, looking fresh and lovely and delightfully delicate, as if a stiff wind would blow her away. Hoyt felt himself tightening just at the glimpse of her, and as hard as he tried not to let it, it made him angry, because he knew that she—along with the entire rest of the female population that wasn't getting paid to tolerate his ugliness—was now so far out of his league as to be ridiculous.

  So, he'd been just this side of gruff with her, which went against what had been his southern gentleman grain—although he hadn't retained the majority of the drawl that had accompanied it at one time. But his attitude toward her went hand in glove with how he felt now—how he was now. Still, parts of him hated to hear her stammering, knowing she was afraid of him.

  And he didn't think she even knew who he was yet—hadn't yet made the connection between himself and the man she'd unnecessarily rescued her daughter from at Al's. He almost chuckled to himself at that thought then felt guilty at having done so.

  But how was she going to cope, once she actually met him and realized who he was? It was bound to happen at some point, and for the life of him, Hoyt couldn't decide whether he wanted that to happen sooner or later.

  He guessed he could just rip the band aid off and arrive on her front porch, but he didn't really want to scare her that much. Did he? No, he decided resolutely. He did not.

  Arianne loved being awakened naturally by the sun streaming through the window, rather than the shrill cry of the alarm clock. But as she stretched—noting that little Miss Emmy had crawled into bed with her again last night—her mind worried about the fact that she needed to get a job.

  Their nest egg was getting smaller, and as much as she had enjoyed these past couple months with her daughter, she couldn't afford to keep on this way, or they'd be bankrupt in quick order.

  The first thing she did—before she even got up—was check her phone, in case one of her job applications had hit. It had three missed phone calls and a voicemail, all of them from Bev, which surprised her. She'd paid first, last, and security, so she wondered what the problem could be.

  "Hi, Arianne, this is Bev Conroy. I'm sorry to have to do this to you when you've just arrived, but I wanted to let you know that I'm going to have to close down my office for a little while. My parents aren't doing well—they're in Florida, and I've got to go down there to take care of my dad, in particular. He was just diagnosed with kidney problems and my mom's not up to taking care of him. I'll come back as soon as possible, but from this point forward, you'll have to deal with Hoyt directly, yourself. You have his address so you can just mail your check to him, but if you have any other problems or questions, here are his numbers."

  She took them down and dutifully put them into her flip phone—which took eons longer than it had with her other phone.

  And, of course, today was the third of the month. Em had had the sniffles, and she hadn't wanted to take her out of the house. She knew Bev would understand. Ari hated to be late when there was money owed, and she'd gotten into the habit of stopping by Bev's office on the first—or before—and chatting her up a bit, leaving the check for the month's rent at the same time.

  Somehow, based on her previous interaction with Mr. Chandler, that wasn't going to happen between the two of them.

  She supposed she could have put a check in the mail, but she had little faith in the postal service—even if it was just going to be a local delivery—and she couldn't quite convince herself to do that. It was bad enough, as far as she was concerned, that she was already, technically, late.

  So, for the second time, she set sail for his place, after which—since it was still relatively early in the morning—she intended to come home and continue applying for positions online. She'd struck out so far, but she'd had a reasonable amount of experience in banking before she'd gotten married, and it seemed there was either a bank or a church on every corner in the south, so she had hope she'd get something soon. But she wasn't being fussy, either. She was applying for anything that she thought she was even remotely qualified for. She wasn't proud. At this point, she'd take anything.

  Again, she left Emmy in her car seat in the back and headed up the stairs.

  This time, though, she didn't have to knock that often, and the door was thrown open wide as he stood there—all six-foot-twelve of him—in nothing but a bathrobe that was barely knotted in front.

  "What?" His hands were on his hips.

  She had the envelope in her hand, ready to give it to him, but the sight of him made her step back.
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  It was the same man she'd seen in the store the first night they'd arrived in town. He was even taller—and bigger in general—than she'd realized, but then, Uncle Al apparently didn't like to waste much money on lighting; probably so that his customers wouldn't get a good look at what he was selling, she imagined.

  Fear seized her and she began to stumble backwards.

  He was a very unpleasant reminder of the man she'd just left and was—as soon as she was able to secure gainful employment—going to be in the process of divorcing. He was enormous, and she felt as if all of the wind had been knocked out of her at the sight of him. She felt herself physically crumpling, automatically making herself a smaller target as she continued to move away from him.

  Hoyt could see what was going to happen—cursing himself the entire time as he watched it—but he wasn't able to do anything about it. Damn his game leg!

  "Be careful, dammit!" was all he could manage to say or do in his current state, and it only seemed to make her more desperate to get away from him.

  Before he'd ruined himself, he would have been able to get to her easily before anything happened. But as it was, he could only watch her fall off the porch. He limped his way over to the edge to see that she had landed flat on her back. It wasn't too far a fall, but more than far enough to knock the wind out of her. And render her unconscious, too, apparently.

  He ignored his pain and hobbled down the stairs and picked her up—marveling at how little she weighed—being very careful as he brought her into the living room at the front of the house. The errant thought passed through his mind that she was probably the first female who'd been in his house since he'd gotten back from the Middle East, but he couldn't dwell on that now.

  He laid her tenderly on the couch and covered her with a blanket, wetting a dishcloth with cool water then sitting down on the big coffee table that had seen better days and groaned in protest at his weight to press it gently to her forehead and pulse points.