It Takes Two (29 page)

He didn’t say anything to that. He did, however, reach over and take her hand. That was it. He held her hand. And some of the tense knots in her shoulders relaxed.

They drove without talking for nearly twenty minutes. She wondered if they’d ever touched so innocently for so long.

Then Shane said, “I wasn’t always loud and fun and rowdy.”

She sat up straighter, sensing something big here. “Okay.”

“I was quiet when I first went to the Kelleys,” he said. His grip tightened on her hand, but otherwise he looked relaxed and calm. “Three of us boys slept in the same room in a twin bed and a set of bunk beds. I hated bedtime because it reminded me of going to sleep when my mom left and the night I spent alone.”

Her stomach felt like it suddenly twisted into a hard knot thinking about how that must have been for him. God. It made her want to cry and hug him and assure him nothing bad would ever happen again.

But, of course, she couldn’t tell him that.

“It was okay, though, because Pam would read or sing to us after she turned off the light,” he said.

Isabelle knew that he referred to his foster mother as Pam. She’d heard him talk about her a lot. He’d never mentioned his biological mother until he’d told her his story that morning.

Was it really just that morning? Isabelle shivered a little at the realization. So much had happened.

“We would lie there with only the nightlight on and I could feel my whole body was tense and tight, but then she’d start singing or reading and I could feel it relax, feel the bad stuff leaving. I never had a hard time sleeping there. I knew there were people around, lots of people, and I knew—somehow—that I would never have to be alone again.”

Isabelle swallowed. She had nothing to say. But it didn’t seem that Shane needed her to speak.

“I remember soaking up that feeling. That feeling of having people around. Being surrounded. I loved sharing a bathroom. I loved fighting over bacon at breakfast. I loved squeezing in tight in the backseat of the car. It meant there were people around me, everywhere I went.”

He stopped and breathed while Isabelle felt like she was holding her breath.

“But then a little boy came to us. Pam put him in our room because he was about the age of one of my brothers.”

She loved how he thought of and referred to these people as his family. She squeezed his hand.

“His name was—is—Josh. He was scared to death of the dark. That first night he laid there and cried. He tried to keep it quiet and the other boys fell asleep right away, but I heard him. And I hated it. I hated that anyone should be scared like that. I knew how he felt and I knew how great it felt to let it go, to be able to sleep and not be scared. So I started talking to him. I told him funny stories—I made some of it up—I told him jokes, whatever it took to make him feel better.”

Isabelle felt herself smiling, imagining Shane hanging over the edge of the top bunk and talking the kid through his fears. She didn’t know if he’d had the top bunk, but that’s what she pictured. “Did it help?”

“Kind of. But not enough. Over the next few nights I got the other guys involved. We’d wait until Pam went to bed, then we’d get up and turn on flashlights and play games, or get our comic books out, or we’d sneak out to the kitchen for cookies—whatever it took to get Josh through those first few dark hours.”

She wanted to hug him again. “That’s awesome.”

He shot her a little smile. “I loved it. That feeling of making someone happy, of helping them forget their problems and fears. Things grew. Every time a new kid came, I took it upon myself to do whatever I could to make them feel better. I came up with all kinds of stuff and things got bigger and louder. I got into trouble for some of it, but it was always worth it. And, looking back, I know Pam knew what I was doing. That’s why I never got into any serious trouble. She’d make me take extra dish duty or clean out the garage, stuff like that, but it was never anything bad.”

“What kinds of things did you do?”

“Accidentally breaking lamps when acting out action movie sequences with homemade swords, sneaking out to have midnight snowball fights, bringing guinea pigs home without permission, using the good sheets to make tents in the trees in the backyard. Stuff like that.”

She shook her head. He really was a lot like Emma. “So rowdiness is a learned behavior.”

But he didn’t smile. “You’re the first person I care about who I can’t fix with my method.”

Her smile died instantly. “Shane—”

“I can make people happy after a hard day at work, after they lose a job, after they go through a breakup, after they lose the big game. But I can’t fix you.”

“It’s sweet that you want to,” she said quietly.

“In fact,” he went on, almost like he hadn’t heard her, “the stuff I usually do—the rowdiness—is the last thing you need. So I’m pissed. Pissed because I’ve never had anyone I’ve wanted to fix this bad, and I’m completely lost about how to do it.”

“It’s not your fault.”

In fact, it was very much
her
fault.

The realization hit her hard.

She wanted to give him something to do that would help her. She could see clearly how much that mattered to him. Helping her would make him happy and she needed to make him happy.

She needed to figure out what worked for her and what didn’t and now she had a
really
good reason. Maybe it was sad that she wanted to do it for Shane more than she wanted to do it for herself. Then again maybe that’s how love worked—the other person made you better than you could be on your own.

“Maybe not,” he admitted. “That doesn’t make it easier.”

He was leaving tomorrow so she could figure things out, figure out where he fit into her new lifestyle. She could do this. She would do this. And Shane would have a big part. She would be able to give that to him.

She pulled in a long breath. “I think you going home tomorrow is good. It will give us time to figure things out.”

She felt his body stiffen beside her and he didn’t look at her when she glanced at him.

“Yeah,” was all he said, but he shifted in his seat and pulled his hand from hers.

She sighed. Dammit. He was mad. This was his idea too. He had been the first to bring it up.

She took a deep breath. Okay. That was how it was going to have to be for now. She needed some time to muddle through all of this. But he’d wait. She was pretty sure.

And they had tonight together. Alone in the quiet cabin. The way she’d planned. Suddenly butterflies kicked up in her stomach and she pressed her hand to it. She’d never been nervous about being alone with Shane. Even in the beginning, any butterflies about being with him were excited butterflies.

This was Shane. What was there to be nervous about?

She glanced at him again. Other than him breaking her heart, of course.

They pulled into Rapid City and Isabelle dug out the directions she’d been given to the cabin. They spent the rest of the drive with her giving the instructions and Shane following them.

The house was only about ten minutes outside of town, but it was tucked up into the hills at the end of a climbing, winding road and surrounded by trees. It was pitch black up here—no streetlights or lights from neighboring houses—and Isabelle wondered if they’d drive right past it without knowing.

A minute later, that fear was completely laid to rest.

The monotonous wall of trees opened suddenly to reveal the cabin. If cabin was the right word. If nothing else, “huge” should be put in front of it.

Like a sparkling jewel in a dark velvet box, the cabin—or more accurately, the
mansion
—rose up out of the dark middle-of-nowhere. It was mostly stone and glass and was lit warmly from within. The front faced them and the gorgeous view of the Black Hills behind them and Isabelle’s first thought was…holy shit.

She knew her boss was wealthy, but
holy shit
.

“Um, this is it?” Shane asked, putting the car into park and staring through the windshield.

Somehow the house managed to look rustic and modern at the same time. The stone exterior blended with the surroundings as did the rough wooden railing on the five wide stone steps that led to the double front door. The loose rock pathway from the parking area to the house and the rocking chairs on the porch added some country charm, but the light fixtures on either side of the door were definitely of this century. And expensive. The evergreens that hugged the house on all sides had clearly been there for generations, but the small ones around the porch and steps were well manicured and probably less than two years old judging by their size. And then there was the fact that the place was three stories tall, took up a space equivalent to half a city block and had electricity—lots of it, judging by the number of lights on inside—and running water—as evidenced by the tall, stone fountain to the left of the path.

“Guess so,” Isabelle said, still a little stunned.

“Is someone already here?”

Someone must be, Isabelle reasoned, but she hadn’t been expecting anyone to be there but her and Shane. “I don’t know. Let’s go see if this is right.” She got out of the car and waited for Shane to join her before starting for the house.

They rang the doorbell. She had a key, of course, but if there had been a mistake in her spending the week here, she hated to just walk in. A moment later, the door swung open and a woman with a bright smile greeted them.

“You must be Ms. Dixon,” she said warmly. “Please come in.” She stepped back and gestured for them to come in.

Isabelle nodded, still hesitant. “Yes. And this is my friend Shane Kelley.”

“Mr. Miles told me you were bringing a friend. I’m Sylvia, the housekeeper. Mr. Miles asked me to get the house ready for you.”

Ah, the housekeeper. Of course. Isabelle stepped into the foyer and tried not to gawk at the high ceiling, polished wood and grand staircase. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Sylvia closed the door behind Shane. “My husband, Dean, takes care of the repairs and the grounds, while I keep things clean and get linens and food ready for guests. Mr. Miles loves to entertain and loves to send friends to use the house when he’s not here.”

“It’s wonderful of him to let us stay,” she said brightly to the housekeeper.

Sylvia smiled and motioned them to follow her. “I’ll show you your room and help you get settled. Unless you’re hungry?” She glanced back as she asked.

“No, we’re fine,” Isabelle assured her.

“Then we’ll get you settled for the night.”

“I’ll grab the bags,” Shane said.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Sylvia said. “I’ll send Dean out.”

Shane started to protest, then seemed to think better of it. “Okay. Everything’s in the backseat.”

“Wonderful.” Sylvia led them up the curved staircase to the second level. “One bedroom or two?” she asked sweetly.

“One,” Isabelle said quickly. They were about to embark upon several days apart but all of a sudden, she was not in a hurry for that to happen.

Shane raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

They followed Sylvia down the hall past three doors before she stopped and opened the fourth on the right with a flourish. “Here you go. Everything you need should be here, but please let me know if I can get you anything. Dean will bring your things up soon.”

Isabelle stepped over the threshold and had to bite her tongue to keep from commenting on the room and sounding like an idiot. Because her comment would have been another
holy shit
.

The room was
gigantic
. There was an enormous bed, a huge armoire, an old-fashioned dressing table with a mirror, and a sitting area with two wingback chairs and a table near one of the windows. One wall of the room was covered with bookshelves—full bookshelves.

She could happily stay right here for the entire week she was supposed to be at the cabin.

“The bathroom is right through there,” Sylvia said, pointing at the door in the wall opposite the bookshelves. “Linens are in the cabinet.”

“Thank you. It’s beautiful,” Isabelle told her.

Sylvia smiled. “Make yourself at home.” She pulled the door shut behind her, leaving Isabelle and Shane alone together.

And the butterflies were back.

She’d never been nervous alone with Shane. She’d certainly never felt strange alone with him in a bedroom. There had been a little anxiety at times—doubt that she would be able to pull off whatever sexy surprise she had for him, worry that she’d let on that something was uncomfortable—but never true nerves.

She wandered to the dressing table and studied the intricate woodwork around the mirror. Or pretended to study it anyway. She didn’t actually care about the woodwork.

“Usually we’d be naked by now.”

She straightened at Shane’s words, but didn’t turn. “Yeah, probably.”

“I swear I thought I knew your favorite kind of pasta.”

That, however, made her turn. “What?”

He was looking at her with a strange, almost puzzled expression. “I swear I thought I knew all about you. But I don’t know your favorite kind of pasta. Or your favorite song. Or if you wash your hair first or last when you shower.”