Riding the Pause (13 page)

Since the night she and Ian made love, they’d hardly been apart. Rachel made a pretense of moving out of her parents’ house and into Jude’s old studio apartment, but that’s what it was, all pretense. She hadn’t spent the night there yet. It simply saved her the embarrassment of having to explain to her daddy where she was spending her nights and gave her brothers some plausible deniability so they didn’t feel compelled to kill Ian. The reality of the situation was she and Ian were almost inseparable.

It helped that she still hadn’t found a job or gotten a clue about what she wanted to do. For now what she wanted to do was watch Ian. There was something so quiet and steady about the way he approached everything. It made her want some of that calm for herself and since it wasn’t exactly something that came easily to her, she’d watch until she figured it out.

Some days she puttered in the cabin, pretending she knew how to cook and not making too big a mess of it. Other times she sat with Apollo, teaching him how to shake her hand or let a corn chip rest on his nose before he ate it. He was very smart and wanted to please her, two characteristics that made him particularly attractive. But her favorite thing to do was to find an out of the way spot in Ian’s studio where she could sit and watch him work.

She loved the way he approached everything he did. First circling a chunk of wood like he was waiting for it to speak to him and then slowly and methodically removing anything that didn’t need to be part of the finished piece. She remember Art History class in college and how she’d read that Michelangelo said he saw the finished piece in the block of marble, and he simple took away what didn’t need to be there. Watching Ian reminded her of that.

The one thing she didn’t understand was the sanding. She knew how important it was to the finishes for piece of furniture to be completely smooth, and she understood that Ian moved from coarser sandpaper to finer paper finally ending with an almost soft steel wool. What she didn’t understand was how he knew when to switch and when it was done. He spent a lot of time doing the same thing over and over with no apparent, at least not to her, change.

For as much as the whole thing fascinated her, there was an equally strong part that was crazy making. She liked to check boxes. List a thing, do the thing, cross the thing off her list. The endless sanding baffled her. It wasn’t the length of time that he did it that got her. She could work as hard and as long as anyone. It was the lack of a quantifiable result.

If, for example, the wood had to be sanded until it turned blue before he switched to a different grade of paper, she could get that. She’d sand it blue every time and take a great deal of pride in doing it right. But Ian’s gage was much more nebulous than that. Early on when she’d asked him how long he did it for he replied “until it’s done,” and she could have sworn he whispered
grasshopper
under his breath.

She sat watching him move the palm sander back and forth over the top of the cabinet in a slow steady rhythm that mimicked the rhythm of her hand stroking Artemis’s back. The cat purred, a growly rumble that vibrated her lap. When she started flexing her claws against Rachel’s denim covered thigh, she transferred the warm, soft weight of contented feline to her shoulder. She’d never had a cat growing up and had been too busy once she went away to school and later after she graduated to make space for one in her life. But holding the purring Artemis, she could totally understand why people loved them. They may be more aloof than dogs, but they had great sound effects.

The sander cut off, and for a moment the only rumble was the one the cat made. Then she used her sharp claws to climb over Rachel’s shoulder and jump to the floor. Sucking in a breath at the painful little pinpricks through her soft cotton T-shirt, she stood and stretched, rubbing the holes the cat made in her shoulders before walking over to where Ian was changing the sand paper to a finer grit.

“Show me,” she said, deliberately leaning over where he was working.

“Show you?” he asked, setting down the sander to cup her butt and haul her closer to him. “There are many, many things I can show you, princess.” He kissed her, tugging gently on her bottom lip before teasing the seam of her mouth with his tongue. When he pulled back, both of their breathing was a little ragged, and she could feel him, long and hard against the V of her body. “What do you want to see?” He yanked her against him, and her breath went out on a whoosh, but she wasn’t ready to give up on her conquest just yet.

“I want you to teach me how to do that,” she said, pointing to the sander. “Show me how to tell when it’s finished.”

He pulled back a fraction of an inch, and she saw a crease form in the center of his forehead. “I’m not sure if I can,” he said, actually looking concerned. Like maybe sanding was somehow beyond her skill set.

She wanted to fight him, to rise to his challenge and prove to both of them she could do anything he could. But none of that negated the fact that she still needed him to show her. Blowing out her breath, she counted herself down from the ledge, waiting until she was as calm as silk before asking him again.

“Could you try?” she said, rocking her best wide-eyed innocent expression. She didn’t expect him to buy it, but she was surprised when he stood up and held the sander with its fresh sheet of paper out to her.

“How much do you know about sanding?” he asked once she was holding the sander.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes, certain that wouldn’t get her closer to her goal.
Rub the sand paper over the wood until it’s smooth. How much more could there be to it?
But instead she said, “Pretend I don’t know anything.”

He smiled at her like he was pleased with her answer, and she worked hard to school her face, determined not to give away more of what she was thinking than she wanted.

“Okay,” he said, standing behind her so he could rest his hand on her hip. “You can see the direction of the grain.”

She nodded, ruthlessly squashing down her inner smartass. Of course she could see the direction of the grain.

“Never, no matter what, go across the grain. Think of Artemis.”

Not difficult at all considering she still had the pinprick holes in her shoulder to remind her.

“You know how she shows you how she wants to be petted?” He moved in behind her so she felt his body along the length of her back. “Artemis bumps your hand with her head.” He reached around her, helping her set down the sander before covering the backs of her hands with his and linking their fingers. “And then she moves under your hand until you get the idea. You have to pet her in long, smooth strokes in the direction her fur grows or she’ll bite you.” He tugged her earlobe between his teeth, sending delicious tremors running through her body, and she wondered how much sanding they were likely to get done. “Never against the grain and never in circles,” he said. “Feel this.”

He took their linked hands and ran her palm gently over the surface of the wood. Pine, she thought, breathing in the resinous scent. The wood felt soft almost silky, and she was about to say she thought it was finished when she felt not exactly a rough patch or a blemish. It was more that she felt something at odds with the silky smooth pass she had expected to feel. She must have made some kind of noise because he tipped his head around to grin at her like she’d done something to please him.

“Okay, this is Goldilocks work, not too hard, not too soft. Take your time. There’s no reason to rush.”

He let go of her hand long enough for her to pick up the sander and then he flipped the switch, and it sprang to life, a small buzzing thing against her palm. Pressing a kiss to the back of her neck, he stepped away and left her to conquer the challenge on her own. Taking a deep breath, she put one hand on top of the other the way she’d seen him do for countless hours at a time and started to move the sander over the top of the chest, making long, slow, steady passes.

At first she could see how it might be kind of soothing, the rhythmic back and forth, but it didn’t take her long to realize she didn’t know what she was doing and that drove her nuts. How was she supposed to be sure she was doing a good job if she didn’t have a quantifiable goal? How long was long enough? Could she do it too long and if she did, did that mean the piece was ruined or was she just wasting time? She hated wasting time.

Practically vibrating in sync with the sander from the questions racing through her head, she flipped the switch to off and set the tool to the side. Running her hands over the surface of the woods she grasped at anything that would let her know if she’d done it right or not. The only thing she could feel was the phantom buzzing in her palms from holding the sander for so long. Frustrated, she looked up to see Ian watching her, the barest hint of a smile curving the corner of his mouth and she had to wonder if he’d set her on some kind of impossible Karate Kid kind of quest.

“I can’t feel anything,” she said.

He must have thought she meant it was ready because he came over and ran his work roughened hands over the path hers had just taken, frowning when he found what must have seemed to him like an obvious imperfection.

“I just want to know how long to do this step before I move onto the next one,” she said, letting some of the frustration seep into her voice. She’d started this because she thought it would be fun. It was not fun.

“It doesn’t work like that. You can’t put in your time and check the box, hopping from one step to another. If you don’t want every imperfection to show up when you put on the finish and it’s too late to fix it, then you have to take your time now. It isn’t about drawing a line through the things you’ve completed. If you want it to be as perfect as it can be, then you have to learn to ride the pause. Stay in the moment. Sink into what you’re doing until it tells you it’s done.”

She had her own yin yang kind of yank happening. Part of her loved the way he was talking about the work. The calm steady ease he used to do everything he worked at. The other part of her, the analytical side, thought he might be full of crap.

“Here,” he said, reaching for the sander. “Put your hands on top of mine.”

If he hadn’t already been falling in love with her, watching his wound tight as a drum Rachel try to master sanding would have done him in. The woman could rule an empire and still have time to put her hair up, but ask her to stay still or do something without a concrete goal, and she was lost. It was adorable and infuriating.

She came to stand behind him, wrapping her arms around him so she could rest her hands on the back of his. As soon as he felt the soft press of her cheek against the center of his back, he knew he was screwed. Instead of him sharing his calm center with her, she was going to blow through his quiet like a hurricane. And he didn’t care.

He should. He loved the Zen of sanding, and everything he’d told her was the truth, but with her warm breath heating his skin through his T-shirt, all he could think about was getting his hands on her. Her mouth on him. None of which was conducive to the calm centered back and forth necessary to finish his piece. Steeling himself against the feel of her, he made one last attempt to finish the job, but before he made another complete pass she let out a murmur of pure contentment and he knew it was over.

“Aw, hell,” he said, flipping off the switch on the sander before he wrecked hours of work by sanding in circles. He turned in her arms, letting his fingers, still pulsing from the sander, tangle in her silky hair as he kissed her.

She opened for him, meeting him with her own demands, and he gave her what she wanted, taking what he needed. Running his hands down her back to her hips, he palmed her butt, bending his knees and hauling her up into his arms. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she clung to him as he carried her over to the worn out sofa in the corner of his workshop. Nestling her into the soft cushions he slowly stripped off her clothes a piece at a time and set about trying to find a new kind of Zen together.

Rachel still couldn’t believe the phone call. Part of her wished she’d somehow missed it. It would have saved her a lot of struggle. But that wasn’t right. Avoiding it wasn’t going to make it go away. She kept replaying Peter’s offer in her head. By some freak planetary alignment, he’d been able to snag a position almost exactly like the one he’d held at Moore and Masters. And he had room on his team for her. He’d been shocked when she’d asked him for a couple of days to decide, but he’d agreed.

She should be excited. If she wanted it, she had a job again. She’d have to move back to Charlottesville and find an apartment, but that wasn’t any farther away from home than she was a couple of months ago. She could step back into her old life again if she wanted to. So why wasn’t she jumping at the chance?

Moving at a glacial pace so she didn’t wreck her car, she pulled the Fiat onto the gravel spot in front of Ian’s. The door was open to the barn which meant her own favorite mountain man – and the reason she hadn’t told Peter yes – was working. She couldn’t make a decision as important as what she did with her career based on some man. Especially not a man who’d been clear he never intended to get married again. She wasn’t even sure how to talk to him about it. They hadn’t made each other any promises. They were supposed to just be having fun together.

She thought she understood what Autumn had been telling her when they talked about choices. Her sister-in-law seemed genuinely happy working in Jude’s office and having his baby. It was the perfect choice for her, and Rachel was over the moon happy for both of them. But it wasn’t a choice that would work for her. She’d known her whole life that she wanted to work and have a career. She wanted a husband and family too but not at the expense of doing something else she loved.

The problem was when she thought about Peter’s offer, it felt a lot more like something she knew than something she loved.

She turned off the car and heard the machine before she opened the door. She peeked in the open door to his workshop and found him running a hand sander back and forth over the top of a cabinet. He wore a mask and the dust collection system was on, making it impossible to talk. Apollo noticed her and came over to visit, but Ian never looked up.

It was just as well. She didn’t want to interrupt him and she absolutely didn’t want to talk to him about Peter’s job offer. Not until she had some idea how she felt about it. She probably shouldn’t have made the drive from town to Ian’s but she didn’t seem to be able to stay away. When she felt conflicted or uncertain, she wanted to be where he was. His quiet center helped her find hers every time.

Apollo nudged her hand, looking for attention, and the noise from the sander and vacuum had started to make her ears ring.

“Come on. I’ll rub your belly and then we can go make something for dinner. Maybe the man has something we can stick in the crock pot without messing it up too badly.”

The dog let his tongue loll in agreement, and he followed her into the cabin.

She found a pork roast, some cider vinegar and enough spices to make what she hoped would be a passable barbeque. She cleaned up her mess, fed and loved on Apollo and Artemis and there was still no sign of Ian. Restless and debating whether she should go to the barn and let him know she was there or leave him a note and just head home, she turned and saw his now mostly clear desk. Just as she’d known, it hadn’t taken her long to get his paperwork sorted and put into easily searchable spreadsheets, and she’d loved doing it.

She respected and admired his creativity, but she knew from the couple of conversations they had while she was setting things up that his mind didn’t work like hers. He appreciated the order but it wasn’t something that came naturally to him like it did her. But taking care of Ian’s paperwork wasn’t a career. Not that she was considering it anyway, but there wasn’t enough work for her to do. She’d already gotten everything sorted except the single stack of papers he told her not to worry about.

Organizing Ian’s business didn’t count as a career aspiration – not the way Peter’s job would. She didn’t want to work for Ian and he wasn’t offering. She was just letting her crazy show because she was unsettled and she didn’t like it. It made her grasp at things. She didn’t want to leave. No way was she going to be the one to say it first, but she was pretty sure she was in love with Ian Maxwell and equally sure there were about a hundred reasons why that wasn’t a good idea.

Long distance wouldn’t work either. She couldn’t picture Ian living even part of the time in Charlottesville. Which meant if she took Peter’s job, she and Ian didn’t have a future. She didn’t know if they had a future anyway. She knew she liked herself when she was with him, and she loved waking up in his arms. With Ian, she felt safe enough to let go and surrender, to let him be in charge for a while instead of holding on so tightly to her control of every single thing, but they hadn’t made plans. They hadn’t said I love you.

Shaking herself, she picked up the last stack of papers. He said he’d handled it, but it wouldn’t hurt for her to take a look at it and feeling as unsettled as she did, she couldn’t settle in and relax. Sitting down at his desk with Apollo at her feet, she pulled her phone from her pocket and started to make some phone calls.

Tired and so dirty he was pretty sure his head was filled with sawdust, Ian flipped off the lights and headed out the door to see if he could find something to eat or Rachel or both. Nothing about the chest of drawers he was building had worked the way he wanted it to. He was tired of fighting the material and in the mood for some uncomplicated time with his princess. Although that might be wishful thinking. Rachel was a lot of things, but uncomplicated wasn’t one of them.

Funny, but for a guy who usually took the path of least resistance, he didn’t care. She could be as challenging as she wanted to and it didn’t matter. He was falling and falling hard. Maybe he could get a shower and see if he could meet her in town. He didn’t really want to go anywhere, but he wanted her. If he had to drive to get to her, he would.

Sliding the barn door closed and clicking the lock, he turned and found her little blue car parked in his driveway, and his heart leapt in his chest. Maybe the day was finally taking a turn for the better. He took the porch steps two at a time and opened the door to find a delicious smell coming from his kitchen, his dog sprawled out on his floor and Rachel asleep on his sofa.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he said, sitting on the edge of the sofa careful not to cover her with sawdust. He cupped her face, running his thumb over her cheek, and watched as her eyelids fluttered open, and she came back to the present with him.

“Sorry,” she said, struggling to sit up. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you’re here, and don’t get up. Let me grab a quick shower. I’m too filthy to touch you.”

She nodded, reaching for his hand. Something about Rachel, soft, warm and sleepy squeezed at his heart, and he almost said the words that would change everything. Before he opened his mouth to speak, her eyelids fluttered closed again, and he raised her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss over the back of her knuckles.

“I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.” He pulled the throw off the back of the armchair and covered her, smiling to himself when she snuggled deeper into the sofa. Her face relaxed in sleep, and she looked younger, so innocent and sweet. She’d laugh at him, he knew she would, if she ever heard him call her sweet. Other people might not see it, but he did. Underneath the super organized, in control never let them see her sweat exterior, Rachel Southerland was a sweetheart. He loved that she relaxed enough with him to let it show.

By the time he’d washed the sawdust out of his hair and pores, most of the hot water was gone, but he climbed out of the shower one step closer to human. He pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and followed the delicious scent of whatever Rachel had cooked to the kitchen. She was busy making a salad with the last bit of unwilted produce his refrigerator held.

“I had no idea you could cook,” he said, taking a step back in case she decided to swat him.

“Very funny. You know I am excellent at heating things up. I figured that barbeque in the crockpot was essentially heating things. I’m cautiously optimistic.” She took the salad bowl to the table while he lifted the crockpot lid and peered inside.

“I’m more than cautiously optimistic. This smells fantastic,” he said, reaching in with his fingers to snag a piece of the fork tender pork. Ignoring the burning in his fingertips, he blew on the piece before popping it in his mouth and sucking in air to keep from burning his tongue. Behind him he heard Rachel giggle.

“What are you doing? You knew it was hot.”

“Not relevant,” he said, grinning. “I’m starving and it’s delicious. You’re beautiful and you can cook. You should marry me.”

He wasn’t thinking; the words just came pouring out of his mouth. As soon as he said it, they both froze, leaving his reckless comment hanging in the air between them. Except maybe it wasn’t so reckless. He’d told himself a million times he was never going to get married again, and he’d believed it. His first marriage broke his heart. Having someone who loved him grow to hate him was awful. He never wanted to do that again.

He’d heard people say they knew something was wrong before they got married and ignored the feeling. He hadn’t known. When he’d walked down the aisle, he thought it was going to be forever. Even after years of going over every detail in his mind, he still couldn’t see any red flags he hadn’t paid attention to. But when he thought about marrying Rachel it felt different. It was still too crazy to contemplate, but the idea didn’t terrify him the way it used to.

“I meant…” he started, not sure what he meant but Rachel came to his rescue before he had to stumble over his words.

“I know what you meant, mountain man. I have no intention of taking a barbeque induced proposal seriously. Although, I have to admit; it’s never happened before.” She was teasing him and he blew out a relieved breath, but there was something else there too. Something going on with her that he didn’t understand.

They ate barbeque and salads with Apollo and Artemis asleep at their feet. He could tell Rachel was thinking about something. Maybe not worrying exactly, but there was something going on in that gorgeous head of hers. Having her and a hot meal waiting for him at the end his day had done wonders for his mood. Add in the shower and he was practically a new man. As he started to tell her, the phone on his desk started to ring.

“Do you need to get that?” Rachel asked, peering over the rim of her beer bottle.

“Nope. The machine will get it.”

“You know you’re one of the last people in the state to have a landline with an answering machine.”

“It works,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as his voice came out of the machine telling whoever it was to leave a message and he’d get back to them.

“Mr. Maxwell, this is Amanda from the Come Again Gallery in Winston. We’ve checked our records against the copy of the invoice your assistant emailed. The mistake is ours. The check went out in the mail today so there should be no need for any further action on your part. Let me know if you don’t receive the check by Wednesday. I emailed a copy to your assistant to verify. I’m sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused you, and I hope it won’t affect our relationship moving forward. Your pieces are very popular.”

Sitting across the table from him, Rachel looked radiant, and he felt sick.

“I knew I could shake some money lose. She knew they owed you. She was just stringing you along as long as she could. Ha!” She pulled her phone from her pocket and swiped the screen a few times before turning it so he could see a photocopy of a check made out to Maxwell Designs.

“I didn’t know I had an assistant.”

“I had to say something to get her to take me seriously. I just pretended to be your assistant while I did the collections. You should consider yourself a lucky man. I haven’t been anyone’s assistant for years and even then I didn’t work this cheap.” She took another swallow of her beer and dug her fork into the salad.

She was so proud of herself, and he was trying hard not to be an ass, but all the peace he’d managed to reclaim after his shower had vanished. He felt railroaded and uncomfortable. It was one thing to have her help organize his files. It was an entirely different matter to have her dealing with clients on his behalf.

“What did she mean when she said they should be no need for any further action? What further action was she talking about?” He said the words slowly and carefully, trying to keep the anger he was feeling out of his voice. At least until he knew how bad things were.

“I threatened to get a judgment for the past due amount. To be honest, I’m surprised you haven’t done that before now. Some of those accounts are over a hundred and twenty days. You have one at more than six months.” He sucked in his breath, and she looked up from her plate. “Don’t worry. The phone calls should shake most of the money lose. I can help you file the judgments for the rest. It’s not hard,” she said, misunderstanding his reaction.

“You called all of them?”
Mrs. Smithfield. Please let her not have threatened the little old widow lady with legal action. On his behalf.

“Yeah.” She nodded her head, looking confused. “I know you said you’d taken care of it, but most of them were still outstanding. By the end of next week they shouldn’t be. Listen, it’s not a big deal. I was happy to do it. Sometimes this kind of stuff is better coming from someone else anyway. I can be the bad cop so you don’t have to.”