Hard to Resist

chapter SIX



BY LATE AFTERNOON, it was done. The walls were patched and painted a pale yellow; the kitchen had gleaming new appliances, attractive cabinets and counters, and a microwave, toaster and coffeepot; the twin bed now had a pale oak frame. There was also an oak table and four ladder-back chairs for the dining area, plus colorful throw rugs over the bare floors. One enterprising helper had even made curtains from donated sheets. The crisp white cotton billowed with the breeze that came in through the open windows.

“This looks fantastic,” Ethan said as everyone hurried to clean up the painting tools and the last scraps of wood used to repair rotting window frames and baseboards. The results were better than he could have imagined. “I cannot thank all of you enough.”

“We’ll find a way to extract payment out of you,” said Otis, as he headed out the door. He wasn’t smiling, so Ethan wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not. “I got some stumps that need taking out at my farm.”

“Yeah, and you can mow my grass tomorrow,” said Jim Peterson. His wife punched him, but he didn’t laugh. He just turned and departed. His wife gave Ethan an apologetic half smile and followed him. Soon everyone was gone except for Ethan, his mom and Tony.

“They’re a strange bunch,” Gloria Basque commented. “They seemed eager enough to work, but they were a little…reserved. Even the pizza didn’t loosen them up. Are these the men you work with?”

“’Fraid so,” Tony said. “They’re a tough crowd. Generous, but hard to impress.”

“Yeah, well, the only ones I’m out to impress are Kat and Samantha,” Ethan said.

His mother smiled. “Oh, I wish I could be here to see their faces. But I really need to go. It’s my poker night.”

“We should send Priscilla to play poker with you,” Ethan muttered. “She’d get over that beginner’s luck in a hurry.”

His mom paused and looked around one more time at their decorating job. “It’s really nice what you’re doing for her, Ethan. She’s a lucky lady.”

“Hmph,” Tony objected.

Ethan’s hackles rose, but he waited until his mom was gone before he said anything. “What was that ‘hmph’ supposed to mean?”

“Just that I wouldn’t call your motives entirely altruistic. I mean, you are hoping to charm her with all this,” Tony said, gesturing to indicate the makeover. “Right?”

“No. I’m helping her out because she needs help. Period.”

Tony crossed his arms. “And I suppose if she was old and fat and ugly, you’d still spend your entire paycheck on new appliances?”

Ethan opened his mouth, intending to voice a resounding yes, that the fact Kat was gorgeous had nothing to do with his altruistic activities. But he stopped.

Was he only being helpful because he wanted to be with her? Was he using her bad luck as a way to ingratiate himself?

“You know it’s true,” Tony said. “Every girlfriend you’ve ever had was someone you had to rescue or fix.”

“That’s not…” But again, Ethan stopped. He thought back over the girls and women he’d dated—not all that many—and he couldn’t think of a single one who’d been in a good place when he’d first been attracted to her. They’d all been in need of money or a job or a place to live or on crutches—or they’d been deeply depressed after being dumped by some other guy.

The downside was, after he helped them get back on track, they usually drifted off.

Did he have some kind of rescue complex?

Certainly, he’d helped out a lot of people who weren’t potential girlfriends. Whenever his mom called him wanting some handyman work for a friend or neighbor in need, he jumped right in without question, and didn’t expect anything in return except the satisfaction of doing a good job and a good deed.

Seeing that he’d hit home, Tony didn’t belabor the point. He left, taking a load of trash with him.

Ethan was glad they’d all left. He wanted to have Kat’s reaction to her much improved apartment all to himself.

Of course, he couldn’t stay here to wait for her. As far as he knew, Samantha still didn’t know who her landlord was, and he didn’t want to surprise or upset the child with his unexpected presence.

* * *

SAMANTHA SEEMED TIRED after her first day back at school. She threw her backpack into the backseat, climbed into the front with a big sigh and buckled her seatbelt.

Where was the chattering magpie who jumped into the car every day full of stories about her day’s adventures?

Kat gave her daughter a hug, then put the car into gear. “So, how was it?” she asked. “Did Mrs. Campbell help you with the work you missed on Friday?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t miss much.”

“That’s good.” At least Kat didn’t have to worry about Samantha’s academics. She’d learned to read when she was five and now she was at the top of her class. “What was the best thing that happened today?” This was a daily ritual they went through after school. Each of them had to tell the other about at least one positive experience.

“Nothing good happened.”

Not an encouraging sign. “Did anything bad happen?”

Samantha sighed again. “Everyone was talking about the fire. They saw it on the news. They kept asking me to talk about it.”

Oh, dear. “And did you?”

“No. I don’t even remember what happened.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t want to remember,” she amended. “Why can’t they leave me alone?”

“They’re just curious, honey. Most people have never been through a fire, and they want to know what it’s like. But you don’t have to talk about it—or even think about it—if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Okay. All you have to do is say, ‘I don’t want to talk about it right now.’”

“That’s what I did.”

“Good girl. So nothing good happened?”

Samantha thought hard. “Mrs. Hanson, the cafeteria lady, put two cherries on my sundae.”

“There you go! I knew you could do it. Want to know something good that happened to me?”

Samantha nodded.

“One of my StrongGirls got a job for the summer. It’s her first-ever job. She’s going to be a waitress so she can earn money for college.”

Samantha relaxed into the conversation a bit, and Kat was looking forward to a calm, sane, boring evening for a change. But she wasn’t going to get it. She realized that the moment she entered her new apartment.

“What in the world,” she murmured. Had she walked into the wrong place? But no, there were the futon and the coffee table—and Bashira, meowing up a storm. Otherwise, it sure didn’t look like the same place. She set down her tote bag and took it all in.

She had a new kitchen. And a dining room table and chairs.

Samantha was equally dumbfounded. She walked through the main room and into the bedroom. “Mommy, I have a bed. A real bed.”

Kat joined her daughter. The bed wasn’t all. There was a small oak desk and a dresser, too. A toy box. Shelves. Curtains on the windows. Kat felt as if she’d dropped down a rabbit hole.

Samantha returned to the living room, craning her neck to look at everything. Finally, her gaze settled. “Look, Mommy, a TV!”

“Yes, that’s what it is, all right.”

“Can I turn it on?” She’d already found the remote and she was studying it.

“Uh… Sure, why not?” If the TV made this place feel more like home for her daughter, then fine. She helped Samantha find a kid-friendly show. “Are you okay watching by yourself for a few minutes? I need to have a word with our landlord.”

Samantha, already zoning out, nodded.

Kat locked the apartment door, went down the stairs, stomped across the yard, up onto Ethan’s deck and to the back door. The lights were on inside and she could hear rock music. She banged on the door.

A few moments later Ethan opened the door looking good enough to eat, in soft faded jeans and a Brady’s Tavern T-shirt. He smiled, which was enough to take the edge off her anger. Obviously, he thought he’d done something wonderful.

“Hi,” he said, standing aside to let her into his kitchen. But when he read her expression, the smile disappeared. “Everything okay?”

“No, everything is not okay. What happened to my apartment while I was gone? I’d like to believe the furniture fairies paid me a visit, but somehow I doubt it!”

Ethan took in the furious bundle of female energy that had just invaded his kitchen and he could make no sense of it. She was angry?

How had he gotten this so wrong?

“I’m waiting for an explanation,” Kat said, arms folded, foot tapping.

Ethan turned down the heat on some chicken he was frying. “We gave the place a makeover—me, Tony, Priscilla, some of the guys I work with. Even my mom. You…You don’t like it?” Maybe yellow wasn’t her favorite color.

“Whether I like it or not isn’t the issue. You had no right.” She clamped her mouth shut, then started again. “Let me rephrase that. Yes, you own the property, and yes, you have a right to make improvements. But where did the furniture come from? And all those things in the kitchen?”

“The guys brought it over. It was just stuff people had.”

“Castoffs.” She made it sound like the most disgusting concept known to humankind.

“I know it’s not Designer Showhouse stuff, but it’ll do until you can buy what you want.”

“I don’t recall asking you to furnish my house.”

“No, of course, you didn’t ask. But you obviously needed some things.”

“Yes. I did. But I was going to buy them myself.”

“So now you can take your time. Kat, I don’t understand why you’re upset. There’s nothing wrong with needing a little help now and then.”

She clamped her eyes shut, then opened them again. “I don’t need anything. I can take care of myself. And I certainly don’t need charity.”

“Is that what you call it? I call it one friend helping another.”

“But we’re not friends.” He flinched, and she quickly backpedaled. “I mean, we weren’t… We didn’t even know each other until the fire, and every minute we’ve spent in each other’s presence has had to do with you helping me, fixing my life.”

“That’s not how I see you.”

“No? You just couldn’t stand the thought of Samantha and me sitting on the floor to eat our meals, even though I was okay with it. Even though it was just going to be for a few days.”

She was right about that. He couldn’t stand thinking about her with no furniture.

“And the TV! I’ve been thinking how nice and quiet it was without one—how Samantha would spend more time reading and coloring and playing.”

“Okay, I get the picture,” Ethan said. “I thought you’d be pleased. But since you’re obviously not, I’ll take it all to the Salvation Army. Is that what you want?”

“Yes!”

She was the most frustrating woman he’d ever known. “That’s just crazy!”

Kat opened her mouth and closed it again.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan said softly. “I didn’t mean that. But I really don’t understand. Help me.”

All the fire seemed to drain out of her. “You’re right, it is a little crazy. And maybe if I explained some things, it would help. But right now, Samantha’s expecting dinner, and I promised her some just-us-girls time. After she goes to bed—if I can get her to go to bed by herself—I’ll come back. We’ll talk.” She slipped out the door.

* * *

“AND THEY LIVED happily ever after.” Kat closed the Dr. Seuss book she’d been reading. It didn’t really end with those words, but Samantha expected to hear them at the conclusion of every bedtime reading session, even if they had to stop in the middle of a book. She said she couldn’t go to sleep if she was worried about the people in the story.

“Mommy, you get in bed with me.”

“Sweetie, you’re a big girl now. You’ve been sleeping in your own bed since you were a baby.”

“But I can’t go to sleep by myself.” She chewed on one of her sparkly pink fingernails. They’d done each other’s nails after dinner, and Sam had seemed more relaxed again.

“I bet you could if you tried.” Kat set it up as a challenge. Samantha, every inch her mother’s daughter, couldn’t resist a challenge.

“Bet I couldn’t.”

“Tell you what. Let’s give it fifteen minutes. I need to clean up the kitchen and get ready for tomorrow. I’ll check back in fifteen minutes, and if you’re not asleep I’ll get in bed with you. Is that a deal?”

Samantha thought about it. “Okay.”

“I love you, Sammy. And if you wake up or you’re scared, you just call me and I’ll be close by.” She hugged Sam, kissed her, and hugged her again, then tucked her in and turned out the light.

In fifteen minutes, Samantha was fast asleep. Kat breathed a sigh of relief. She figured if she could get Samantha to sleep by herself for one night, she could break the pattern.

Now, for the other tricky task of the evening. She’d promised Ethan an explanation and she supposed he deserved one. She’d gone a little bit nonlinear on him, when he really thought he was helping. Her reaction had been a knee jerk and not very logical, and she could see that now. What harm was the loan of a few pieces of furniture that no one was using?

She tried to keep this in mind as she tiptoed out the door and down the stairs. Ethan was waiting for her on his deck. He lounged in one of the patio chairs.

He stood as she climbed the steps to the deck. “You got Samantha to bed okay?”

“Yeah. Kids who experience trauma, like a fire or a car accident, often revert to the behavior of a younger age. Samantha has never had problems at bedtime. She’s slept in her own bed since she was an infant. So wanting me to stay with her is definitely unusual. But she went to sleep without tears tonight, so we’re making progress.”

“Good. It’s only been a few days.”

“I know.” She chose another chair with a good view of her apartment and sank into it. The window to Samantha’s bedroom was open a few inches, so Kat could hear if the child cried out, but she doubted that would happen. Sam, like her mother, was a hard sleeper.

It was a beautiful spring evening, with the scent of honeysuckle heavy in the air. A couple of lightning bugs blinked crisscrossing patterns around the yard.

She didn’t know how to ease into what she had to say, so she just started. “When you were younger, did you ever know one of those kids with mismatched socks and threadbare clothes, always a bit malnourished? Their hair looked like someone just hacked it off with a pair of dull scissors. They sat in the back of the classroom, never opening their mouth, hoping no one would notice them. Do you remember those kids?”

Ethan shrugged. “Sure. Every class has one, it seems.”

“Well, I was one of those kids.” She paused to let that sink in. “And did you ever have a toy drive at school, so the poor kids could have a toy under the tree? Or collect clothing for a poor family? Again, that was me.

“My mother never had a job in her life. She counted on men to take care of her. Sometimes they beat her up, and sometimes they beat me up—though I learned pretty quick how to stay under their radar.”

She could see Ethan getting more and more agitated by her story, until he finally exploded. “Why didn’t someone help you? Help her?”

“People did try. I got taken away from her twice. But she always cleaned up her act enough to get me back. I’m not sure why she bothered. I never saw the slightest indication she cared anything for me. Maybe she just wanted the welfare checks.”

“What about your father?”

Kat shrugged with a nonchalance she didn’t feel. These memories still had the power to make her cry, if she didn’t guard herself. “Never knew him. Never even knew his name. There’s no father listed on my birth certificate. Anyway, the church ladies used to show up at our apartment every few months with a garbage bag of clothes and some canned goods and macaroni. Every stick of furniture we owned was somebody else’s castoff. I was seventeen the first time I actually went into a store to buy new clothes.”

“Oh, Kat.”

“The last thing I want is for you to feel sorry for me. I’m only telling you this so you’ll understand. Being forced to accept charity made me feel weak. Stupid. Not normal. And I swore, over and over, that when I was grown up I wouldn’t ever, ever take anyone else’s old stuff again. I would buy things new, or I wouldn’t have them at all.”

Of course, being married to Chuck, she’d accepted charity of an entirely different kind, but she hadn’t seen it that way at the time. Chuck saw her at a bus stop on a rainy day and offered her a ride home, and she’d accepted. When he found out her situation—that her mother had just died, and no one was taking care of her—he’d taken her on as his special cause. He’d fed her, clothed her and found her a job. A year later, he’d married her. Then he’d put her through college, helping care for Samantha at night so she could attend classes or study. He’d wanted her to become a teacher.

But he hadn’t really wanted her to become independent. She was his project, and he enjoyed being the savior and nurturer far more than he would ever admit.

When she got her master’s degree and started working, pulling in her own salary and wanting a say in family decisions, Chuck had been devastated. He still expected her to be his teenage bride, looking up to him for everything.

They’d tried to make it work for another year, but there was no saving it. When they split, she made another vow. Not only would she always buy things new, she wouldn’t depend on anyone for anything—because there was always a price. Chuck thought he could earn Kat’s love by giving, giving, giving. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t love him, not the way a wife should love her husband. She was grateful, and at seventeen she hadn’t known the difference between gratitude and love.

She still wasn’t sure she could tell the difference.

“Did that help you understand?” she asked. “At all?”

“I think so. You…don’t like secondhand stuff?” he ventured.

She sighed, exasperated. “No, Ethan. I don’t like being seen as a charity case. I’m not the poor girl anymore. And when I saw that you and your buddies had donated all that stuff, everything I felt as a little girl came rushing back to me. That’s what I want you to understand. I had a knee-jerk reaction, and I apologize for that.”

“Do you really want me to move all the stuff out?”

“No.” She had to laugh at herself. “Samantha likes her new bed, though she was quick to remind me it’s not the canopy bed I promised. And it was nice to sit at a real table. So, no, ripping up the apartment and hauling everything to the Salvation Army isn’t the answer. But I was wondering, could I pay for those things?”

She thought it was a perfectly reasonable request, a nice compromise, but Ethan looked pained. “I don’t even remember who gave what. But even if I did, you might hurt people’s feelings if you tried to pay them. Everybody felt good about pitching in. Why ruin that?”

She hadn’t thought of it that way. She liked helping people, too. How many times had she provided the StrongGirls with something they needed? A secondhand computer to help with their schoolwork or a new outfit for a job interview? When any of her girls shunned her help, that hurt.

“Okay,” she said. “And thank you. Please thank everyone again. In fact, I’ll write thank-you notes, and you can deliver them.”

“That’s not…” He stopped. “Okay. Kat, where’s your mother now?”

“She died when I was seventeen.”

“I’m sorry.”

She reached over and squeezed his hand, glad she’d made the effort to set everything straight. She didn’t expect Ethan to hold her hand captive. He raised it to his lips and placed the softest of kisses on one knuckle, then the next, and the next. Kat’s stomach quivered with the anticipation of each touch of his lips.

“I sh-should go.” But she made no move to reclaim her hand.

Ethan ran one fingertip along her inner arm and she shivered. What was he doing to her?

“Are we okay, then?” he asked. “You’re not angry anymore?”

She shook her head. Oh, no. She was feeling a lot of things—anticipation, some anxiety—but anger had fallen off the bottom of the list.

“So let’s talk about us. Or maybe Samantha and me. Have you told her I’m living across the yard?”

“Not yet. I will tomorrow.” If Sam happened to look out a window and see Ethan when she wasn’t expecting to, it could freak her out.

“Let me know how it goes. If she’s still afraid of me, we’ll have to work on that. I’ll do whatever it takes to earn her trust, Kat. Whatever it takes.

“Because I’m going to be seeing a lot of her mother.”

Kat raised an eyebrow at him. He was still holding her hand, still tickling the inside of her arm.

“That’s assuming her mother thinks that’s a good idea. Does she?”

Kat resisted the urge to immediately say, yes, it was an excellent idea. “I haven’t dated, at all, since my divorce two years ago,” she told Ethan. “I’m not sure I even know how.”

“It’s real easy. I ask you to a movie. You say yes. We go, we have a good time, maybe get some coffee afterward.”

Somehow, she didn’t think it would be as simple as that. “I need to take things slowly, okay?” She knew she was overly cautious sometimes, but that was the best she could do.