Falling for the Mum-to-Be

“For painting,” he said.

“You mean paints?”

“Yeah, and brushes and drop cloths and any other supplies.”

“Acrylic mural paints are a must, and I’ll be needing gallons and gallons of the colors. It might be tough on the city budget.”

“Do you have a list of your colors yet?”

“I have a good idea what I’ll need.”

“Then, let’s go shopping.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. It’s four o’clock, so we better hurry because our hardware and paint store closes at six on Sundays.”

With that they rushed back to the truck and hopped inside. Marta hadn’t felt this excited and full of energy in weeks.

“Tell me about your family,” she said as they drove, deeply curious about the man, a near stranger, who had so much faith in her abilities.

“My people came here in the 1800s. They were fisherman, like most of the other Scandinavians in this area. I think my first relative might have been an indentured servant on a fishing boat from Denmark. I’m Danish, by the way. Well, I’m actually an American of Danish descent. I guess you’d say that is more accurate.”

She understood. “My ancestors are from Argentina, but like you, I think of myself as American with Latino roots.” Her mother had always been too traditional for her taste, and overprotective, but that was to be expected and it was her way of showing she loved Marta. But they’d argued constantly about her free-living lifestyle, and it had driven her away. Now she wished with all of her heart she could have mended their differences before her mother had died. Family had taken on a whole new meaning eight weeks ago.

Leif ran down his brief genealogy chart while they headed for the paint store, then he suddenly hit a bumpy patch in the story. “My father died eight years ago, so we moved my mother back here from Arizona where they’d retired. I’d originally built the guesthouse for both of them to come and visit whenever they wanted. Five years ago, Mom had a massive stroke and died on the way to the hospital.”

“I lost my mother last year and can only imagine how tough it must be to lose both parents.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes me an orphan.”

“I believe you’re right.” So who had he built that big gorgeous house for? “Were you ever married?”

“Yes.”

Of course he was a traditional kind of guy. The kind of man she’d never run into while living her sophisticated artist’s life.

“I built my future wife’s dream house as a wedding gift. I had to do something to get that woman to marry me.” He worked at a smile, but it came off as wistful and far from his eyes. “My wife was Norwegian, since we’re talking about Scandinavian ancestry.”

“Are you divorced?”

“No.” He grew quiet for a moment. “She died from ovarian cancer three years ago.”

Things suddenly added up—why he’d offered her the master bedroom and studio, why he hadn’t slept in that room for three years, why he stayed in the big house by himself rather than sell it. “I see. I’m very sorry to hear that.” Not only was he an orphan, but he also was a widower and had lost everyone he loved. “That’s a lot of people to lose in a very short time.”

“You’re telling me.” He inhaled as he parked and cut the engine. “But losing my wife was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through in my life.” He gazed solemnly out the windshield. “Ellen... She was the one who suffered the most.”

The thought sent a chill through her. “You don’t have children?” She turned toward him rather than move to get out of the car.

He faced her, too. “That’s how we found out about her cancer. We wanted to be a family. A big family. Decided to have a bunch of kids. We tried for that first baby for a couple of years and finally decided to go the fertility clinic route, first checking out my plumbing, then hers. That’s when they found her cancer. Already too late.”

His distant glance over her shoulder was tinged with agony. It nearly broke her already raw heart.

Overcome with compassion and respect for this man who’d lost everything he’d loved, making her own situation pale in comparison, Marta leaned across the bucket seat, reached for his forearm and squeezed. “You suffered, too, Leif. I can only imagine.”

Their eyes locked for a couple of moments. New understanding passed between them. He studied her as if he was trying to figure out if he appreciated her concern, or if he resented the pity. It wasn’t pity, as far as she was concerned. This connection was an honest desire to offer him comfort. She wondered how he’d managed to survive losing his entire family. How lost he must be all by himself. In such a short time, she’d already figured out he deserved much more than this lot in life. And she had nothing to complain about. She had her health, a baby on board and a profession she loved. She almost had everything...except a man.

“If it wasn’t for the business, I think I would have gone nuts.”

“You’re a survivor. A person can tell that about you right off.” She started to remove her hand, but he reached for it and squeezed, holding tight for a moment before releasing her. His warm touch surprised her. In twenty-four hours it had already changed from their initial mechanical handshake.

“What do you say we go shopping?” He’d obviously had enough of this heavy conversation. His story was probably the last part of Heartlandia history he’d wanted to dig up today, but she was glad he had. It helped put so many things in perspective.

“Let’s do it.” She smiled and he returned it, in obvious relief. They’d come to a realization—they’d both been knocked in the teeth by life. The major difference was his love had died, and though she’d broken off with the person she once thought was the love of her life, she had a new life growing inside her. She wasn’t about to complain about that, especially when all Leif had been left with was an empty house.

With masks firmly back in place, they got out of the cab and she followed him into the store for some major distraction.

* * *

An hour and a half later, ten minutes shy of the hardware closing time, they rolled two shopping carts filled to overflowing to the checkout. Gallon after gallon of top-quality mural paints in a dozen different colors plus protective clear varnish to ward off the effects of weather. Primer, which Leif would apply after preparing the walls for her. Every size and shape brush she could possibly need, drop cloths and plastic basins for mixing colors. Thinners. Thickeners. On and on and on the supplies piled up on the counter.

“Oh, we can’t forget these,” Marta said adding several packages of paint odor valved respirators to the pile.

When the total rang up, Leif didn’t blink. Marta tried to not look but noticed anyway and was surprised by the total. “Put it on my account,” he said.

Both pushing a cart back to his truck, she couldn’t ignore where her thoughts had been heading since they’d walked into the store. “So you’re the town benefactor for this project?”

He tried to look surprised but did a poor job of it and immediately came clean. “I made a bundle building that college,” he said while opening the tailgate and beginning to unload the supplies. “When the topic came up about the mural, the committee balked at the expense. I volunteered to see it through. That’s all.”

“I’m being paid very well. You must be a rich man.”

“Like I said, I’ve been blessed with a successful family business.”

“That you’ve obviously grown into a mega business.”

He nodded, playing down the blood, sweat and tears that must have gone into the process. “True.”

She tapped his chest. “You’re far too humble, Leif Andersen.”

He laughed. “Not that humble. Truth is, I want this mural to be a kind of legacy for my family. For my father, who added so much to this community, and my mother, who’d always been a patron of the arts. And for my wife, who believed in the community college from the start, when everyone said it was a crazy idea.”

“Like I said, you’re too humble.” As she handed him another can of paint, their gazes clicked with perception and they finished unloading in silence.

One more unsettling thought occurred to Marta as they emptied the carts. There was a huge similarity to his position of benefactor and her recent personal history with Lawrence. Hadn’t she vowed to never let that happen again? The difference was, this was a job. She’d been hired. There was nothing personal between them. Though they’d definitely reached a new understanding this afternoon. She’d opened up to him, and he’d opened up to her. They’d shared a special moment in the car.

Something had come over her after hearing his heart-wrenching story, and she couldn’t help herself. She’d reached out for him in the parking lot and they’d connected. Spending the afternoon with Leif had been the highlight of her day, and how crazy was that for a pregnant woman?

She was in Heartlandia for a job, and though the city had hired her, Leif was writing the paychecks. No matter how appealing he was, she’d keep everything between her and Leif from here on out strictly professional.