Baby, Come Home

He turned to see Rachel Hutchins, the informal spokesperson for the original group of women who had arrived from Broadway, standing there in all her blondeness. She was a little flashy for his tastes, but a treat for the eyes, for sure, with her long legs and tight sweaters. It had been months since he’d place that ad—Amy obviously wasn’t coming home. Maybe he owed it to himself to start…looking.

He smiled. “Do you need something, Rachel?”

She dimpled. “A picture hung in my bedroom.”

He almost balked, then told himself he was over-reacting. “No problem. Let me shut down here.” He slid the color printouts into a folder, then stashed every thing in his laptop bag. Carrying the bag, he followed her through the hallway of the boardinghouse they’d built for the women they’d attracted with the promise of room and board for two years.

The atmosphere was slightly different now, though, since some of the women’s children had arrived. He stepped aside as two school-aged boys ran by, roughhousing and shouting. When school let out, the media room was usually packed with children playing video games and accessing social networking sites. It was a far cry from the way he and his brothers had spent their extra time.

He often wondered if he ever had children, would he even be able to relate to them. Even if they were raised here in his resurrected hometown, it was obvious their experience would be different from his own.

“Hello, Cupid,” Rachel cooed as she stopped to scratch the ears of the doe the woman had nursed back to health and domesticated, allowing it to roam free in the house. The animal was even housebroken. Scampering at its feet was Rachel’s black-faced pug. For some bizarre reason, the dog seemed enamored with the deer. Rachel crouched and made smooching noises. “Hello, Nigel, baby.” She straightened and looked at Kendall. “I think we should expand the pet section at the General Store. Our pet population is almost fifty, you know.”

He hadn’t known, but he nodded. “That sounds reasonable. Just talk to Molly.”

Rachel made a face. “Need I remind you that the Colonel doesn’t believe in having animals indoors? I don’t think she’s the best person to be in charge of ordering supplies anyway.”

It wasn’t the first time that girly girl Rachel and no-nonsense Colonel Molly had butted heads, but both women had proved their mettle by contributing countless hours and good ideas to the effort of rebuilding the town. The Armstrongs couldn’t afford to alienate either one of them.

Kendall offered a congenial smile. “But it makes sense because Molly’s ordering supplies for the dining hall anyway.”

Rachel sniffed and resumed walking. “We have to do something about that cafeteria, too. It’s depressing. When are we going to turn it into a restaurant?”

“It’s on the list,” he assured her. He indulged in watching her curvy behind sashay in front of him. Amy’s build was smaller, more athletic. And she’d had the most beautiful head of red hair.

“Here we are,” Rachel sang as she reached for the knob of a door and pushed it open.

Kendall hesitated, then guiltily glanced both ways down the hall to see if anyone was watching before stepping inside.

When she closed the door behind him, he felt trapped, which made him realize how long it had been since he’d been alone with a woman. The room was built and furnished similarly to others in the house—one window, a bed and dresser, love seat, chair, coffee table, writing desk, closet, and a bathroom.

But the otherwise tidy room was strewn with various pieces of clothing—a silky white nightgown, a tiny pink T-shirt that read “Maybe, Baby,” a denim skirt, a pair of tall black boots. Through the bathroom door, two pairs of panty hose were hanging over a towel rack. Kendall’s face warmed at the implied intimacy. He glanced at the door and considered bolting, but realized how idiotic that would look. Then he forced himself to relax. Who said Rachel was interested in anything more than a little decorating?

But she was looking at his crotch. “I see you brought your hammer.”

He blanched. “Pardon me?”

She pointed to the tool belt he wore so often, he forgot he had it on. “A hammer…for pounding in a nail?” She held up a picture-hanging hook, then pointed to a picture leaning against the wall.

He felt like an idiot. “Oh, right. Where do you want it?”

“Can you hold it up for me?”

“Sure.” He reached for the picture, then stopped when he realized it was a photograph of the old covered bridge that had once spanned Timber Creek. “Evermore Bridge,” he murmured. “If you don’t mind my asking, where did you get this?”

She stepped close to look over his shoulder. Her floral perfume filled his nostrils. “I was going through some photographs in the Lost and Found warehouse, and thought this one was really great.”

“It is great,” he agreed.

“So you remember the bridge?”

He nodded slowly, assailed with memories. “It was a fantastic piece of workmanship.” And it was his and Amy’s place.

“Don’t worry. This isn’t the original photo,” Rachel said. “I scanned it in—this is a color copy.” Then she bit into her cherry-pink lip. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course,” he said, irritated with himself that everything these days reminded him of Amy. “Do you want it hung here, over the dresser?”

“Yes, please.”

Kendall held the picture against the wall. He glanced down to see a lacy red bra of considerable cup size lying on the top of the dresser. He averted his gaze to Rachel to take direction from her, but all he could visualize was her wearing that red bra…or worse—not wearing it.

She lifted her arms, emphasizing her generous breasts. “Higher.”

He stifled a groan and lifted the picture higher.

“To the right.”

Good God, if he got an erection while his arms were up in the air, there would be no hiding it.

“No…too much. Back to the left.”

He moved the frame again, trying to think of something other than the sexy woman. But when he looked at the picture of Evermore Bridge, he was reminded of all the intimate things he and Amy had done in their special place. His groin tightened.

“How’s that?” he blurted.

She angled her blonde head. “Maybe.”

“Let’s try it,” he said, then handed her the picture with his right hand while marking the spot on the wall with his left. He was glad to turn his back because he was definitely sporting wood now, like a damn teenager.

“Can you hand me the hanger?” he asked over his shoulder.

Rachel came up behind him and reached around with a long, tapered arm. “How’s this?” she asked, her mouth close to his ear.

“F-fine,” he said, but almost dropped the hanger. He held it against the wall, then pulled a hammer from his tool belt. Her perfume was messing with his mind. “Um…you might want to step back a little. We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Oh. Okay,” she said, stepping away.

But the red bra was so close to his face he could take a bite out of it. He had to get out of here. He lifted the hammer and brought it down hard…

On his thumb.

Kendall howled, Rachel screamed, blood spurted.

“Oh, my God!” she shouted. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he managed to say through gritted teeth, but the jolt of pain shot up his arm and brought tears to his eyes. He dropped the hammer, which landed squarely on his foot.

He grunted, then lifted his injured foot to ease the pressure. Of all days not to wear steel-toed boots.