Tool Belt Defender

“A new guy in town. His name is Alex Crawford.” Even saying his name created a pleasant pool of warmth in the pit of her stomach.

Layla released a wolf whistle. “I sold him the house. That man is pure sin walking. What? I’m married, not dead,” she exclaimed as the others looked at her. “I’m still allowed to look and admire.”

“He is easy on the eyes,” Brittany admitted, but she didn’t mention that she’d agreed to have dinner with him. There was no point when she had no intention of it being anything but a pleasant dinner between friends. Still, she couldn’t stop the small shiver of delight that worked through her as she thought about spending more time with him.

Dinner was a wild, chaotic affair with everyone talking over each other and plenty of laughter served all around. Brittany found herself once again counting her blessings that she had such a strong support system in her family.

Still, there was no question that when she saw the small smiles and secretive looks that flew from husband to wife, the touches that spoke of a deeper, lasting intimacy, a wistful ache filled her up inside.

Eventually she wanted what her brothers had found, a love that made a couple into something more, a commitment that was meant to last a lifetime. Even though she yearned for that, she didn’t think she was ready for it at this time in her life.

She still jumped at shadows, trembled when nobody talked on the phone. She didn’t particularly like the dark and knew it was going to take time for her to finally be one-hundred-percent healthy.

“Just think, within a couple of weeks I’ll be able to have you all over for a barbecue on my new deck,” Brittany said as the meal was winding down.

“I like my burger medium well and my beer ice-cold,” Jacob said. He shot a glance to Layla. “And my woman silent and naked.”

Layla snorted. “I have no problem with the naked part, but you know you aren’t ever going to make me into a silent woman.”

Once again everyone laughed and within minutes the men had returned to the great room while the women cleared the table. “One of these days we’re going to make them stay here and do the dishes while we go into the other room and relax,” Edie said as she began rinsing dishes and handing them to Peyton, who placed them in the dishwasher.

“You know they would do the dishes if any of you asked them to,” Brittany said.

Portia smiled. “And that’s exactly why we don’t ask them to. We all let them pretend to be the big macho men, but we also know that underneath all that bluster are pussycats with tender hearts.”

That perfectly described the Grayson men and someday Brittany wanted to find a man like her brothers, a man who could protect her against the world if she needed it and who would love her to distraction.

It was after dark when the gathering began to break up. Edie looped arms with Brittany as she walked out the front door. “You want to spend the night here?” she asked. “Maybe you’d sleep better here than you’ve been doing at home.”

The offer definitely held more than a little bit of appeal, but Brittany shook her head. “Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather go home.” It felt too much like going backward to spend the night here where she’d stayed for her months of recuperation.

“Are you sure you’re doing okay?” Edie asked. Benjamin and Edie had spent the most time with her after she’d been rescued. Edie had sat up with her many a night when she was afraid to sleep for fear of the nightmares that might plague her.

“Am I back to normal? No, but I’m doing okay.” She gave Edie a forced smile. “Logically I know that he’s dead and I have nothing more to fear, but emotionally I haven’t quite embraced the notion of safety just yet.”

Edie gave her a warm hug. “You never wanted to talk much about the time you were held, but you know if you ever need to talk I’m here for you.”

Brittany returned the hug. “I know. And now I’m going to head home and hope for a good night’s sleep.”

Minutes later as she drove home, she thought about those months she’d been held. She hadn’t shared a lot with her family about that time, not wanting to burden them with the details. Although physically she hadn’t been molested or beaten, the mental abuse had been horrific.

The Professional had made sure she’d had enough water and food to stay alive, but he’d taunted her with all the terrible things he was going to do to her. Each time the door to the shed had swung open, she’d feared that it was the moment of her death, a horrible and painful death.

And in that place of fear, in that horrible space of abject terror, Brittany had found the utter darkness in her heart, the depth of her shame.

“But you’re going to be fine,” she said aloud as she gripped the steering wheel more firmly. The danger was over and life could only get better and better from this minute onward.

What she didn’t understand was why no matter how many times she told herself this, no matter how badly she wanted to believe it, there was still a part of her that was terrified that the bad times weren’t over yet.

The house was clean, Emily had gone to spend the night with Rose, and the steaks were marinating and ready to pop in the broiler. Everything was ready for dinner with Brittany, except that Alex was more nervous than he had been in a very long time.

He’d spent the day at her house working on the deck with Buck and Gary but Brittany had kept herself scarce, only coming out once in the afternoon to bring them all lemonade.

He now glanced at his watch. Almost six-thirty. She should be here anytime now and he told himself it was ridiculous to be so nervous about a simple dinner with a friend.

A friend, that’s all she was going to be, he told himself. A beautiful friend with eyes he wanted to drown in, with a tragic past he wished he could fix. Jeez, he needed to get his emotions where she was concerned under control.

Still, when the doorbell rang he nearly jumped out of his skin. He opened the door and the sight of her instantly calmed his nerves. She looked lovely in a pair of brown slacks and a yellow blouse that enhanced the darkness of her hair and eyes. She also looked nervous and that strangely put him at ease. She clutched her purse tightly to her chest and her smile was tentative.

“No need to look so terrified. I promise I won’t bite,” he said.

Her features relaxed and her smile grew more natural. “I know it’s crazy, but I am feeling a bit nervous,” she admitted.

“It doesn’t sound crazy. I was feeling the same way just a minute ago.” He gestured her toward the living room. “Maybe a glass of wine will make us both relax.”

“That sounds nice,” she agreed.

He walked her through the living room and into the kitchen where the table was already set for two and a salad and a loaf of warmed French bread sat in the center.

“Where’s Emily?” she asked as he gestured her into one of the chairs at the table.

“I packed her off to Rose’s for the night.” He pulled a bottle of red wine from the refrigerator and smiled. “I love my daughter to distraction, but sometimes I get hungry for adult conversation. Besides, she and Rose have been working on some intricate 3-D puzzle at Rose’s house. Lately I’ve had trouble keeping Emily home.”

He poured them each a glass of wine and then carried hers to the table. “And now the most important question of the night—how do you like your steak?”

She set her purse on the floor next to her chair and took the wineglass from him. “Medium.”

He placed the steaks in the oven and then joined her at the table, and for a moment an awkward silence descended, broken when they both started to say something at the same time.

“Sorry,” she said with a small laugh. “I was just going to say that it was my sister-in-law who sold you this house.”

“Layla? She’s a nice woman,” he replied.

“She talks a lot,” Brittany replied with a small grin.

Alex laughed and felt the ice breaking between them. “Yeah, even Emily said that Layla was a bit of a chatterbox, and if that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black I don’t know what is.”

Brittany laughed and then took a sip of the wine and eyed him soberly over the rim of the glass. “It must be hard, to be a man raising a little girl.”

“It has its moments,” he agreed. “It took me months to learn to paint her fingernails to her approval and I still can’t get the hang of a French braid. Actually, I’m lucky that she’s a great kid and is very patient with me.”

“I could help you out with the French-braid thing,” she replied.

“Emily would be ecstatic.”

She nodded and took another sip of the wine. “The deck seems to be coming along faster than I’d expected.”

“There’s still a lot to do. Getting the floor down is the easy part. The railings and finish work take a bit longer.”