“She sold her piano, gave the money to charity and never played again.”
CHAPTER NINE
Two days later, Dusty came home to chocolate cake from Consuelo and cheers from the students. Paige clung to his side as if terrified of losing her beloved grandpa again. Even the dog, usually a calm animal, went wild with joy.
By the following day, the routine was in place. For the next couple of weeks, the old man was under orders not to ride, lift anything heavier than a spoon or exert himself in any way. He could walk around the house and ranch, but his lectures would be given in the living room or from a chair on the front porch.
Having Dusty available to teach freed up both Kira’s time and Jake’s. With Kira supervising the horse activities, Jake returned part-time to his original task—cleaning out the storage shed. He’d left things in a mess—items piled outside and half the shed’s contents left to sort. With a chance of rain in the forecast for next week, he needed to get the good items out of the way of the weather. After a morning with the horses, he set aside the afternoon to put things in better order. Dusty had told him where to find a low-sided open trailer behind the barn. Jake had used the Jeep to haul it to the spot where he’d piled the trash from the shed. When it was full, he would empty it at the nearest landfill and come back for more.
The work was pleasant enough. He liked being out here alone with nobody to bother him. And the task gave his thoughts freedom to wander. The only trouble was, they kept wandering to Kira.
Only now, after hearing the story about the piano and the plane crash, did he feel that he was beginning to understand her. In her own way, Kira was as guilt-driven as he was. The three people closest to her had died violent deaths because she had altered their timing. The plane crash hadn’t been her fault. It had been a tragic accident, just like the wreck that had killed Wendy. But Kira would go on blaming herself, probably for the rest of her life.
His own way of coping with pain and guilt was to run—to keep moving, with no ties to anything or anyone. Kira’s way was to hold everything in, to guard her emotions, controlling not only herself but everything around her.
He’d glimpsed a different Kira the night he’d held her in his arms—soft, vulnerable, even passionate. Part of him wanted to know that side of her better. But he’d known all along that a relationship between them wouldn’t work. Now, at least, he understood why.
Forcing the thought aside, Jake tried to focus on his work. Twenty minutes later, he was making good progress when he sensed a presence behind him. Even before he turned to look, he knew it was Paige.
“Hi, Mister Jake.” She held out a peanut butter cookie and a cold root beer. Her expression would have melted any frozen heart, but Jake, knowing what had to be done, gave her a scowl.
“What are you doing out here?” he growled. “Don’t you have better things to do than bother me?”
Tears glimmered in her big brown eyes. “I was lonesome,” she said. “I thought maybe you needed a treat.”
“Where’s Kira?” he asked.
“She’s in her office talking to a boy. Grandpa’s taking a nap, and Consuelo’s watching her TV show. Nobody’s got time for me.”
“Looks like you’ve got Tucker.” The dog had come up beside her and was eyeing the cookie in her hand.
“Tucker can’t talk. And I want to be with you. Why don’t you like me anymore, Mister Jake?”
He had to hand it to the kid. She knew how to stab him right through the heart.
“It’s not that I don’t like you,” he said. “It’s just that this isn’t a good place for a little girl, out here with all this junk and a scruffy old bum like me.”
“‘Bum’ is a naughty word, Mister Jake. That’s what Consuelo says.” Her gaze was reproachful.
“Sorry,” Jake said. “You can see that I’m not fit company for a proper young lady like you.”
The dog chose that unguarded moment to snatch the cookie out of her hand. With a snap of his jaws, the cookie was gone.
“Bad dog!” Paige scolded the creature with a wagging finger. “Sorry,” she said to Jake. “I can get you another one.”
“Tell you what,” Jake said. “I’ll take the root beer, and you go back into the house. Find yourself something to do. You mustn’t be out here.”
“But why?” She thrust the soda toward him, her eyes brimming once more.
He took the can. “Because I said you mustn’t. Now get going.”
“That’s not fair!” She wheele
d and stalked toward the house, the dog at her heels. Jake sighed as he drained the soda can. His daughter was a little spitfire, as adorably strong-willed as Wendy had been. It had damn near killed him to send her away, but it had to be done.
Steeling his resolve, he waded back into the work of clearing the shed, grabbing furniture, boxes, souvenirs and old machine parts that hadn’t seen daylight in decades. Next in front of him, standing on end, was an old mattress and box spring set. He could see holes where mice had chewed through the cover. They were probably nesting inside, raising generations of mouse families. Maybe he could drag the pieces out of the shed and onto the trailer without disturbing them too much. Then the little vermin would get a free ride to the happy kingdom of the trash dump.
The mattress was heavy and floppy. Sweating with effort, he dragged it onto the trailer. No mice. Relieved, Jake wiped his forehead with the back of his glove. At least the box spring, which had a rigid frame, should be easier to move.