Sweet and Salty (Marshall My Heart #1)

21. Chapter Twenty-One

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

J esse

Marie Marshall was right about one thing.

The roof of my shack does not survive the hail storm.

I stand in the driveway, my feet sinking into the mud my truck barely managed, and stare up at the lopsided cabin. It’s a good thing I don’t have much in the way of possessions, since they are now either water-logged or pummeled by tennis-ball-sized hailstones.

There is a massive, heart-wrenchingly exhausting cleaning ahead of me, but for some reason, I don’t care.

That’s not true. I know what the reason is. Sleeping in Laura’s house, being that close to her, waking up early enough this morning to make her coffee before I left to see to the ruins of my own place—that’s enough to make me feel like everything is going to be okay.

The fact that the sun is out this morning for what feels like the first time in three months helps, too. I’m going to need a UV lamp to survive the winter blues, that’s for sure.

Not that I’m going to spend the winter here. Though, if I were, Laura’s house has all the comforts needed to–

Seriously. Rein it in, Jesse.

My phone buzzes with a reminder that the hardware store is closed today. Thank goodness for Sundays, although maybe I should see if I can find the Lutheran church after I’ve cleaned up some of the wreckage. Hot ham and rolls sounds mighty fine.

I pause on my way into the house, halfway up the steps Rory Marshall helped me to fix. Mighty fine? Hot ham and rolls? Who am I and what am I thinking? I’m not a local.

Distance. I need distance, even if the thought of distance from Laura Marshall makes my chest ache in a way that no man over forty should think about without visiting a cardiologist.

“Here be dragons,” I mumble. I force myself to walk into the house and survey the wreckage.

Having lived in the South for my entire life, I’m pretty used to Mother Nature’s destructive tendencies. Still, it is a unique form of torture to walk into a place that was starting to feel…if not like home, then something approximating it. Like a college dorm, a place you have some fond feelings toward, but know will never be permanent so you don’t care if you poke holes in the walls.

The hail had done more than poke holes. The cabin isn’t large to start with. It’s maybe about eight hundred square feet, divided into a sitting room/kitchen and bedroom with a small bathroom. I can’t even fit a queen-sized mattress into the bedroom, so my full-sized pillow top—my one extravagance— lies in a puddle of water on the bedroom floor beside the sunken-in cardboard boxes I was using as bedside tables. In the sitting room, the ancient couch Moe gifted me is covered in melting hailstones of variable sizes.

If anything, that makes me feel even more like shit. Moe’s gift was unexpected and kind, and now I have a molding couch to thank him.

Whatever. There is no magic wand to clean up this mess, just me and a massive box of trash bags.

I’ve already filled one when I hear a car sputter in the mud outside. Holding the black heavy-duty bag in one hand, I step onto the porch, only to see four Marshalls step out of the sheriff’s SUV: Rory; Davey; Frannie; and Laura.

“Wow, this place is more of a dump than you prepped us for,” Frannie says, elbowing Laura in the side. Frannie’s eyes twinkle. “Watch out for rusty nails, Davey.”

“Do not touch rusty nails, Davey,” Rory admonishes. “Are there rusty nails, Jesse? Keep my son away from them.”

Laura rolls her eyes. “You’ve been here before, and the rain only just happened. Nothing will have rusted, and I bought my nephew toddler work boots. He’ll be fine.”

“I’m not a toddler, Auntie Laura.” Davey wipes his arm across his nose. “I’m in kindergarten.”

Laura ruffles his hair. “I know, hon. You’re growing so big and strong.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Rory grumbles. He turns toward me. “Are you going to get off your high horse now and stay with my sister? I mean, you can’t live in this dump now. You’ll get black mold, and trust me, our mom has shown us pictures and you do not want that in your lungs.”

“Rory!” Laura hisses.

Frannie tosses her head back and laughs. “He’s right, Laura. Black mold is the worst. Though not nearly as bad as leishmaniasis.”

“What’s leash man assist?” Davey asks. I hide my laugh behind a closed fist.

Frannie kneels beside him and whispers something in his ear that makes the kindergartner’s eyes go wide as flying saucers. Rory rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Fran. He’ll never sleep again. When are you leaving again?”

Frannie elbows him playfully. “You’re welcome, big brother.”

“I’m on duty tonight, but aren’t you babysitting? He can hide out in your room when he has leishmaniasis nightmares.” Rory stares up at me again. “Do we need a dumpster? I’ll call and get one delivered.”

The entire thing sets me off-kilter. I open and close my mouth several times, unable to form words.

“Aww, you’ve made him speechless—or more speechless than usual.” Laura walks up the steps and passes me to examine the remains of the cabin. “Wow, this place needs to be rebuilt from the ground up. Better call for two dumpsters, Rory.”

The five of us work steadily for the next several hours, only stopping for one half-hour break for sandwiches that Laura made and some very important piggyback riding time for Davey. After about two hours, Rory sets his son in the cab of his SUV with a tablet and a small cellophane bag of cookies from Laura’s bakery, while the rest of us keep working.

“The Drydens had better reimburse us,” Frannie says, her voice dark as she heaves soggy roof tiles into the dumpster that had arrived.

“They’re footing the bill,” Rory replies. “I talked to Clara.”

Laura shakes her head. Her hair is tied back in another one of her rainbow-colored headscarves, and the gray T-shirt she’s wearing has “Running On” and the chemical compound for sugar printed on it in bright pink. She looks incredible and has barely glanced my way in the past three hours. So much for thinking we had a moment last night. Was it wise to sleep in her room? No. Is it wise to ruminate over it for hours while cleaning out my house with her siblings? Also no.

Check ten thousand on the list of Jesse’s Bad Decisions.

Rory cracks his back and stares out of the house to check on his son. “At least these steps are holding up.”

“Only because you helped me with them,” I say, picking up a large pile of my soggy clothes and putting them into a trash bag. There is a laundromat south of here. I’ll take them there and dry them.

“We have to get out of here,” Frannie says. “Mom’s expecting us for dinner. Are you coming, Jesse? Laura can give you a lift.”

“No.” I have zero intentions of spending another Sunday evening seeing everything I’ve ever wanted and knowing I will never have it. I’m not exactly a masochist. “I thought I’d try to revive these in the laundromat down in Appleton and maybe get a hotel for the night while I figure out my next move.” I also have no idea what that next move should be.

“Stop.” Laura picks up my trash bag full of clothes and carries it down to my truck. “Get in the car and drive over to my house. You’ll stay in the apartment over the garage. The keys are under the dead African violet.”

“It’s dead?!” Frannie says in mock frustration. “Laura, I thought you would take better care of my gift.”

Laura rolls her eyes, the amusement in her infectious. I want to be the one making her smile. “It’s not my fault I’m better with animals than plants, Frannie.” She turns to me, her genuine enthusiasm rolling off her in waves. “Make yourself at home.”

Hmm. It solves a number of problems for me, not the least of which is wondering if the roads from here to Appleton are even passable. I don’t really have money for a hotel for more than one night, and though I am a DIY newbie, I’m pretty certain it takes longer than a few hours to fix a roof.

Besides, this time Laura is asking me for herself. It isn’t a sideways invitation from her brother. Like a damned fool, I can’t stay away from her. Maybe this proximity will be enough to feed my addiction. Or cure it.

“Okay.” I run my hand through my hair and don’t miss the glint of amusement in her eyes. I haven’t realized I did it that often, but I like that she notices. “Thank you, Laura. I really appreciate everything you and your family are doing for me.”

“Oh, yeah.” Frannie loops an arm around her sister’s shoulders and bumps a hip with hers. “Laura is just being neighborly.”