Taking a Chance. Janice Johnson Kay
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Jo moderated her voice. “Not permanently. I just…whacked myself.”
“Oh.” Ginny cocked her head at the sound of her mother’s footsteps on the stairs.
“So, what do you do at recess?”
The solemn gaze returned to her. “I stay in if Teacher lets me.”
Jo sank back on her heels. “You stay in?” she asked incredulously. She could remember how much she’d longed to be outside, pumping herself so high on the swing that she momentarily became weightless, or skipping rope with friends to nonsensical songs that still had to be sung perfectly.
Ginny’s face showed no expression. “Kids make fun of me.”
Jo frowned. “Have you told the teacher? Or your mom?”
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
“Why not what?” Helen asked from the doorway, her voice dull, as if she had to force herself to ask. She often sounded that way. Jo wanted to shake her sometimes and say, Wake up! But what did she know about grief?
Knowing Helen wouldn’t care enough to be suspicious, Jo improvised quickly. “I asked why she isn’t wearing overalls and leather gloves and a tool belt, since she’s a carpenter now.”
A tiny smile flickered on the pale face, whether at Jo’s attempt at humor or because she’d kept Ginny’s confession confidential, Jo didn’t know.
“Heck, maybe we should get her one.” Helen gave a rare smile, too, her hand resting lightly on her daughter’s head. “She’ll grow up an expert on how to do all this stuff.” Her voice became heavier. “I don’t want Ginny ever to feel helpless, about anything.”
“Well, she’ll learn right along with us,” Jo said heartily. “Right, kid?”
Very still under her mother’s hand, Ginny said nothing.
Jo took a deep breath and pried again at the board. It groaned and squealed in protest. She braced her feet and used her full weight to wrench upward. It snapped free and she landed on her butt just as the doorbell rang.
“Jo! Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She picked herself up. “You’d better go get that. It might be Kathleen with her hands full.”
She flipped the board over and hammered. The nail popped out, and she started on the next.
Should she tell Helen what Ginny had said about recess and the other kids taunting her? Or was that betraying a confidence?
Oh, damn! Why had the little mouse confided in her?
“You look like you’re pounding meat,” an amused male voice commented. “I think it’s already tender.”
Ryan. Of course.
Jo focused on the board, where a deep indentation showed that the hammer had more than pushed the nail out. “I was brooding,” she said, before oh-so-casually glancing up.
Damn, she thought again. He was gorgeous, even if he was a slacker.
A smile deepened creases in his cheeks and crinkled the skin beside his eyes. Today he wore jeans again and a gray T-shirt that bared nicely developed muscles in his upper arms.
He must have a girlfriend.
“About what?”
“Oh…” She thought fast. “Just about school. Nothing earth-shattering.”
“Speaking of which…” Ryan crouched beside her. “You must have a real problem for Kathleen to relent and call me.”
“I insisted.” Jo gestured with the hammer. “Behold the rot.”
He did, and grunted. “Why am I not surprised?”
“I can cut up sheets of plywood and replace the subfloor, but real plumbing is beyond me.”
He smelled good, she was disconcerted to realize. Or maybe she was disconcerted to have noticed. She caught a hint of sweat, aftershave and something else warm and male.
Jo scowled, but he didn’t notice. He was frowning, too, as he studied the exposed pipes.
“Can you tell what’s wrong?” she asked.
He grunted again. “What isn’t? I’ve been telling Kathleen the pipes all need replacing. Look at the corrosion.”
Every pipe she could see was rusty and wet. “Can you replace them?”
The frown still furrowing his brows, he looked at her. “I can, but it’s going to be a big job.”
Her hand felt slick where it gripped the hammer. She had to tear her gaze from his thighs, as well-muscled as his arms, the denim tight over them.
Jo took a deep breath. “We don’t have a shower until we get this bathroom done.”
Oh, lord. Did she smell?
If so, he didn’t seem to mind. Forehead still creased, his expression no longer looked like a frown. He was studying her with disconcerting intentness, his eyes smoky, darkening…
A bumping sound gave away the presence of someone else. Ryan jerked and swung around. “Hummingbird!” he said, voice gentle and friendly, his smile so easy, Jo was sure she’d imagined the moment of peculiar tension. “You’re helping?”
“Yes, I am,” the little girl said solemnly, her big eyes taking in the two adults, her thoughts inscrutable.
Ryan rose with an athletic ease that Jo envied. She was beginning to feel as if her knees would creak and crack when she stood.
“Oh, dear.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ve been sitting here like a slug, not getting anything done. I don’t have another load for you yet.”
Helen stuck her head in. “Has Ryan figured out our problem yet?”
“Ryan figured it out before his sister made an offer on this house,” he said dryly. “She just didn’t want to hear it.”
“You didn’t think she should buy it?” Jo asked in surprise. “It’s a great house.”
“Yeah, it is,” he agreed. “Given real estate prices in Seattle, what she paid was fair, too. She just didn’t want to recognize that the place was a bargain because it needed so much work. She figured she could get by with cosmetic fix-ups. A little paint, maybe eventually a new roof…” He shrugged. “It was built in 1922. The wiring hasn’t been updated since about 1950, and the plumbing needs to be completely replaced.”
He looked and sounded exasperated.
“If she can’t afford it…” Jo said tentatively.
Through gritted teeth, he answered, “She should let me do it.”
It was hard to engage in any kind of meaningful debate when you were squatting at a man’s feet, but Jo didn’t let that stop her. “Don’t you admire her independence?”
“Sure I do.” His mouth twisted. “But I’m not Ian. Her ex,” he added as an aside. “Why can’t her pride handle a little help from her brother?”
Helen’s face showed the same struggle Jo felt—sympathy for both points of view.
“How would you feel if Kathleen was trying to help you out financially?” Jo asked.
“I’d take the damn check, if my kids depended on it,” he said brusquely. Then he gave a faint laugh. “Sorry. It’s not your fault that Kathleen and I butt heads. I’m just glad that you apparently do have some construction skills.”
She felt an absurd glow of pleasure at the compliment. Some women wanted to be told that they were beautiful. She apparently reveled in being praised for competence.
Perhaps,