losing his mind to some weirdness Marcus had planted there. He tried easing his tone, no matter that it felt like he was backing away from something important, something she actually needed. He gestured to her. “C’ mere. I have something for you.”
He liked seeing the curiosity in her eyes. With how quiet she was, some people thought she wasn’t smart. But since she’d started working here, she’d learned everything about running his family’s hardware and general store. She knew where every item was and could give helpful guidance to customers, whether it was about how much grain to feed a horse, or what kind of tool was needed for a home or farm repair.
When they’d decided to employ her, at first they thought she wasn’t going to work out. She wouldn’t ask them any questions, though she was clearly anxious and frustrated when she didn’t know something. Then Thomas told her straight out, “Daralyn, the more questions you ask, the more you learn from Rory and me, or Mom, the better you’ll be at this.”
She’d mulled that over, a frown creasing her brow. “I’ll be more helpful to you?”
Thomas started to speak, and Rory knew he was going to assure her she’d have a job no matter what, but some part of him knew that fear wasn’t why she was asking the question. Rory spoke up before his older brother got it out.
“Yes. Tons more helpful.”
She hadn’t hesitated to ask a question ever since.
As Rory leaned back to reach behind the counter, her gaze slid over his upper body, the stretch of his T-shirt over his chest and shoulders. Even though she was quick to turn her eyes elsewhere when she noted his attention, her cheeks pinkened.
Gaining weight and spread was almost inevitable when a guy ended up in a chair, so much so the first wheelchair was often made wider to allow for it. He’d been an athlete before his accident. Over time, he’d built himself back to prime shape through adaptive sports, lifting at the gym, and religious dedication to the fucking hell of never-ending PT. He was never gladder for his commitment to all that than when he saw her sneaking those looks.
He had a recumbent bike he operated with his arms, and his weekly workouts included marathons on the county roads. Neighbors would shout encouragement as he passed their homes. His few old high school buddies who still lived in the area would come by in their pickups and razz him, pretend like they were going to nudge him off into a ditch.
Fuck, he loved those guys.
“Since you’ll be at school from four to nine,” he said to her, “you’ll need dinner.”
“You made me dinner?” Her eyes widened.
He snorted. “Yeah, if I wanted to poison you. Mom made it. I provided the lunch box.”
His mother was a feeder, and she liked to cook. She particularly liked to feed Daralyn, who’d been skin and bones when she’d come to them. She’d filled out some, in nice ways, but she was still an indifferent eater.
He’d figured out at least one food she liked, though. His contribution to the lunch box was three miniature Reese’s peanut butter cups. He’d tucked them next to the small container of soup and half a sandwich on homemade bread. Mom would have given her way more, but they’d all learned they couldn’t give Daralyn too much. It seemed to overwhelm her, and she’d eat nothing. But she’d tackle small amounts.
She’d find out about the contents later. Right now she was enchanted by the lunch box.
“Holly Hobbie,” she said, cradling the beat-up 1979 metal container. “Where did you find it?”
“Greenwald Reardon’s place.” Greenwald ran an old antique and junk shop off the interstate.
“I love it.” She gazed at the blue bonneted girl in a patchwork dress, standing in a field, holding a fistful of feathery wheat grass. “Thank you. I’ll be sure and thank your mother for making me dinner. That was really nice.”
Her smile was what had convinced Rory that Daralyn was an angel. It lit up every dark place he had inside him. As she took the box from his hands, he made sure their fingers brushed, just to feel the little quiver in them, see the quick flick of her lashes toward him.
His feelings weren’t a saving-the-damsel-in-distress thing, either. Hell, sometimes he wanted to drop on his knees to her, feel her arms around him, because he was pretty damn sure she’d survived something none of the rest of them