A Time To Give. Kathryn Shay
scurried back to the kitchen where the aroma of cooking meat and fresh bread permeated the air, contrary to the smell out in the dining area. Guests at shelters like this weren’t always clean. “One more,” she said and smiled at the older woman who dished up food in front of the huge industrial stove. “It’s for Ben.”
“Ah, that one. Let’s give him a hefty portion. He needs meat on his bones.”
He’s got nice meat on his bones already. Blushing at the thought, Emily transferred her gaze to the windows that lined the wall above the king-size dishwasher. More than once she’d checked out his bones. He wore tattered shirts and threadbare jeans, revealing the muscles beneath them—from the construction work he did, she guessed. Now that it was spring, those muscles were vividly defined beneath his T-shirts.
Sliding his plate and a dessert onto a tray, she hurried back to the table. Alice had served him milk and coffee, which he drank slowly, precisely, like he did everything. He seemed to savor each drop. “Here you go.” She set his meal in front of him.
He gave her what passed for a smile. “Thank you.”
She glanced around. “Can I sit with you a while?”
“All right.” As he ate, she studied him. His features were square cut and angular. Right now, his jaw sported about a two-day beard. In addition to being sexy, it was somewhat sinister. “You look tired, Emily,” he finally said, scrutinizing her face.
Another disagreement with her father. “Do I? I’m not sleeping well.”
He hesitated. “You’re not sick are you?”
“No. Family problems.” He glanced at her hand, her left hand, but said nothing.
“Are you married, Ben?”
He’d forked in a mouthful of meat and now he almost choked on it. The volunteers at Cassidy Place were friendly but they usually kept a professional distance from the guests.
He cleared his throat. “No, I’m not married.”
“Ever been?”
“No.” And then, he added, “Came close, though.” Still, he didn’t ask her.
“I was married. I’ve been divorced for almost three years.” And the breakup had done serious damage to her self-esteem. Sometimes when she tried to sleep at night, she could still hear Paul hurl insults at her, see his face suffused with disgust.
Again, Ben studied her. He ate some potatoes, then wiped his lips with his napkin. They were nice lips. “The divorce was tough?”
“That’s an understatement. You know, I just don’t understand intentional cruelty.”
“Me, either. Any kids?”
Her hand went to her stomach. “No, I…can’t. I wish we had some, though. I’d have a baseball team if I could.”
He laughed.
Emily cocked her head. “Why does the conversation always revert to me when I finally get you to talk?”
The corners of his mouth turned up. “Because you’re more interesting.”
“No way. Come on, tell me more about yourself. Do you have brothers or sisters? A father or mother living?”
“No. No living relatives.” He shook his head. “Alice need help tonight?”
She felt frustrated with the change of topic. “Probably with stacking the chairs and folding up the tables so the janitor can get in here tomorrow morning. He has a fit if that’s not done.”
From across the room, the one other guest left at a table yelled, “I need something here.”
She stood. “I’d better go talk to Hugo. He’s not very happy tonight.”
Ben nodded and looked back to his plate.
But when Emily rose and crossed the room, she could feel him watching her. Hmm, he was definitely different. And she liked him. She wished he’d pay more attention to her. Oh, well. The story of her life. She’d always wanted the attention of a mother, but hers had left home when Emily was five. For years, she’d craved more attention outside of work from her father. And, of course Paul, who’d walked out on her, had said outright she wasn’t worth anybody’s attention.
He was wrong, though. Emily was worth all of those things. She knew it, and she wondered if the man behind her, whom she’d been having these stilted conversations with for almost a year, would recognize it too. If he ever got to know her.
SURREPTITIOUSLY, BEN WATCHED her like a hawk. It was his only vice these days. Once every week, he allowed himself to feast on the sight of Emily Erickson. She had strawberry-blond hair, which right now escaped from her braid, and when she got close, he could see wisps framing her face, probably from the heat of the kitchen. She had the most flawless skin he’d ever seen, lips just a bit pouty, a cute nose…but it was her eyes that really got to him—they were a mixture of browns and greens and reminded him of a forest in the fall. As she walked away, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled.
He didn’t return it; instead, he shifted in the straight-back chair and picked up the newspaper to block her from his sight. Best not to encourage her. For almost a year, he’d been trying to keep his distance, though she’d done anything but cooperate and they’d gotten closer than was good for her. She was always sitting with him, asking him questions, paying extra attention to him. And too often he succumbed to spending time with her. Invariably he regretted it. When he was with her, Ben felt like a man starved for food, but when a banquet was set out in front of him, he was forbidden to eat. There was a time when he’d have gone after a woman like her with all he had, and gotten her, too. But that part of his life was over.
“Ain’t you got none left?” he heard Hugo, a regular, snap at her.
Ben looked over the top of the paper in time to see Emily step back. She seemed more vulnerable in the leotard and tights she wore under a filmy black skirt. She told him once that she took a dance class after her stint at the soup kitchen.
She spoke softly to Hugo, who then swore. Ben set down his paper and crossed the room.
He came up to them just as Emily let Hugo have it. “That language won’t be tolerated here. If you want to eat, you’ll behave yourself. Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can find more chicken for you.” She glanced at Ben, nodded and walked away.
He grinned safely behind her back; from beneath that cream-puff exterior, he’d often seen her tough side emerge. The contrast continually amazed him, and sometimes he wanted to plumb those depths—thoroughly.
Ben dropped into a chair. “Hey, Hugo, what’s going on?”
Desperate eyes leveled on him. Ben knew the expression intimately, had seen it in his mirror often over the past two years. “Aw, Ben, I didn’t mean to yell at that girl.” He shook his head then rubbed his hands over his eyes. “I wanna bring food to Josie, and Emily said they were done serving.”
“Cassidy Place doesn’t send home doggy bags, Hugo, you know that. Josie has to come here if she wants to eat.”
“She’s sick.” Translated, she’s either stoned or drunk.
Familiar with the latter, Ben laid a hand on Hugo’s bony shoulder. “There are free clinics to help her, man.”
Hugo’s body sagged beneath the old work shirt. “I dunno what to do.”
“Talk to Alice. She’s got names of places to help Josie.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“And apologize to Emily. She didn’t do anything to you.”
He returned to his seat before Emily came back, but he couldn’t focus on the paper. He was remembering when he’d needed one of those places that reformed drunks….
Ben had been