Page 24 of 7 Days and 7 Nights

Originally, she’d thought she was fixing up the house to sell and had imagined the proceeds as a kind of dowry she’d bring to her marriage to Dawg, her contribution to their life together. Now there would be no life together, and there was no reason to sell. She’d fix the house up for herself and maybe get one of those home equity loans so that she could see some of the world or go to college full-time. She’d spent her twenties running around wild, and most of her thirties taking care of her parents. It was more than time to start looking after herself like Dr. Olivia said.

JoBeth turned the baseball cap backward on her head to keep the brim out of her way and rolled up the bottoms of her overalls so they wouldn’t end up apple green. The smell of fresh paint battled the old, more familiar smells of cigarette smoke and medicine, vanquishing them in the same way the pretty pastel green drowned out the dingy undercoat of white.

She moved the ladder onto the dropcloth that lined the edges of the room and hooked on the aluminum paint tray. After climbing the first few rungs, she dipped her roller into the paint.

As she reached for the wall, the screen door creaked open, then slammed shut. Before she could turn, boots clumped across the hardwood floor and came to a stop behind her. She recognized the footsteps even before she heard Dawg’s voice.

“Hey, JoBeth.”

She didn’t turn or pause in her painting. She just tapped the excess paint off the roller and began to apply it to the wall.

“Need a hand?”

She extended the roller smoothly upward, then brought it back down. “No, thanks.”

“I, uh, just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine.” She lifted the roller out of the pan, reached for the wall without tapping off the extra paint, and felt a glob land on her cheek. The back of her free hand found the glob and turned it into a smear.

“It looks a lot bigger here without all your folks’ stuff in it.”

“Yep.” Hurt warred with anger, and JoBeth stoked the latter, afraid of what would happen if she showed the least bit of weakness. She needed Dawg out of here now, before she caved in and let him see just how miserable she was without him.

“Mind if I take a look around?”

“It’s a free country.”

She heard his boots clump down the adjoining hallway, heard a door creak open, and heard the sound grow muffled by carpet. With an iron grip on the roller, she continued spreading paint on the wall, keeping her movements slow and controlled until Dawg clumped back and stopped directly behind her.

“You’re sleeping on a mattress on the floor?”

“Um-hmm.”

"You’d rather sleep on the floor than stay with me?”

Feeling the crackle of his anger in the air about her, JoBeth set the roller in the pan and backed down the ladder. Once her feet touched the floor, she had no choice but to turn and meet his gaze. Schooling her paint-streaked features into a casual expression, she turned her face up to his. Dawg hadn’t bothered to mask his feelings, so she was forced to stare into his storm cloud of a face, all dark and seething with disbelief.

He ran a ham-sized hand through his hair and then shoved it into the pocket of his jeans. “I told you you could have my spare room until you got things taken care of here.”

“I don’t need your spare room when I have a perfectly good house sitting right here.” She inhaled the rugged spice of his aftershave and felt herself drawn to the massive body she knew so well. Alarmed, she pushed by him and came to a halt a good foot and a half away, where resisting him would be easier.

“But what about us, JoBeth? How can you walk away from three years?”

“I’m not the one turning my back on what we’ve had, Dawg Rollins.”

“Aw, honey.” He reached out toward her, clearly intending to scoop her up into one of his big, brawny embraces, the kind that had always made her feel so safe and protected. If she let him get his hands on her, she knew she’d be lost.

“Look, I’m sorry about the pie thing yesterday. I didn’t care for the way Emmylou was behaving, and I took it out on you. You have every right to rub up against anyone you want to.”

Dawg grunted and shook his head, but he didn’t tell her he didn’t want Emmylou, or that he was ready to settle down and get married.

“I’m too old to play games, Dawg. I love you, but I expect I’ll get over it.” She felt a tear slide down the side of her cheek to mingle with the apple green paint, and before she could stop it, another one slid through the mess.

“Aw, hell, JoBeth.” Dawg drew her into his arms and cradled her against the soft cotton T-shirt that stretched across his rock-hard chest.

For all his great strength, his touch was remarkably gentle. As unwilling as he was to make a commitment, he’d never been shy about showing his affection. She closed her eyes to hold back the longing when he placed a kiss on the top of her baseball cap and used his big fingers to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“Lord, but you are one hardheaded woman. I cannot for the life of me figure out why you are so hell-bent on getting married. It’s just words and a piece of paper, JoBeth. And you are tossing everything away to get them.”

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