Page 23 of Freeing Ruby

“Watching her reminds me of what’s missing in my life—a partner, a child. When I was a kid—before I lost my mom—I always assumed I’d have those things one day, but now I can’t see it happening.”

“You don’t know that,” I say.

A shadow crosses over her blue eyes. “Who would put up with a recluse like me?”

Plenty of men would, I want to say. I have no doubt men would be beating down her door if they knew she existed. Darren’s certainly trying his best to ingratiate himself with her. “Ruby, you’re an amazing young woman. I’m sure—”

“I’m a paranoid mental case.”

“No, you’re not. Who gave you that idea?”

Her cheeks flush. “How about from my own father?”

“Well, he’s wrong.” Impulsively, I reach out and grab her hand. “Don’t believe him.” I glance down at her hand resting in mine. This time she doesn’t pull away. I notice her ring—the square-cut ruby. “Tell me about your ring.” I have a feeling it holds special meaning for her. After all, it’s a ruby. That’s no coincidence.

She smiles sadly. “It was my mother’s ring. Rubies were her favorite gemstone.” She laughs softly. “I guess that’s why she named me Ruby. After she died, I asked for the ring.” She gazes down at it. “I never saw my mom take this ring off, not once. I don’t either. It helps me feel connected to her.”

My heart aches for Ruby. I can’t imagine the pain she must feel. “Ruby—”

Abruptly, she tugs her hand free. “I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work now.” She takes a few steps back. “I’m so far behind schedule.”

As she walks away, I say, “I’ll see you at lunch, right? You’ve got to eat.”

She nods but doesn’t say anything. Pumpkin jumps down from the sofa and hurries after her.

I know how he feels. I don’t like watching her walk away either.

I’m tempted to go after her, to make up some lame excuse for needing to talk to her, but I know I shouldn’t distract her when she needs to work. So I grab a cold drink from the fridge and get comfortable on the sofa. I can’t stop thinking about what she said—about wanting a family of her own and thinking it’s impossible. She has no idea how mistaken she is. Any man would feel damn lucky to be in her life.

My chest tightens when I realize I’d put myself in that category.

Chapter 10

Ruby

I’m a coward for running off the way I did. But it was just too much when he held my hand. My body lit up like a Christmas tree—shivers and tingles radiated up my arm and throughout my body.

Once I’m sitting at my worktable, I clip the reference photo for my new commission—a long-haired calico cat named Marcy—and stare at the blank canvas. I brush a basecoat onto the little four-inch square canvas before I dip my flat brush into an off-white paint that’s going to be the background. But instead of putting paint to the canvas, I end up staring out the window at the trees across the parking lot.

The weather started off really nice this morning, but now I see storm clouds rolling in from the west. I hope it rains. I love summer showers, especially when there’s lightning—as long as we don’t lose electricity. Bad weather makes me appreciate my apartment. At least in here I am safe and dry.

I gaze down at the ring on my right hand. My hand still tingles from when Miguel held it in his. I can’t believe I told him about my yearning for a family of my own. I’ve never told anyone that. I’ve never even spoken those words aloud. What in the world possessed me to tell him of all people?

He has that effect on me. I feel safe telling him things because I know he won’t use them against me. It’s just not in his nature. I’ve only known him for forty-eight hours, and yet I feel like I know him. That I can trust him.

I think this is what it’s like to have a friend.

Pumpkin jumps up onto my work table and swishes his tail around with such enthusiasm he almost knocks my water jar over. “Whoa, buddy!” I steady the jar in time to prevent a disaster.

“All right, concentrate,” I tell myself. “Get back to work and quit mooning over—just focus, Ruby!”

But no matter how hard I try, part of my mind is fixated on the guy in the other room. I keep wondering what he’s doing—he’s probably on his laptop or his phone, or maybe reading. I can’t help thinking how lucky any woman would be to have someone like him in her life.

I dip my brush into the off-white paint and start dabbing it on the canvas.

Sometime later, when my stomach starts growling, I leave my studio and head for the kitchen. Miguel’s sitting at the dining table, doing something on his laptop.

“Time for lunch,” I say. “How about turkey and cheese sandwiches?”

---