Taking Chances

Chapter 28

The next day, Ryan rapped gently on the door of the spare bedroom. Bec had been asleep for twelve-hours, and Ryan worried about her. There was no response to his knocks, so he opened the door and peered in. Bec was sleeping soundly. She reminded him of a bird tucked safely in its nest. She was beautiful.

It was mid-morning on the first Sunday of August. Ryan stepped into the bedroom and pulled back the curtains, letting sunlight fill the room. It had rained heavily last night and the world outside shined with reflected sunlight. Clean and wholesome. He then went into the kitchen and began making coffee. He boiled the water and ground the beans in his hand-mill.

Bec woke with sunlight on her face and the smell of coffee surrounding her. Thank goodness for that coffee smell, because she had a killer headache.

She looked around the room. Where am I? Panic burst in her stomach like a water-filled balloon breaking on the street. She stayed under the covers and ran her hands over her body. All her clothes were in place on her body. Had she crawled. There was no pain and no bruising, well aside from the pounding headache.

Bec sat up. Her winter coat was draped over the end of the bed and her socks were rolled and placed neatly on the floor. Swinging her legs off the bed, she knocked the bucket over with a clatter. No spew, lucky. She slipped on her socks and followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen.

Ryan stood at the counter in a pair of blue jeans and a white shirt. Bec felt relief and took a moment to take in Ryan's physique. His well-developed arms moved rhythmically as he poured hot water into a coffee cone.

Ryan sensed someone watching him. He looked up and saw Bec standing at the corner of the hallway. Her hair was messed up and she looked pale, as if she had a bad cold.

"Morning," he said. "You look like crap."

"Thanks." Bec's voice was raspy. It sounded like she had spent the night singing karaoke and smoking cigars. Ryan handed her a glass of water. She took it and gulped the water down. When she finished, Ryan explained briefly what had happened last night. Bec nodded her head, but Ryan wondered how much she really remembered.

"There's a fresh towel in the bathroom and some clothes. Nothing your size, I'm afraid, but they'll cover you up until the laundry is finished."

"Thank you," said Bec and she walked back down the hallway to find the bathroom.

"Last door on the left!" called Ryan.

Bec ran the shower and the room was soon full of steam, blessed steam. She stripped off her clothes. She could smell the sweat and booze on them and something else, vomit. I hope he didn't see me throw up.

She stepped into the shower and let the hot water run over her body. The steam helped clear her head. She stood there, under the stream of water, like a horse weathering in the rain.

When she got out, she found two white towels on the vanity. They were soft and fluffy. They felt good on her skin. Who'd have thought a man like Ryan would add softener to his laundry. There was a pile of clothes neatly folded. She put them on and laughed. She wore a flannel shirt that hung down to her knees and the jeans were baggy. She felt like a little kid playing dress-up with her wood-cutter father's clothes.

She ambled out to the kitchen. Ryan looked up and smiled. Bec melted inside. The sight of Ryan standing barefoot in tight jeans and white sweat shirt, in a beautiful kitchen, with coffee ready, was just too much for her hangover mind.