Forbidden Falls (Virgin River #9)(20)

“Oh, right away. I’ll bring money and my stuff tomorrow. It’ll just take one trip. Can I have a little time in the morning to unload the car? I’d like to do it when Mr. Hands is at work. I plan to avoid him.”

“What about the duplex?” he asked.

“That nice lady next door owns it. She’ll let me go without a problem. She understands my situation. She’s on my side.”

“You can move in one trip?” he asked, looking at her car.

She turned to look at him. “Noah, the kids have their clothes and toys with them. I have very little to move. Believe me, I live a one-trip existence.”

“My car is full of stuff,” Ellie said to Noah when she arrived at the church the next morning. Then she crouched in front of Lucy, grabbed her head in her hands and kissed her snout, receiving a lick in return. “Morning, girlfriend. You’re looking better every day.” Then to Noah, “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to take an hour to tote it up the stairs to my new residence. I just want to wait until Mr. Fitch has gone to work.”

“Ellie,” he asked, “did you leave anything behind? Or in storage somewhere?”

“Nah, that’s it. I travel light. So, what’s on the schedule for today?”

He tried not to let it show that he felt something cinch in his chest at the very idea she could fit all her worldly goods in the little PT Cruiser she drove. Up until he married, while working and going to school, he’d had next to nothing, but that was different. He liked having a light load; it was all part of the changes he wanted to make in his life. But Ellie had a family! What about her grandmother’s house, her grandmother’s furniture—the pullout sofa and piano? But asking about that would have to wait. He said, “Well, I’d like you to get started painting the bathrooms today, if you think you can do it.”

“Of course I can do it. I should probably change clothes. Around nine, I’ll go move my stuff, but I’ll wait till later to put it away. I’ll grab something old and ratty to put on and get started. You have the paint?”

“Some yellow, some white, some blue. Can you work with that?”

She made a face. “How were you planning to use them? One blue bathroom, one yellow, white trim? Because that’s very boring.”

He looked at her long fingernails. Today was hot pink with sparkles. He looked down—she was wearing tennis shoes, but somehow he knew her toes matched her nails. Against his better judgment he said, “Use it any way you like.”

“Good deal. Do you have any masking tape? Any caulking?”

“Yes, why?”

“Straight lines and edges. Just out of curiosity, how’d you settle on those colors?”

“They were on sale,” he said.

She shifted her weight to one foot. “Have you ever actually had a church before?”

“Not exactly.”

“Listen, I’ll make something work with those colors. Even though they’re pretty dorky colors….”

He had a fleeting thought that this was not the woman to be lecturing him about good taste in anything. “Aren’t you the least bit afraid I might take that personally? Maybe I’m sensitive about the colors I picked.”

“No,” she said, tilting her head and peering at him. “You’re not g*y.”

He smiled at her. “You sure about that?”

And she smiled, her hands on her hips. “Obviously. Or you’d have chosen more interesting colors.”

He sighed heavily. He watched her walk toward the upstairs bathroom in her shrink-wrap jeans. He squinted. He followed, Lucy ever at his side. She had a tattoo peeking out of the back of her low-rise jeans, right in the small of her back. “I…ah…have an old painting shirt you can throw over your clothes, if you’d like. Would that help?”

“Sure, thanks. After I get my stuff out of the car, I’ll put on my old sweats. You have all the supplies for me to get started?”

“Stacked outside the bathroom in the hall.”

“Super. I’ll start up here and, when I’m done, I can move it downstairs. Let me check it out, make sure you have everything I’ll need.” She knelt on one knee, checking out the supplies, showing more of that tattoo, but he still wasn’t able to make out what it was. She looked over her shoulder. “Noah, can you round up the masking tape and caulk? And get me a screwdriver and hammer, please?”

“Screwdriver? Hammer?”

“I’m going to take the door and mirror off. Open paint cans.”

“By yourself?” he asked. “Want me to help with that?”

“No. Just get me what I need.”

“Sure,” he said. But he stood there, his eyes riveted on that tattoo.

She looked over her shoulder again. “It’s called a tramp stamp,” she said. “I got it when I was fifteen, to be cool.”

“I know what it’s called. I just can’t make out what it is.”

“It’s vines in the shape of my name, and I’m not showing you any more of it. Let’s get this show on the road, huh?”

“Right,” he said, going off to his toolbox. And he thought, I’m taking orders from her. Why am I not the least bit surprised?

After he delivered what she asked for, she completely ignored him, so he took Lucy to his office. He heard Ellie humming, moving around the drop cloth, pounding at the hinges to remove the door. She didn’t ask questions, nor did she need any help with the heavy door or with the mirror over the sink. He could hear her peeling off strips of masking tape for the borders. Completely self-sufficient and low maintenance. That’s what a good pastor’s assistant was, whether painting or managing the office. Now, that did surprise him.