Nick and Derek had completed the unloading of their pickup trucks and set up his bed in the master bedroom by the time Nick’s dad drove the U-Haul into the driveway. Nick hurried out of the house as his dad helped his mom from the cab. He gave each a quick hug and didn’t say they looked exhausted. He figured they knew that.
“Did you stop to get something to eat?” he asked as he stepped back from his mom.
“Yes. Around Twin Falls.”
Hearing footsteps on gravel, he glanced over his shoulder. “This is my friend Derek Johnson. Derek, my parents, Rocky and Tricia.”
Derek shook hands with Nick’s father and greeted his mother warmly.
“Let’s get you over to the inn.” Nick gestured toward his truck. “You can get a good night’s sleep and be rested before tomorrow.”
“Are you sure you don’t need any help before we go?” his mom asked. “We’ve hardly said hello.”
He heard the dread in her voice. She wanted nothing so much as a hot bath and an early night. He couldn’t blame her. “I’m sure, Mom. We’ll spend plenty of time with each other tomorrow.”
Relief washed over her face.
“Where’s your luggage? We’ll get it into my pickup and have you to the inn in no time.”
He was as good as his word. In less than ten minutes, he was on the road, driving toward the Inn at Thunder Creek, Derek about five minutes ahead of him. By the time he and his parents arrived, Derek and Brooklyn awaited them on the front porch of the inn. More introductions were exchanged, then Brooklyn escorted Nick’s mom inside, the three men following behind.
Nick waited until his parents had been shown to their guest room, then gave them both another hug and said he would see them in the morning. “It doesn’t have to be early. Just call when you’re ready. I’ve got lots of help coming to unload the truck, so you aren’t needed for that. And if I can’t come get you when you’re ready, I’ll have someone else come on my behalf.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting all your friends,” his mom said.
Nick nodded. “Me too.”
Downstairs, he thanked Derek for his help, then headed out to his pickup. Leaving the inn, he almost turned the wrong direction, preparing to drive toward the rental rather than the house that now belonged to him. At least he didn’t have to blame the almost-wrong-turn on his head injury. This time it was because he was tired and muscle memory had kicked in. Normal, all things considered.
When he arrived home, he let Boomer out of the kennel and threw the ball for him, hoping to burn off some of the dog’s energy before bedtime—which was going to be earlier than usual. As he watched Boomer sail across the yard, his thoughts went to yesterday and his conversation with Samantha as they’d walked in the park.
“Give me a chance to prove that I’m the man I should have been before,” he’d asked of her. And she had answered, “All right, Nick.”
That’s where they’d left it when he escorted her back to her grandmother’s house. While her reply had encouraged him, it also felt . . . tenuous. He was ready for certainty. She wasn’t in a similar place. Maybe she never would be.
Something Adrian had said from the pulpit a few Sundays ago returned to him. Something about the job of the Christian disciple being obedient to God and leaving the results to Him. Something about obedience being the blessing. What if Nick did everything right and Samantha still didn’t want to stay, still couldn’t love him? He wanted to resist that as a possible outcome, although life had taught him people didn’t always get what they wanted. Could he be obedient no matter what?
Boomer’s tail moved faster as he looked at his master, waiting for another throw. Nick obliged, but his thoughts were far from the dog or this backyard. He was facing the harsh truth about who he used to be. More so than he’d done in the past. Before the accident, he’d never given serious thought to marriage. His relationship with Samantha had lasted longer than most, but it had lasted because of her, not because of him. She’d held them together as a couple. She’d hoped for more than he’d been willing to give. Now it was his turn to hope for more. Would she be able to want the same a second time? Or had he destroyed his chances long before his accident?
He set his jaw. He wouldn’t give up. He was different, and he would prove it to her. Somehow.
“Come on,” he said when Boomer returned, ball in mouth. “Let’s call it a night.”
Although there were a few pieces of furniture in the living room and bedroom, the house felt empty. There was an echo when he spoke to the dog, his voice bouncing off the walls. He went into his bedroom and managed to find sheets for the bed after looking in a couple of boxes. Boomer stayed on the alert, moving from one side of the room to the other, watching Nick’s every action as he made up the bed.
“This is home, boy. You can relax.”
Boomer didn’t seem inclined to obey that suggestion, and he kept a close watch while Nick went into the bathroom to complete his nighttime routine. It was only after Nick had returned to the bedroom that Boomer sniffed at the plush dog bed, turned in several circles, and flopped down with a groan.
Nick chuckled softly, then groaned himself as he turned off the light and closed his eyes. He half expected more thoughts to churn and keep him awake. But he was asleep before that could happen.
Thirty-six hours had passed since Samantha and Nick walked in the park and he’d told her he loved her. Thirty-six hours, but the words he’d spoken hadn’t left her, not even in her sleep. They’d replayed in her dreams, greeted her first thing in the morning, and echoed in her memory the last thing at night. And they were with Samantha on Saturday morning as she drove toward Nick’s new home, a box of fresh-from-the-oven sticky buns and several thermoses filled with hot coffee on the passenger seat beside her.
Two trucks were parked well off the side of the road, one before and one after the driveway. When she turned in, she saw two more pickups parked on the grass. A U-Haul sat near the front door of the house, and Nick’s pickup was inside the garage, the door open. Men carried items from the moving truck into the house and came back empty-handed.
Samantha parked her car in the grass beside the other vehicles. Then, holding the box of pastries with one arm and gripping the handles of the thermoses in her opposite hand, she headed for the house. Her nerves churned faster with each step she took.
“Hey, Sam.” Derek stopped as he came out the front door. “Is that Gran’s coffee and goodies she promised to send over?” His grin said he knew the answer.
“Of course.”
Her cousin stopped, then gave a whistle to the men at the truck. “Sam’s brought coffee and something to eat from our grandmother.” He took the thermoses from her hand and motioned with his head for her to follow him. “You probably know it, but the kitchen is this way.”
She followed right behind.
The first person she saw was Nick’s mother. Tricia Chastain, wearing jeans and a sleeveless top, moved around putting plates and other dishes into one of the cabinets.
“Here’s Sam,” Derek announced as he set the thermoses on the counter.
Tricia smiled. “Hello, Sam. Derek told us we would see you this morning. And he promised that your grandmother’s pastries are the best.”
“They are.” She set the box on the counter next to the coffee.
As if to prove the reputation of Gran’s coffee and confectionaries, all of the men began to fill the kitchen and dining room. Samantha’s nerves quieted, and she laughed at the eagerness in their eyes and smiles.
“We’ve got napkins and paper plates.” Tricia opened a cupboard door. “And here are mugs for the coffee.” She set them on the counter, two by two.
Samantha stepped out of the way, and it was then she saw Nick, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and hall. He smiled, and her stomach flip-flopped. It shouldn’t surprise her that he could do that to her so easily, yet it did.
“How else can I help?” She moved toward him.
His smile remained, but it changed somehow. “I’ll bet Mom would like your company once all the guys get out of the kitchen again. Is that all right?”
“Sure.”
“I’m glad you came,” he added, his voice lower.
“It’s what friends and neighbors do for one another.” It was true, yet the words felt false as they passed her lips. There were other reasons why she’d come. Trying to figure out what she wanted, as he’d suggested, was one of them.
“Yeah,” he answered. “It’s what they do.” But the look in his eyes said he was glad it was more than that for her.
When the crew of men—including Nick—had downed both pastries and coffee and headed back to their moving duties, the kitchen felt twice the size it had moments before. Samantha drew a breath, then asked Tricia, “What can I do to help you?”
Nick’s mom smiled as she pointed. “Those two boxes have food items that should go in the pantry. And don’t worry about where you put things. Nick doesn’t care if peaches are mixed in with cans of green beans.”
Samantha laughed softly. “I remember.”
Tricia didn’t say anything, but there seemed to be new understanding in her gaze.
Ducking her head, Samantha went to retrieve the first box and began to set its contents on the eye-level shelf. Cans of fruit, vegetables, and soups. A few boxes of prepared foods. A sealed bottle of ketchup.
As she worked, she remembered the first time she’d looked for something in Nick’s Corvallis kitchen. They hadn’t been dating long at that point, but she’d believed the man was organized and meticulous. Until she saw his pantry. It had been a disaster. When she commented on it, he’d responded that he never gave much thought to what he ate.
Understatement. Nick had lived too large to care about a neat pantry. His home decorating had been minimal too. Just enough for basic comfort and occasional entertaining. His garage, on the other hand, had been a work of art. Three kayaks. Two bikes. A couple of tents. There had been outdoor supplies beyond anything she could comprehend, and everything had been stored in its proper place.
A strange feeling tugged at her insides. It took a moment to realize what it was.
“Excuse me, Tricia.” She stepped out of the pantry and turned. “I’ll be right back.” Then she headed outside.
The men who were emptying the moving truck paid her little attention as she walked to the detached garage. One of the two doors was still open. She moved to it, stepping to one side of Nick’s truck so that she could see the other side of the building’s interior. She noted the bike he’d ridden when he brought her to see the property. Other boxes cluttered the cement floor, all with handwriting on the tops, indicating the contents. A few large tools—shovel, rake, post-hole digger—leaned against the far wall. And near them, raised by two sawhorses, was a familiar red kayak.
She moved farther into the garage. As she got closer to the kayak, she saw that it was damaged. Was it the one he’d used on that ill-fated trip? She thought it must be. Could it be used again? Fear surged through her. It must be usable. Why else would it be there? He hadn’t changed. He wasn’t different. He still wanted the danger, the risk, the thrills. The realization terrified her and broke her heart at the same time.
“I’ll put it in the garage for now.”
She turned at the sound of Nick’s voice. A moment later, the door to the second bay of the garage opened. Nick carried a pair of snowshoes. Two other men held large boxes.
Nick’s eyes widened. “Hey, I didn’t know you were in here.” He grinned.
“I . . . uh . . . I was going to head back to Gran’s. Looks like you’ve got the truck about empty.”
“Almost.” He leaned the snowshoes against one of the sawhorses. “I’m taking my mom and dad out to dinner tonight. Could you and Ruth join us?”
“I don’t know. Wouldn’t they rather spend their time with you?”
His smile dimmed a little. “I’d like them to know you better, Sam.”
“I’ll have to check with Gran. She might have plans.” Her gaze flicked to the kayak and snowshoes—painful reminders—then back to him. “I’ll call you.”
“Okay.” A frown furrowed his brow, and he lowered his voice, even though the other men had put down the boxes and left. “Is something wrong?”
She shook her head, not sure if she was lying to herself or to him. “I’ll call you,” she repeated, then turned and hurried to her car, not caring that she’d left the thermoses behind.
Tears began to fall the moment she left his driveway. “God, help me. I don’t want to be afraid all the time. I’m tired of it. So tired of it.”
You don’t have to be afraid.
She hiccupped on a sob, wanting the whisper in her heart to be true.