Given that hospitals and doctors didn’t operate on Ruth Johnson’s personal schedule, her return home happened midday rather than first thing in the morning, which she would have preferred. The later release meant she had no choice but to roll her way, on her newly rented knee scooter, through Sips and Scentimentals, the only entrance to the house without steps. The customers applauded when they saw her. It felt both good and embarrassing at the same time.
Samantha stepped around Ruth and opened the door to her home’s kitchen, then moved aside to let Ruth go first. Before she made it that far, Camila planted a kiss on her cheek and said, “I’ll be in to see you later.”
It had been only three days since she’d stood in this kitchen—on both feet—and prepared herself a breakfast of one scrambled egg and a slice of buttered toast. She’d eaten that meal without the slightest notion of what would happen within a few hours, and it felt as if she’d been gone for a year.
“Do you want to go to your bedroom, Gran,” Samantha asked, “or would you rather sit in your recliner or on the sofa and watch TV?”
“My bedroom, I think. The pain pills are making me a bit woozy.” She didn’t wait for her granddaughter, but pushed off with her good foot and sent the scooter rolling toward the hallway, thankful that her bedroom was on the main floor of the house.
Samantha caught up with her. “I picked up some other things at the medical supply place yesterday, along with the scooter. A raised toilet seat with arms to make it easier for you to get up and down and a chair for the shower.”
The words made Ruth feel old and decrepit. Which she most certainly was not, despite a few signs to the contrary.
“Keeping your cast dry when you shower will be the trickiest part, the nurse told me, but we can put your leg in a garbage bag and tape it closed above your knee, then let that leg stay mostly outside the stall.”
“Sounds like I’ll be a lot of bother.”
“Gran, you are not a bother.”
At her bedside Ruth maneuvered into position and lowered herself onto the edge of the mattress. She looked to her left and her right and sighed. She might not be old and decrepit, but she was no spring chicken either. “I think I’m going to need your help today, dear.”
Samantha was beside her in a snap, lifting her legs, easing her into position on the bed. Her granddaughter slid several pillows beneath Ruth’s cast, getting her leg up above her chest as the nurse had instructed. A few more pillows were placed to support her head and back.
“How’s that, Gran?”
“Perfect.” She patted the back of Samantha’s hand where it rested on the sheet beside her hip.
“I’ll bring a bottle of water to keep by your bedside. It’s important you stay hydrated.”
Ruth closed her eyes. “Yes. But I think I’ll rest for a bit.” She was asleep before Samantha left the side of the bed.
Nick stared into his refrigerator. He was hungry, but nothing appealed to him. Or maybe it was eating another meal alone that didn’t appeal to him. He blamed the previous night’s dinner at the Johnson home for that. He’d enjoyed sitting with a family around the table. The laughter. The warmth. The camaraderie. Even the awkwardness of being with Samantha hadn’t diminished his enjoyment. Or maybe being near her had increased it.
The thought didn’t surprise him as much as he’d expected. More than once during the early months of his recovery he’d allowed himself to imagine being with Samantha again. Not in a romantic sense, of course. Romance wasn’t something he could handle now. Maybe not ever. But still . . .
He gave his head a slow shake as he closed the refrigerator door, deciding he would take a quick shower and then drive into Thunder Creek. He’d seen the diner on Main Street and had already been told the food there was good. He’d also been told about Sips and Scentimentals, the beverage and gift shop that belonged to Ruth Johnson. But they didn’t serve dinner there. Just pastries to go with the coffees and teas. He would have to give that shop a try one morning on his way to Derek’s farm. Or perhaps on a Saturday when he could linger awhile.
Half an hour later, Nick was back in his pickup and driving west.
The very first time he’d driven through Thunder Creek on the way to the Johnson farm to write up an estimate, he’d liked the look of the town. The streets lay in a perfect grid. There were larger Victorian-style homes closer to the center of town and smaller 1950s bungalows in neighborhoods farther out. Brick buildings lined Main Street, and there was a large town park with tall, mature trees and the creek that gave the town its name running through the center of it. Although Nick had lived most of his adult life in large cities, he’d begun to realize he was, at his core, a small-town boy.
There were only a few vehicles in the diner’s parking lot, leaving plenty of open spaces. Nick pulled into one and cut the engine. That was another thing he liked about small towns. The silence that often prevailed. Not complete silence, of course. But nothing like a city where traffic clogged streets and freeways twenty-four seven.
He got out of his truck and went into the diner. A waitress in a white blouse and black skirt escorted him to a booth and left him to look over the menu. It didn’t take him long to decide what he wanted. Laying down the laminated menu, he looked around the diner. The L-shaped room had plenty of booths and a smaller number of tables and chairs. The current customers ranged in age from their teens to perhaps their seventies. Just about everybody wore jeans, although there was one man in bibbed overalls.
“Have you decided?” the waitress asked when she returned.
He glanced at her name tag. “Yes, Lucca, I have. I’ll take the chicken fried steak. Gravy on the side. And a green salad with Thousand Island dressing.”
“And to drink?”
“Water’s fine. Thanks.”
“All right. Have it out to you in a jiffy.” Lucca turned away and saw some new customers. “Be right with you,” she called out.
Nick looked in the same direction. Not so much out of curiosity as reflex.
“Hey, Nick.” Derek grinned at him.
Nick nodded a greeting.
“Mind if we join you?” Beside Derek was a sheriff’s deputy.
“Not at all.” Nick motioned to the other side of the booth. “Please.”
The two men slid onto the bench seat, and Derek introduced his friend. “This is Hank McLean. We worked together when I was with the department.”
“You used to be a deputy?”
“Yeah. Was full time for a while. Then part time after I started organic gardening on a larger scale. I resigned last fall so I could focus on the farm and help Brooklyn with the bed-and-breakfast.”
The waitress returned with hard plastic tumblers of ice water. Neither Derek nor Hank needed to look at the menu. They ordered their meals, and Lucca grinned, not bothering to write anything down. Nick guessed the two men were creatures of habit when it came to their choices at the Moonlight Diner.
Derek confirmed it. “Hank and I have been eating here one evening a week for four or five years now. We know what we like.”
“I hear you might join our men’s group at church,” Hank said, reaching for his water glass.
Nick nodded but didn’t commit. “Derek invited me last night.”
“You’ll be glad if you do. Great group of men. We’ve all grown a lot in our faith over the years. Iron sharpening iron.”
Nick figured he could use some more sharpening. His faith had been lukewarm for many years. It had taken the many months of recovery after the accident to get himself back on track, to put Christ first in his life again. Or maybe he’d never put Christ first until then. All he knew was that he wanted to continue to grow and deepen his faith. He wanted to be the kind of man others looked up to. Like Derek Johnson.
“Tell me again when the next meeting is,” Nick said, his mind made up, “and I’ll make it a point to be there.”
Samantha was washing the last dinner dish when Camila knocked on the door, then stepped into the kitchen. “I’ve closed up for the night,” the woman said, wearing her usual smile. “How goes the battle in here?”
“Good, I think.” Samantha put the dish in the drainer. “Gran managed to eat a little. She’s not showing much of an appetite yet.”
“That’s normal these first few days after surgery. Just make sure she keeps drinking plenty of water.” Camila raised an eyebrow. “How about you? Did you eat?”
“Yes. I promise I did.”
“Good.” The older woman gave a firm nod. “If you’re going to be the caregiver, you’ve got to keep up your strength. Won’t do to have you give out.”
“I won’t. I’m stronger than I look.”
“That may be, but I think we need a plan. Let’s make sure you get out of the house for two or three hours every day. Ruth’s got more friends than she can shake a stick at. We’ll organize and take turns staying with her while you’re out. The gals in our Bible study are working on meals to bring over that can go in the freezer, and then you can just pop them in the microwave and serve. You won’t need to be cooking all the time you’re here.”
Samantha laughed. “I’m beginning to wonder if I’m needed at all.”
“Sam, your grandmother needs you more than even she knows. Don’t you doubt it for a minute.”
Samantha went over and gave her a tight embrace. “Camila Diaz, I love you almost as much as Gran does.”
“I love you, too, niña.” Camila squeezed her back, then stepped away. “Need anything before I go home?”
“No, thanks. I’m going to relax for the rest of the evening. Watch a little TV. Read a book. Catch up on e-mail.” She ended with a shrug.
“All right. See you in the morning.”
“See you.”
Camila slipped back through the doorway, closing the door behind her.
Samantha left the kitchen, going first to her grandmother’s bedroom. Gran was sound asleep, so Samantha quietly turned and walked to the living room.
The decor of the house had changed quite a bit since she’d lived there after college graduation. The walls had received a fresh coat of paint, and Gran hadn’t held back on the use of color. The rooms were like Joseph’s famous coat—all different. The sofa and chairs were new, except for Pappy’s favorite recliner. Gran would never part with it. Samantha knew that without being told.
She felt a sting of sadness, remembering her grandfather seated in that chair. It had been six years since Walter Johnson, MD, had passed away, but the missing hadn’t eased inside her at all. There was something comforting in knowing a beloved grandparent was only a phone call away. For advice. For wisdom. For love and unconditional acceptance. She still had that with Gran, thank heaven, but she wished she could still have it with Pappy too. Her grandfather had been a special man and had adored his wife to his dying breath.
“I want that,” she whispered. “I want to be loved by a man the way Pappy loved Gran.”
And just like that, she thought of Nick Chastain . . .
Samantha opened her front door to find Nick on the apartment landing, his face reddened from a day in the sun and wind. “You should have been there, Sam,” he said without greeting. His eyes sparked with excitement. “It was amazing.”
“I can tell.” She took a step back, widening the opening so he could enter.
He did so, repeating, “You should have been there.”
“I’ve told you, I’m not into spectator sports much.”
“You wouldn’t have to be a spectator. I could teach you to windsurf.”
A shudder moved through her, and memories of her dad threatened to intrude. “No, thanks.”
“If it’s the cold water you don’t like, a wetsuit would help with that.”
“It’s not the cold water.”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re not a strong swimmer because we wear jackets.”
“I can swim just fine, Nick.”
Frustration momentarily flashed in his eyes. “Then what are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid.” It was a bald-faced lie. She was afraid. She was petrified. Not only of participating but of watching, of seeing some horrid accident happen right before her eyes. Yet she couldn’t bear for him to know that about her. She didn’t want this brave, exciting man who made her pulse quicken and her blood run hot to know she was terrified to her core.
And besides, there was one thing she was more afraid of than his recklessness. She was afraid that if he knew how she really felt about his attraction to all manner of dangerous activities, he wouldn’t want to be with her any longer. That he would realize how wrong she was for him. That he would see their differences were too immense to overcome.
That he would never learn to love her the way she’d come to love him.
“Sam.” His voice was low as he took a step toward her. “You’d have fun if you’d come with me.”
She took him by the hand and drew him toward the sofa. “Ask me again next summer when the weather is warm and dry. Maybe I’ll think differently by then.” She tasted that lie on her tongue, same as she’d tasted the first.
His gaze locked on her mouth, he didn’t guess the truth. Instead, he drew her into his embrace and kissed her.
Don’t let me lose him. Don’t let him get hurt. And please, don’t let him break my heart.
Samantha sucked in a quick breath, driving away the memory. It served no good purpose to dwell in the past. She’d moved on with her life. She’d survived that unwanted broken heart.
And Nick? How had he changed, beyond his unusual change in careers? She didn’t understand that and wished to know the reason why—even if it would be better to leave things as they were.