If there was one good thing about a small town, it was the ability to travel around without a vehicle. Nash could only take himself places in his wheelchair since his father’s huge truck certainly wasn’t handicap accessible, and he was not in any condition to drive anyway.

He hated feeling like he couldn’t do things. In a week, he would be starting physical therapy at the hospital three days a week. At least he might start seeing some improvement in his mobility then.

“Nash? Is that you?” he heard a man’s voice say from behind him. The bad part of a small town is seeing people you don’t want to see, or at least you don’t want them to see you when things aren’t good. It’s much easier to pretend life is grand from across the country.

“Hey, Mr. Jackson. How’re you doing these days?” The older man had been a neighbor of theirs when he was growing up. He’d always been kind to Nash, a welcome smile when his father was on his back. Watching Ernest Jackson raise his three boys had been like watching a 1950s TV show, and Nash remembered being so jealous of those boys winning the “father lottery”.

“Seems I’m doing a little better than you these days, son. What in the world happened to your leg?”

“Turns out you should never allow a bull to step on you,” Nash said, forcing a smile.

“Ouch!”

“Yeah, I said a little more than that when it happened… before I passed out anyway.”

The older man smiled. “Well, I’d better get Ellie’s medicine home to her. She’s got a terrible case of pneumonia. Just got out of the hospital today.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. Please give her my best wishes for a speedy recovery,” Nash said as Mr. Jackson opened the door to the pharmacy for him to roll through.

“Will do. And once she’s feeling better, I’m sure she’d love to have you over for dinner. Catch up and so forth.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Nash said, not ever planning to do it but wanting to be nice. The faster he could flee from Whiskey Ridge, the better.

Mr. Jackson smiled and waved one more time before making his way down the sidewalk. The smell of Mountain View Pharmacy hit him before anything else. The old place still smelled the same - a mixture of medication stench and bubblegum flavored ice cream. Yep, the adjoining soda fountain and ice cream bar were still in full swing, just as he remembered it. Whiskey Ridge never changed, it seemed.

“Well, I do declare! Nash Collier! It’s been ages since I’ve seen your handsome face. Come here and give me a hug!”

Oh Lord, he thought. Not Mimi Davenport. Anyone but her.

Mimi had been that girl all through his school years who had a crush on him and wanted the world to know it. Unfortunately, he didn’t reciprocate her feelings in the slightest. Instead, he spent a large portion of his time trying to avoid her at any cost.

“Hey, Mimi,” he said softly, not rolling any closer. But she came out from behind the ice cream freezer anyway.

She looked much the same except with about fifty more pounds and a lot more of her bouffant red hair. It was like she’d gotten lost in time somewhere between the 1950s and 1960s even though neither of them were alive back then.

Before he could stop her, she leaned down and gave him a big hug while planting a kiss on his cheek. Why did she smell like hot dogs?

“Soooo… where have you been all these years? Mama told me you were out West until some bull charged at you and crushed you?”

Nash almost laughed at that characterization. Funny how small town gossip could be better than any movie plot.

He was reminded of that game they played in elementary school called “telephone”. The teacher would whisper something into the first kid’s ear, like “The brown cow likes green grass” and by the time it made it to the end of the row of kids, it was more like “The yellow pigeon eats hamburgers”.

“Actually, he didn’t charge at me…”

“And you poor thing. Look at your mangled leg. Are you married? Mama said your Daddy has to take care of you now. So sad that you can’t compete anymore.”

“Well, I don’t know for sure if I…”

“And no wife to care for you? Well, sweetie, you let me know if you need anything. I went to massage school, ya know. I can help work out any kinks you need. Oh, look, there’s Thelma. Lord knows she’ll kill me if I don’t go scoop her ice cream. I always give her an extra scoop. Bye bye for now!”

And like some kind of insane whirlwind, she was gone.

Nash sighed and prayed to God that he wouldn’t see anyone else he knew on this little trip. Thankfully, he didn’t recognize the teenage boy working the counter.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Sir? Gosh he felt old all of the sudden. The last time he was in Whiskey Ridge, he was the one calling people “sir”.

“I’m here to pick up a prescription for Nash Collier.”

* * *

Emmy froze in place. Did the guy in the wheelchair just say Nash Collier? She couldn’t see his face, only the back of his head, but gosh his voice sounded a lot like…

“Honey, do you want whipped cream on that?” Mimi asked from behind the counter, forcing Emmy to return her attention to the banana split she required as an emotional eating crutch today. She’d only wandered into the drug store after seeing Mr. Jackson on the sidewalk. He’d suggested that she take advantage of the sale they were having on banana splits today.

“Um, yes…” Emmy said, turning her head back around to try to catch a glimpse of the man in the wheelchair. Now, a line had formed as the poor teenage boy behind the counter struggled to ring something up.

“What about nuts?”

“What?” Emmy responded as she swung her head back around to look at Mimi.

“Nuts?”

“Who’s nuts?” Emmy asked.

Mimi let out a loud laugh, causing numerous people to look their way. Emmy hoped one of those people would be “wheelchair guy”, but he was focused on yelling at the cashier for screwing something up.

It couldn’t be Nash. She must have mis-heard him. After all, Nash wasn’t in a wheelchair. Well, at least not the last time she saw him over a decade ago.

“We’ve got pecans, almonds, peanuts…”

When did life get so complicated? Why so many nut choices?

“Peanuts.”

“Cherry on top?” Mimi asked, her voice as chipper as a lottery winner on check cashing day.

“Sure. Why not?” Emmy turned again, but wheelchair guy was gone. An old woman with a cane replaced him at the register, and the line had grown longer.

Mimi handed Emmy her banana split and took the five dollar bill that Emmy slid across the counter. She backed up to move out of another customer’s way, but her foot caught on something behind her, sending her falling backwards.

Life seemed to move in slow motion, and she waited for the inevitable fall onto the hard tile floor. Instead, she hit something softer. Something that smelled good. Something warm.

It was wheelchair guy’s lap.

Embarrassed, she immediately tried to get up, but her banana split was upside down on her lap, and she was quickly losing feeling in areas she couldn’t mention in polite company.

“Damn it! What are you doing, woman?” the man yelled. Realizing he had a huge cast on his leg, she felt horrible for hurting him and turned to attempt to get up again.

And then she saw his face.

* * *

Emmy. Emmy was sitting on his lap. And if it wasn’t for the horrific pain in his leg and arm, and the fact that freezing cold ice cream was numbing his nether regions, he might have had a bodily reaction that wasn’t appropriate for public viewing.

“Nash?” she said softly, her blue eyes wide open. He was hyper aware of her smell. Her hair had always smelled like strawberries. Or maybe it was the banana split.

“Emmy?”

She laughed nervously and then looked around. People were staring and most certainly starting the gossip train already.

“I’m so sorry… Let me try to get up…” she continued the nervous laughter as she pushed and pulled until she was on her feet. Without saying anything, she walked to grab a stack of napkins and tried to clean herself up.

“I think you might need to wash those jeans,” Nash said with a slight smile. Man, was this uncomfortable.

“I really am sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly.”

“You broke my leg. See?” he said, pointing to his cast.

At first, she looked concerned and then realized it was a joke.

Nash maneuvered his wheelchair out of the line of people and over to the side where the bistro tables were. Emmy sat down across from him, still swiping at her pants as Nash used his free hand to flick a stray peanut off his leg.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, reaching over and attempting to wipe his pants with the napkins too. It quickly became apparent that he didn’t need her touching him any more than was necessary, so he took the napkin from her hand.

“Stop apologizing,” he said. “It was an accident. I feel bad that you didn’t get your banana split. It was quite… large.”

Emmy chuckled. “Yeah, well, emotional eating will do that to a person.”

“I didn’t know you’d moved back to Whiskey Ridge.”

“I didn’t. I’m only here temporarily. My mother… well, let’s just say she didn’t play well with others at the retirement home so they… kicked her out.”

Nash chuckled. “Good old Pauline. Not surprised. Your mom has always been something else.”

“I guess that’s one way to describe her.”

Nash could feel the tension in the air. After all, there was a lot unsaid between them. But more than anything, he couldn’t stop looking at her. Memories flooded his brain in a way he never would have expected. First, the good memories. Then, the bad ones. The ones that woke him up at night with the weight of regret for decisions he’d made, things he’d said.

Her eyes hadn’t changed. And her mouth, although not smiling a lot, still turned up ever so slightly when she thought something was funny. He expected to see more laugh lines near her eyes after so many years, but they weren’t there. A part of him hoped she was using some anti-aging eye cream because the only other alternative was that she hadn’t been laughing much. That thought pained him.

“It was nice to see you… I really need to go…” she said suddenly.

“Aren’t you going to get another ice cream?”

“No. I think that was God’s way of telling me that my thighs don’t need it,” she said with a half hearted laugh.

“Your thighs look great to me.”

Dear God, why did he just say that? He wasn’t even on that much medication at the moment.

“What?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to say…”

“It’s okay…”

“This is awkward,” Nash admitted. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Emmy.”

She slowly sat back down and smiled. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you. The last time I heard anything about you, it was some championship in Vegas.”

“Yeah, well those days might be over, as you can see.” He looked down at his leg and then back at her.

“What happened?”

“My bull stepped on me.”

“Jeez, what did you do to him to make him do that?”

He knew she was joking, but he wasn’t ready for it to be funny yet. She apparently picked up on that.

“Sorry. Bad joke.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“Stop telling me what to do, Nash.” Ah, there she was, the real Emmy. The one with a stubborn streak a mile long.

“I’m not telling you what to do.”

“Sounds like you are, actually. If I want to apologize, I will.”

“I’m just saying it’s not necessary.”

“It’s necessary if I feel it is.”

This was the dumbest argument he’d ever been a part of.

“Calm down.” Oops, wrong thing to say to any woman, but definitely where Emmy Moore was concerned.

She shot up out of the flimsy bistro chair, almost sending it flying out from behind her.

“Some things never change!”

With that, she left the pharmacy and left Nash sitting at the small table alone, trying to figure out yet again how he’d angered Emmy.

“Well, some things sure don’t change, huh?” Mimi said, walking up to the table with her hand on her hip.

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve heard.”

* * *

Emmy stood around the corner, out of sight from Nash and anyone else who might have witnessed their immensely awkward situation.

She’d fallen in his lap.

She’d spilled ice cream and various toppings all over herself and him.

She’d attempted to wipe his crotch with paper napkins like it was a normal thing to do after more than a decade apart.

But worse than all of that was the fact that there were feelings there. Anger. Sadness. Regret. And, if she was honest, a little bit of lust.

Even in a wheelchair, he was still gorgeous. A sharp, chiseled jawbone. Green eyes the color of jade. A little scruff along his jawline. Strong, broad shoulders that had carried her around on more than one occasion in their younger years.

And now he was back in Whiskey Ridge. What were the odds that they’d both find themselves forced into returning home, even if temporarily?

Fate. That’s what her cousin, Debbie, would say.

But Emmy didn’t believe in fate. She had at one point believed that God had one perfect person for her, but then he chose bulls over her and left town.

So she chose the man she thought was a safer bet. Steve. Rock solid, smart Steve. And then he wasted her life savings and sent her into financial ruin.

Men sucked. That was her new motto. Maybe she’d have a t-shirt made.

“Em? Oh my word! When did you get to town?”

Her cousin Debbie stood there with her hands on her hips, leaning against her compact car. The town square was quaint, and it was nearly impossible for a person to escape notice. Not that she didn’t want to see her cousin. They were like sisters, after all.

Debbie got the “normal” mother. Pauline was the black sheep, but her sister Susan was a wonderful woman. She had been a quiet, Christian woman only interested in raising her daughter and doing good in the community. When she’d died six years ago, Emmy lost all hope of having anyone to help her care for Pauline.

“Debbie! Oh my gosh. I just got here a few days ago. I was going to call you…”

Debbie pulled her into a big hug. “Don’t you fret, girl. I know you weren’t avoiding me. I heard what happened with your Mama. Lord, she’s quite a character, isn’t she?”

“She’s not as funny to me as she seems to be to everyone else,” Emmy muttered under her breath.

Debbie poked her bottom lip out and put her hands on each of Emmy’s arms. “Why don’t we get a cup of coffee and catch up? I have a feeling you’ve got a lot to tell me?”

Debbie had always been Emmy’s confidante. She could tell her anything and expect to get a real, honest answer. Debbie didn’t pull any punches, but she was also diplomatic just as her mother had been.

“Okay. But can we go to Moe’s?”

“On the other side of town?” Debbie asked, confused. “There’s a coffee shop right there… Oh… Wait. Is that… Nash Collier?”

Nash thankfully couldn’t see them as he rolled the other direction down the sidewalk, evidently headed back to his father’s house.

Emmy cleared her throat. “I guess we can stay here after all.”