Emmy sat at the cafeteria table. The hospital wasn’t exactly state of the art, and the cafeteria still looked like something out of the 1970s. But the people she worked with were nice, and the food wasn’t all that gag inducing as she’d feared. Still, she was going to start bringing her own lunches from now on because the mound of meat on her plate didn’t have enough gravy to cover the strange taste.

“Hey, Emmy!”

Emmy looked up to see one of the nurses she’d befriended since starting at Whiskey Ridge Hospital. Her name was Tara, and she was as bubbly as anyone Emmy had ever met.

With bright blue eyes, a huge toothy smile and a head full of the craziest brown curls she’d ever seen, Tara was a ball of energy. She looked more like she belonged at an art studio than a hospital, but patients seemed to love her sunny personality.

“Hey, Emmy. How’s your day going?” she asked as she pointed at the open seat across from Emmy.

“Please join me,” Emmy said. “And is there any chance you can identify this?”

Tara leaned over and looked at Emmy’s plate. “Well, they claim it’s Salisbury steak, but I think it’s yesterday’s leftover meatloaf with the ketchup scraped off and some gravy added. And I think the gravy is actually the French onion soup thickened with corn starch.”

Emmy laughed. “Wow. That was oddly specific.”

“I went to culinary school for awhile,” Tara said, taking a bite of her salad.

Emmy could totally see that making sense. “Why did you stop?”

“It’s weird, really. I had always wanted to be a chef, ever since I was a little kid. But then my grandmother got sick when I was about twelve. She had cancer. I spent a lot of time at the hospital, and I just felt pulled in that direction, you know? I wanted to help people.”

Emmy took a sip of her sweet tea. “I totally understand. I think most people who work in medicine consider it a calling.”

“I love it. It makes me happy to get up in the morning. So, how’s your new job going?”

“Good. I mean, I like my patients. Most of them…”

“Uh oh. That sounds like trouble. Care to explain?”

“Maybe one day,” Emmy said with a chuckle. “Listen, I have a question you might know the answer to.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Is it possible for someone to be diagnosed with dementia or Alzheimers but they really have a vitamin B12 deficiency?”

“Absolutely. Why?”

“Well, let me tell you about my mother…”

* * *

“What in the hell are you doing?” Billy asked when he came around the corner and saw Nash laying on the sofa with one arm stretched out to the side and his eyes closed.

“I’m working on my stretches. Emmy said to do this twice a day.”

Billy snickered. “Oh, Emmy said so…”

Nash opened his eyes and glared at his brother. “Really? You sound like a ten year old.”

“Hey, that ain’t a jab. I’d love to go back to being ten years old. Remember Susan Kramer? I kissed her down by the creek when I was that age.”

Nash rolled his eyes. “You realize you’re the only one who remembers that, right?” He slowly sat up and leaned back against the couch.

“I bet Susan remembers it,” Billy said with a grin. “Want a beer?”

“No thanks.”

“Oh, did Emmy tell you no beer?”

“Ha ha. Very funny. No, actually my doctor and my boss told me no beer with my medication. But I’m ditching the meds soon too.”

“Good because it isn’t nearly as much fun to pick at you when you’re all drugged up.” Billy popped the top on the beer and fell into the arm chair, his cowboy booted legs flung over the arm.

“Can I help you?” Nash said.

“Nope. Dad said to meet him here. He wanted to talk to us.”

“Oh great. This feels like the old days.”

“Yeah, when he would yell at us for not cleaning up the garage or sucking at bull riding?”

“Or when we didn’t cut the grass in straight lines,” Nash added. “Pretty much anything we did, or didn’t do, resulted in a long lecture about our mutual suckiness.”

Billy laughed and took a long drink of his beer. “He’s actually changed a good bit in the last few years, Nash. Gotta give him some credit for that.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Well, that’s because you never come home. He’s mellowed a lot since…”

“You boys here?” Brick called from the front door.

“We’re here,” Nash called back, wondering what his brother had been about to say before they were interrupted.

“Billy, help me with these bags,” Brick said. Billy hopped up from the chair and trotted over to the front door.

“What’s all that?” Nash asked as he watched his father and brother maneuver several overfilled brown paper bags through the foyer and into the kitchen.

“Just hold your horses,” Brick said. “I’ll explain in a minute.”

Once everything was put away, Billy plopped back into the chair and Brick sat on the stone hearth across from Nash. The living room of his house really was beautiful with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the mountains that stretched out further than he could even see.

“How was therapy?” Brick asked as he took a long drink of a bottle of water.

“It was therapy. Not much to tell. What’s this all about, Dad?”

Brick sighed, took another drink and looked at Nash.

“I’d like to introduce you to someone at dinner tonight.”

“Who?”

“Her name is Lana.”

“Okay… and who is she?”

Brick shot a glance at Billy, who nodded at his father to continue.

“What’s the big secret here?” Nash asked.

“Lana is… my fiancee, Nash.”

Nash’s mouth dropped open as he stared at his father for a moment. Of all the people in the world - well, with the exception of Billy - Brick was the last person he ever expected to get married.

Brick had long ago said that he would never marry again. No way, no how. He was focused on the rodeo business, and a woman would only get in the way of that.

And now he was engaged?

“When did this happen?”

“A couple of weeks before you came back to Whiskey Ridge.”

“And why am I just now learning about it?”

“Well, I didn’t want to complicate this whole situation, for one thing. Plus, Lana has been out in Colorado visiting her sister so it was easier. But you’re still here, and she’s home so…”

“So you had to tell me?”

“Well, yeah. Kind of. And I want you to get to know her, Nash. Billy has known her for almost two years now.”

“Two years?” Nash said a little louder than he’d planned. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about her?”

“Come on, Nash. You know we’ve barely spoken in the last few years. I didn’t think you’d want to hear about my love life.”

“First of all, please don’t say ‘love life’ because that creeps me out. And second of all, you didn’t think your own son would care that you’re getting married?”

Brick thought for a moment. “No, I actually didn’t.”

“Wow. That’s just great. Says a lot about our relationship.”

“Come on, man. You’re at much as fault as he is,” Billy said.

“Seriously? You were raised with this man too, Billy. Maybe you didn’t run as soon as you could, but for me it was necessary.”

Nash looked at his father, and the hurt was there in his eyes. His stomach clenched when he realized what he’d just said.

“Dad, I shouldn’t have…”

“Stop. I don’t want to go down this road, Nash. There’s plenty of blame to go around, and I accept my fair share of it. But I won’t sit in my own house and listen to you try to blame me for your messed up life. You made choices, and I was here when you needed me. I’ve never abandoned you, and I’ve been here waiting for you to come home for years. But you chose not to be in my life all those years ago.”

“And you chose to shun me because I made a different choice than what you wanted. You made me an outcast in my own family because I wanted to strike out on my own.”

“Oh, that’s BS and you know it! You and I both know why you left, Nash Collier. And it wasn’t just me.”

Brick stood up and walked to the kitchen. Billy looked at his brother. “What’s he talking about?”

“None of your business,” Nash said as he pulled himself up and into his wheelchair.

“Where are you going?” Brick asked from the kitchen. Nash continued rolling toward the side door. Thankfully, his father had installed a temporary ramp for his wheelchair, although he hoped to graduate to full time crutches soon.

“Out.”

“Dinner’s at seven,” Brick yelled back, but Nash said nothing.

* * *

“I’ll take six of the blueberry and six of the chocolate explosion,” Emmy said to the girl behind the counter of Mountain View Muffins. The new shop was all the buzz around town, and Emmy had already been there more than once.

“We only have five of the blueberry left, darlin’. You want to try the new caramel nut?”

“Sure,” Emmy said, secretly crying inside as she grieved the loss of one of her prized blueberry muffins. Going into the weekend without enough muffins could prove to be disastrous.

“Hungry?”

As she walked out the door, she found Nash sitting at one of the small bistro tables lining the sidewalks of Whiskey Ridge square.

“Are you stalking me?”

“Yes, I’m quite the stalker with my two maimed limbs and squeaky, old man wheelchair.”

Emmy couldn’t help but laugh at that, but Nash looked super serious and almost upset about something.

“You okay? Are you in pain or something?”

“I’m in the same amount of pain I was this morning. My therapist might not be qualified.”

“Very funny,” Emmy said as she sat down at the table. “What’s going on?”

“Are you a psychologist too?”

Emmy knew Nash well enough to know to change the subject, at least temporarily. He wasn’t one to give up information easily.

“Talked to my mom’s doctor today about the B12. He’s going to test her next week. So thanks for the idea.”

“You’re welcome. Might not help, but at least it’s worth a try.”

“Definitely,” Emmy said. A long pause hung in the air between them, almost as thick as the caramel on the muffins in her bag. “Okay, what’s going on, Nash?”

“Nothing. Listen, I gotta go…”

“No. Come on. You helped me. Now let me help you.”

“You helped me this morning,” he said with a quirk of a smile.

“Oh, so you’re saying I am a good physical therapist?”

“What do you have in that bag anyway?”

Emmy held up the bag and acted like she was modeling it. “Well, what I have in here is what you call a ‘sugar coma’ complete with chocolate and caramel… and blueberries because they’re healthy, right?”

Nash finally laughed. “You always did love sugar.”

“It’s my one vice. Want one?” She didn’t really want him to say yes.

“How about we split one?”

“Okay,” she said, trying not to show the disappointment in her face. “Pick your poison.”

Emmy held out the bag and Nash peered down into it. “Let’s go for chocolate.”

She pulled one of the muffins out of the bag along with a couple of napkins and split it in half.

“Don’t spoil your supper,” she said with a smile.

“Don’t remind me,” Nash said, rolling his eyes before taking a bite.

“Did I hit a nerve? I thought supper was a pretty safe topic.”

“It’s my Dad.”

Emmy stilled for a moment and struggled to keep her face neutral. Brick had never been her biggest fan, and she definitely wasn’t his.

“Your father?”

“He announced to me today that not only has he been seriously dating some woman named Lana for two years, but they’re engaged. And he wants me to meet her tonight at dinner.”

“Ohhhh… That explains the look and the mood and the need for chocolate.”

“No, I need hard liquor but I don’t want to lose my job.”

“Chocolate is safer.”

“I guess.”

“Listen, Nash. I’ve never been your father’s biggest proponent, but everyone deserves to fall in love. Maybe he finally found the person who can…”

“Put up with him?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say that exactly.”

“But you were thinking it,” Nash said, smiling as he devoured the last large bite in one move.

“A lady doesn’t speak ill of others.”

Nash let out a deep laugh at that one. “You still have that dry wit, Emmy Lou Moore.”

She’d always loved when he said her full name. Something about the intimacy of that took her back to their high school days sitting at the ice cream shop talking about life for hours until the street lights came on. Those were simpler times.

“Hello? You in there?” Nash asked, waving his good hand in front of her face.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“Nothing really.”

“Nope. Not fair. I spilled my guts. Now it’s your turn.”

“Fine. I was just remembering the old days at Libson’s Ice Cream Shop.”

“Man, you really are a sugar-holic!”

Emmy threw a wadded up napkin at his face as he ducked out of the way.

“Those were good times, don’t you think?”

Nash sat for a moment, looking at her carefully. “Most of them. Some not so good.”

“Well, that’s life,” she said, sitting back and sighing.

“Why are you here, Emmy?”

“I thought we were clear that it was the sugar that brought me here?”

“No. I mean why are you back in Whiskey Ridge?”

She went silent for a moment, trying not to look him in the eye. Nash could always tell when she was lying.

“I told you I came back because of my mother.”

“Yes, and I know that’s partly true. But that isn’t all of it, Em. Tell me.”

“Nash, I don’t think this is a good idea…” she said, starting to stand up.

“You were my whole world back then.”

“What?” she said, slowly sitting back down.

“You were everything. And we were friends once, even before we started getting serious. I knew you better than I knew myself.”

“Your point?”

“There’s no one else you can talk to about whatever is going on that will understand it like I do.”

“You’re awfully full of yourself, Nash Collier.”

He grinned. “And that surprises you?”

“Actually, no.”

“Tell me.”

She bit both of lips and then took in a deep breath.

“I’m in the middle of divorcing my cheating husband who stole my life savings from me.”

Nash’s eyes grew wide, almost like he didn’t know what to say.

Emmy continued. “I heard from my attorney today, and our divorce is being fast-tracked but I’ll basically be left in financial ruin once this is all over.”

“What a freaking jackass. You know, I know some people in Atlanta. Want me to make a call?”

“Nash! I don’t want him killed!”

Nash chuckled. “Fine. But if we scared him enough to get him to at least run into the ring with a certain bull…”

“Stop. That’s not funny.”

Nash stopped talking for a moment and then reached across the table and put his hand over Emmy’s.

“Look, I don’t know who this guy is, but he obviously didn’t appreciate what he had.”

“You don’t have to try to make me feel better, really.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel better. I’m just saying that if I had another chance…”

He yanked his hand back and avoided eye contact for a moment.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Must be the drugs. Or the chocolate. Look, I gotta go. My Dad expects me for dinner and so forth…”

He started trying to back up from the table, but his wheel was stuck.

“Let me help you,” Emmy said, standing up.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ve got it. Listen, thanks for the muffin. And I’ll see you Monday, okay?”

Before Emmy could say another word, Nash was quickly wheeling himself down the sidewalk toward his father’s house. And Emmy was left to wonder what had just happened.