Читать книгу Small-Town Bachelor - Jill Kemerer - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Claire tossed her keys on the kitchen counter, tried to work the kinks out of her neck and strode to the patio door. Another boring Wednesday at work, and now she had to come up with something edible to bring to Reed’s. Why had Aunt Sally chosen tonight to get her hair trimmed and colored?

“Hey, babies, where are you?” Claire called. The otters raced to her, their long bodies undulating across the lawn. She gave them each a carrot and stroked their thick, soft fur. Their mild scent teased her nose. Gretel got up on her hind legs and sniffed, then made a funny snorting sound. “No, you get one carrot tonight, little lady. You know the drill.”

They loved fresh vegetables and fruits, but their main diet consisted of fish supplied by the zoo, with an occasional crawfish, frog or boiled egg. Gretel nudged Claire’s hand with her nose. She laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll bring you apples tomorrow. You’re incorrigible.”

Claire lay back in the lounge chair and mindlessly observed the clouds drifting across the sky. Spending time with Hansel and Gretel made up a little for what she’d had to deal with at the clinic today. Once again, passed over to assist Tammy in an operation. Put on cat-cage cleaning duty. This made three weeks in a row.

She blew out a breath. She deserved better. If she didn’t get the position at the zoo, she would have to make some changes. Life was too short to work for someone who treated her like garbage.

The otters stretched out in the sun for a nap. She’d wasted enough time thinking about her thankless job. A more important topic loomed.

Reed. She’d checked on him the past two evenings, but Aunt Sally had been keeping vigil, and Reed had been asleep both times. Her dad helped Reed with basic care off and on during the day.

Claire couldn’t get Reed out of her mind. And she needed to. He’d made it clear his home was in Chicago.

What he’d revealed about his mom’s death—how his family treated him—still filled her with indignation. How could anyone disown a child? How painful it must have been for him to lose his mom and her family.

Her chest burned the more she thought about it. No wonder he wasn’t into families. She probably wouldn’t be either if she’d gone through what he had. And it made her wonder about Reed’s dad. Roger hadn’t come over to check on Reed. Aunt Sally said Jake stopped by last night. But not his own father? Strange.

Claire plodded inside to change. Her cooking skills clearly qualified her for the title of Worst Cook in America. At this point, a grilled cheese might be too much to hope for.

The phone rang as she shimmied into her khaki shorts.

“How’s my favorite niece?” Uncle Joe asked, not waiting for her to answer. “Sally got home early and made you and Reed dinner if you want to swing by and pick it up.”

Claire almost purred. “You two are lifesavers. How did you know I dreaded having to deal with dinner?”

“You never want to deal with dinner.” His raspy chuckle made her smile. “And you know your aunt. She lives to feed people. With the restaurant shut down, she’s going crazy. If she’s not cooking, she’s pestering.”

“Well, tell her not to stop,” she said. “I’ll be right there. Don’t let any of my cousins steal my food either. I know how they are.”

Claire slipped into her favorite sparkly black flip-flops, grabbed her purse and drove the mile to Uncle Joe and Aunt Sally’s house. Nestled on a wooded property, the ranch-style home hid behind a grove of evergreens. Claire parked next to her cousin’s beat-up truck and then loped to the front door. With a quick knock, she let herself in, calling, “It’s me.”

“Come on in.” Aunt Sally beamed from behind the kitchen counter. The smell of fried chicken made Claire’s stomach rumble. Aunt Sally pushed a plate of cheese and crackers toward her. “Don’t worry, I didn’t let Braedon touch your takeout containers.”

They had a running joke that Braedon, her twenty-five-year-old cousin who regularly stopped by for dinner, could eat a sumo wrestler under the table. Claire nibbled on a cracker. “Your hair looks fabulous. Have you heard anything about the restaurant? When do you think it will reopen?”

“Thanks, hon.” She fluffed her bangs. “The insurance adjuster hasn’t been out, but he told us to use their contractor. We’ve called the guy and keep getting a machine. I don’t like that we can’t pick our own builder. We need the restaurant up and running. Where will everyone go for Friday fish fry? And now that the weather’s gotten nice, people are looking to eat on the patio by the lake. I don’t know what we’ll do if we can’t get opened again soon.”

Claire hated to think of the restaurant shut down indefinitely, but she hadn’t gotten the nerve up to go back and see the damage for herself. The other night a sound from the television reminded her of the roof tearing off, and it had taken her ten minutes to calm down. “I’m praying.”

“Thanks.” Sally sniffed. “We don’t have it as bad as most of the folks around here. Lois and Herb moved to a hotel twenty minutes away until their house gets fixed, and I don’t know how those Riley sisters are doing it, living with half a roof. Don’t get me started on Miss Gert.”

“Miss Gert? Is Whiskers still missing?” Claire selected another cheese cube. “I thought Dad formed a search party.” Miss Gert was eighty-four, lived in a house so old it could have been built by Christopher Columbus himself and doted on her long-haired, extremely pudgy cat.

“Oh, they found him all right. Eating a dead bird in that ramshackle barn behind her place. But she can’t keep Whiskers inside with her back room damaged. She’ll have a heart attack worrying. I told Dale to get some of the boys together and patch it up for her, but she thinks the noise will hurt poor Whiskers’s ears.”

“Want me to go over and talk to her? Maybe I can take her to the grocery store or something while they do a quick repair job.”

“Would you?” Aunt Sally beamed. “I’d do it myself, but you know she can’t stand me. She aimed that BB gun of hers at my head last time I tried to bring her lunch.”

Claire laughed. “I’ll do my best. And let’s hope the insurance people and builders get things done quickly.”

“Reed’s boss called him while I was there yesterday. No calls have come through from any girls. I’d say he’s definitely girlfriend free.” Sally gave her a knowing look, then handed her the takeout bag. “You’d better get moving if you want to enjoy your meal while it’s hot. Tell Reed hi for us, and let him know I’ll be bringing lunch tomorrow around noon. I like that boy. He’s respectful and cute.”

Claire couldn’t deny it. He was cute.

“Nothing to say, huh?” Sally popped a hand on her hip. “Hey, I may be getting older, but I’m not blind. I’ll gladly bring a handsome guy lunch every day. Yes, I will. And I think you should make the most of this opportunity. A fine man like him hasn’t come through town in years.”

Claire wasn’t touching this conversation with a fly-fishing rod.

“How’s he been with you? Not much of a talker, is he?”

“He talks,” Claire said. “He’s probably in pain and doesn’t want to show it.”

“I’m sure you’re right. With you bringing him dinner, maybe we can convince him to stay.”

Not likely. “I think he’s pretty happy in Chicago.” Claire reached for the handles of the paper bag. She kissed her aunt on the cheek, thanked her and headed back to Granddad’s cottage.

Five minutes later, as she made her way up the ramp, she paused to savor the low sunlight spreading gold over the lake. Her favorite place in the world. God had touched this land, blessed it with beauty. Giving the side door a perfunctory two knocks, she cracked it open.

“Yoo-hoo, Reed? It’s Claire.” She set the bag on the large island and continued to the living room, stopping when she glimpsed him.

Shirtless.

Her mouth dried to ashes. Wow. Reed’s arms flailed over his head, and the T-shirt he wrestled with tangled in his hands and forearms. He muttered something, and she chortled, choking on a laugh as she sped to his side.

“Let me.” She tugged the cotton off him, and then, trying not to gawk at his bare chest—she’d be attempting to erase the image of that six-pack for some time, maybe forever—she straightened the material and stretched it over his neck. She spun on her heel to return to the kitchen. Why was she out of breath?

“When you’re ready, come to the table.” Her words came out higher-pitched than a three-year-old’s.

Reed followed her. His face had reddened—embarrassment or exertion?—but he stopped the wheelchair at the low farmhouse table next to a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Isn’t the view incredible? Another gorgeous day on the lake.” She snatched two plates out of the cupboard, piled silverware and napkins on top and quickly set the table. Then she divvied up the fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn and biscuits before taking a seat next to him. “Want me to say grace?”

“I’ll do it.” Reed folded his hands and said a prayer. When he finished, Claire smiled at him, but the hollowness in his eyes stopped her from digging into the food. “What’s wrong?”

He sent a sharp glance her way. “Nothing.”

“I didn’t cook this.” She backed her palms to her shoulders. “Aunt Sally did.”

That brought the hint of a smile to his unshaven face.

“Is it your leg? The first week is the worst for pain. Have you been taking your meds?” She strolled to the counter and found the orange bottles of various medications he was supposed to be taking.

“I’m fine,” he growled.

“You are not fine.” She held up one of the bottles. “I can see it in your eyes. I’m a trained professional, you know.”

“I’m not an animal.”

She chuckled. “I know. My otters are more playful. You’re grumpier.”

“Your...what?” His crinkled nose and eyebrows reminded her she’d never told him about the rescued babies.

“Otters. I’m caring for twins until the zoo takes them later this summer.”

“Why?”

“Their mom was attacked. Lost the use of her back legs. My friend Lisa runs an animal sanctuary nearby and was able to deliver the twins. They stayed with their mother until they were weaned, but Lisa only keeps injured animals. They’re too tame to be released into the wild, so I made an arrangement with the zoo. I’m housing them until the new exhibit is ready next month.” Finding the prescription ibuprofen, she returned to the table and slid the tablet his way. “Here. You should be a quarter way through the bottle by now. Haven’t you taken any?”

“I don’t need them.” He pushed it away. “Before you start lecturing, though, I have been taking the antibiotics.”

“I’m not lecturing.” Technically, she was lecturing, but she preferred to think of it as reminding. “Now is not the time to play tough guy, Reed. The painkillers will make this easier on you.”

The vein in his temple jumped. He ignored the pill and bit into his drumstick.

What now? She couldn’t force him to take it. And she couldn’t hide it in a piece of cheese the way she did when a pet stubbornly refused a tablet.

Well, she probably could hide it in a piece of cheese, but Reed was an adult. He could make his own decisions and live with the aftermath.

She suppressed a sigh and dug into her potatoes, telling him about Wompers, the enormous dog no one in their clinic had been able to budge from the waiting room this morning. The owner tried to drag the poor beast, but the dog could not be moved.

The dark circles under Reed’s eyes and the tightness around his mouth churned her stomach.

“Just take the stinking pill.” She pointed to it with her fork.

He glared for five seconds but finally popped it in his mouth and took a swig of lemonade. She smiled. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

They finished the meal in silence. When Claire stood to clear their plates, Reed backed the chair up, but it got caught on something. He jammed the wheels forward, then backward, then forward again. His body crackled with tension. “I hate this.”

Claire wanted to go to him, put her arm around his shoulder and comfort him. But it wasn’t her place.

“This stupid chair,” he said. “I can barely get around.”

“I would hate it too. I wish I could make your leg heal with the snap of my fingers.” Claire strode to the living room and opened a cabinet. “Maybe you need something to take your mind off things.”

She selected an early CD by Michael Bublé and slid it into the stereo. Jaunty music filled the air. Returning to the kitchen, she stacked dishes in the sink. Then she paused in the living room—Reed had wheeled to the sliding door and looked out at the lake. He rested his chin on his fist, his gaze faraway.

“As hard as it is for me right now, the view almost makes me forget. Your grandfather knew what he was doing when he made his home here.”

“I’m glad you think so.” The whitewashed walls, tan leather furniture, bookcases filled with paperbacks, old ashtrays and golden retriever knickknacks relaxed her. Reminded her how Granddad always had a hug and a pot of coffee for her. “It’s been a big part of my life.”

Reed’s eyes appeared almost copper in the weakening light, and the expression in them... Apologetic? Or appreciative?

“Claire?” His long lashes lowered. “Will you help me out of this torture chamber so I can sit on the couch?”

“Of course.” A slow ballad came on. She bent for him to put his arm around her shoulder and lifted as he heaved his body upward. The smell of his skin hinted at an ocean breeze. “There. Move to the left. Careful.”

He reclined on the couch, his cheeks ruddy from exertion.

“Better?” She adjusted the yoga blocks under his cast.

“Yeah.” He sounded hoarse. “Come here a minute.”

She moved to his side, her pulse racing. Why did her skin feel prickly all of a sudden?

He took her hand, his thumb rubbing over her hers. “Can you stay awhile?”

“Yes.” Her voice sounded like a tiny mouse’s, if tiny mice could speak.

“Good.”

For a split second, she thought he might want to kiss her.

She wanted him to kiss her.

“Tell me what’s going on with the town cleanup.” He let her hand drop.

She blinked. See? He didn’t want to kiss her. Just helping the town. Nothing more.

Claire crossed to the chair, a safe distance from him but close enough they could chat with ease. “Not much. The insurance adjuster hasn’t been out to Uncle Joe’s yet. On Sunday, a bunch of people cleared the street downtown to be drivable, but other than tarps covering a few houses, nothing is happening.”

“We need to change that.” His tone went from smooth to brisk. She liked smooth better. “Do you have a paper and pen? If we’re going to get this town restored, I have questions to be answered.”

“Really?” She scurried to the kitchen for pen and paper. When she returned, she clicked the pen, preparing to write. “What do you want to know?”

“What stores would you say need the most work?”

She thought a moment and listed the ones she could think of. “Let me call Dad. He knows more than I do.” Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, she dialed his number. “Dad? Reed and I are making a list of all the stores destroyed—”

“Good idea. I’ll be right there.” He hung up before she could respond.

She shrugged, smiling at Reed. “Dad’s on his way.”

The corner of his mouth twisted. “You mean I don’t get you all to myself?”

All to himself? Claire widened her eyes and shrugged.

Then he grinned. “Your dad’s great. I want to make as many calls as possible before I leave next week.”

And just like that, her spirits dropped to the floor. Next week would be here before she knew it, and playing with temptation had burned her twice before. Not this time.

* * *

Five more minutes. Five minutes and he was sawing the cast off. He’d use a butter knife if he had to.

Reed gripped the arms of the wheelchair. The itch in his leg permeated his thoughts. A thin branch taunted from the limb overhanging the deck. If Reed went outside and snapped the twig, he’d jam it in his cast and scrape his leg until no skin remained.

Fridays were supposed to be good days. Fun days. But after two hours of studying the weekly report he would be in charge of as vice president, he’d almost fallen asleep of boredom. So he’d switched gears, making phone calls to local business owners, construction crews and even two insurance adjusters. Right up his alley. But, with nothing more to do, Reed had thumbed through every magazine in the cottage. Knew all the summer fashions. Skimmed the bookcases and learned about the war of 1812. Memorized the capitals of the fifty states. The television bored him. Inactivity? A cruel, cruel fate.