Читать книгу North Country Hero - Lois Richer - Страница 11

Chapter Three

“Thank you.” Kyle paid the delivery boy, hefted the box of groceries onto the counter and closed the door. “Finally,” he muttered.

He grabbed the tin of coffee, opened it and started a fresh pot of brew. While he waited impatiently he unpacked the rest, bumping into several pieces of furniture in the crowded room as he stored his supplies.

It wasn’t long before exhaustion dragged at him, caused by staying up too late to open the cards and letters full of sympathy from those who’d known his dad. Kyle turned, swayed and grabbed the back of a kitchen chair to keep from toppling over. He needed to sit, and fast. But first he poured himself a cup of too-strong coffee.

“Better,” he groaned, savoring the rich taste. “Much better.” But not as good as the coffee Sara had made him.

Kyle pushed that thought away.

The prosthesis ground against his skin—his “stump,” he corrected mentally. There weren’t enough calluses to protect the still-raw tissue, even after almost three months. He sank onto a chair, rolled up his pant leg and undid the brace that held the prosthesis in place. The relief was immediate. He reveled in it as he sat there, sipping his coffee. Unbidden, memories of the day he’d been injured filled his thoughts. To distract himself, he booted up his dad’s laptop and checked his email.

A tap on the window drew Kyle’s attention. Sara Kane stood watching him. He waited to see the revulsion his fiancée hadn’t been able to hide. He searched for the disgust and loathing that had swum through her eyes when she’d seen his damaged limb. But Kyle couldn’t find it in Sara’s dark scrutiny and wondered why.

What could he do but wave her in? While she entered, he closed the computer and set it on his dad’s desk.

“Good morning. I brought you some cinnamon buns.” Her gaze moved from the computer to him. She closed the door behind her and set a pan on the table. Her gaze held his. “You didn’t answer the doorbell.”

“It’s been broken since we moved in here. Dad was always going to fix it but—” Kyle realized he was rubbing his leg and quickly dragged his hand away. He was about to pull down his pant leg when she spoke.

“I could help you,” she whispered. “If you want help.”

“I don’t.” Stop acting like a bear, Kyle. “Thank you but I’ll be fine, Sara.” He didn’t want her here, didn’t want her to see his ugliness. “Don’t worry about me.”

Her solemn gaze locked with his but she said nothing.

“How did you get here?” He clenched his jaw against a leg cramp then gulped another mouthful of coffee, hoping that would help clear his fuzzy head.

“Laurel. She had to stop in town before picking up the boys from the airport. I wanted to ask you something so I told her I’d walk over here from the post office.”

Kyle watched as Sara filled the kettle with water and switched it on. A moment later she’d found a basin under the sink and added a towel from the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” Kyle demanded through gritted teeth as waves of pain rolled in. He’d refused to take any pain reliever last night, knowing he had to learn to manage it or risk becoming addicted. And he couldn’t afford that. He couldn’t afford to become dependent on anyone or anything.

“Hot water will ease your soreness.” Sara kept right on assembling things.

“Are you a nurse?” Kyle clamped his jaw together more tightly. Couldn’t she see he wanted to be alone?

“If I say yes, will you let me help you?” she asked in a soft tone.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.” A flicker of a smile played with the corner of her lips but Sara kept right on working.

The woman had guts, Kyle admitted grudgingly as she added cold water to the basin, tossed in a handful of salt and set it on the floor in front of him. Because he craved relief, he didn’t object when she poured boiling water from the kettle into the basin. Steam billowed up as she knelt in front of him. She dunked the towel, thoroughly soaked it then wrung it out. A moment later she wrapped the steaming towel around his stump and held it there, her hands gentle but confident.

Kyle almost groaned before he flinched away. No one outside the hospital staff had ever touched that ruined, angry part of him.

“Is it too hot?” She waggled her fingers in the water and frowned. “It doesn’t feel too hot.”

Actually it felt a lot like a warm hug.

“Kyle?”

He studied the top of her caramel-toned head. Somehow Sara’s tender touch eased his yearning to be enveloped in his father’s arms, something he’d craved during his intensive rehab and the weeks of therapy that followed.

“Kyle?” His name rushed from her lips, urgent. “Is it okay?” Her eyes were wide with—fear?

Why would she be afraid?

“It’s fine,” he groaned.

Liar. It is light years better than fine.

“I’m glad.” A sweet smile lit up her entire face.

In the quietness of that moment Kyle couldn’t help but compare Sara’s response to the decimating reaction of the woman who’d claimed to love him. When she’d glimpsed his shattered limb in the veteran’s hospital she had turned away and raced out, never to return.

Clearly, as he’d noticed several times, Sara was made of stronger stuff. His curiosity about her rose.

But Kyle didn’t ask questions because the longer Sara’s calm gaze held his, the more his muscles relaxed. She rinsed the cloth three times, each time reapplying and holding it in place until it cooled. Finally the knot of pain untied and slid away. He sighed his relief.

“The water’s too cool now,” Sara murmured. “I could heat more?”

“No. Thank you.” Kyle felt half-bemused as he realized his whole body felt limp, as it had when he’d come out of the anesthetic after each of his surgeries. “Where did you learn to do that?” His curiosity about the strength in such a delicate-looking woman grew.

“My fos—brother used to get banged up. Hot saltwater cloths always helped him.”

Sara’s slight hesitation before she’d said brother and the way she stumbled over banged up intrigued Kyle. What story lay hidden beneath those few words?

“It’s a great remedy.” The way she’d knelt in front of him to care for him humbled Kyle. “Thank you,” he said, and meant it.

“You’re welcome.” She rose in one fluid motion and glanced at the pan of rolls she’d left sitting on the table.

His father’s favorite line from Milton’s Paradise Lost flickered through Kyle’s mind. “Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eyes, in every gesture dignity and love.” He’d never known anyone but his mom who’d so perfectly fit the description.

Until now.

“I’ll just slip these buns into the oven to warm. You can rest for a while, then, when you’re ready to eat, they’ll be waiting.” Sara tightened the foil around the container and placed it inside the oven.

It struck Kyle then that he was doing what he’d vowed not to. He was letting someone do things for him. He was letting himself become dependent.

“What did you want to ask me?” The question was perfunctory. He didn’t want to hear. What he really wanted was for this disturbing woman to leave him alone.

Sara took her time dumping the basin, washing it out and storing it.

“Come on. I can’t be that unapproachable,” he prodded with a smile.

“Yes, you can.” Sara looked straight at him, unsmiling. “But I’ll ask anyway. I want to use something of yours.”

“Use something—of mine?” That sounded as if she’d made it up on the spur of the moment. Maybe she was only here because she felt sorry for him. Kyle’s gut burned. “Like what?”

“That.” She pointed out the grimy window that overlooked his backyard.

Kyle followed her pointing finger. He couldn’t figure out what she meant at first. There was nothing in the backyard. Except—

“I’d like permission to use your greenhouse, Kyle,” she said.

“My mom’s greenhouse.” Past memories, very personal memories, of the joys he shared inside that greenhouse built inside his head but he suppressed them. Kyle was suddenly irrationally annoyed at the way Sara kept pushing her way into his world. All he wanted was to be alone. “What could you possibly want that for?”

“Last night Laurel told me some of the boys’ histories so I’d understand why they’re at Lives.” She sat down. A tiny line furrowed her brow as she studied her hands. “I’m not sure I’m allowed to discuss them.”

“I’ll keep whatever you want to tell me confidential,” Kyle promised, curiosity mounting.

“Laurel says one of the boys is quite withdrawn. Rod.” She peeked through her lashes at him. “But he did very well when he was involved in a program at a tree nursery.”

Kyle waited, surprised by her earnest tone.

“Of course, there aren’t any tree nurseries here in Churchill,” Sara said, “but I thought that if he could get involved in growing something, it might help. We don’t have the capability at Lives. But I remembered seeing your greenhouse when we were here yesterday. If Rod could grow fresh herbs, I could use them in my cooking. Laurel said we’d share whatever we grew with you.” Her silver-gray eyes never left his face. “If you agree to let us use the greenhouse, that is.”

“I see.” Kyle studied the glass structure. “The roof might not be stable, you know. I’d have to have it checked, maybe repaired.”

A disappointed look flickered across her face. “You’re saying no?”

“I’m saying I don’t know.” Kyle didn’t want to reveal any sign of weakness, and having her see his injured leg made him feel weak, so he strapped on his prosthesis, rolled down his pant leg then slid his feet into a pair of his father’s moccasins. “Let’s go out and take a look.”

“Okay.” Sara pulled on the thin jacket she’d shed when she first came inside.

“You’ll freeze if that’s all you have to wear until summer gets here,” he warned.

Sara chuckled, her smile brimming with something he couldn’t quite define. All Kyle knew was that little seemed to faze this woman. A twinkle in those gorgeous eyes told him she’d faced much worse than cold weather, and come out on top.

“I’ll be fine, Kyle.”

He had a strong feeling that Sara Kane would be fine, though he couldn’t have said why. Perhaps it was the resolute determination in her manner. Sara Kane wouldn’t give up easily. He admired that.

“Open that cupboard. There should be a jacket in there, a red one.” He didn’t tell her the coat was special. He simply watched as she drew out his mother’s red parka. “Try it on.”

Sara shrugged into the coat. Her transformation was spectacular. A bird of paradise—she looked magnificent, delicate and incongruous in this land of icy winds and frozen tundra. The color lent life to her, enhancing subtle undertones in her hair and making her skin glow with a beauty Kyle had almost missed.

“I don’t think any of our guests ever looked as good as you in that.”

“Your guests?” She pulled the faux-fur collar around her ears and studied herself in the mirror, seemingly bemused by what she saw.

“Dad and I ran a guiding company,” he told her. “There are gloves in the pockets, I think.”

“Guiding? What does that mean?” She pulled on the gloves and bent her fingers experimentally, as if she expected the gloves’ thickness to impede movement.

“Guiding tourists to see the local sights,” he explained. “The northern lights, whale watching in a Zodiac, ATV treks into the wilderness or jaunts to see the polar bears—we did it all.” Bitterness oozed between his words, rendering his tone brittle and harsh, but even though he heard it, Kyle found it impossible to suppress his sense of utter loss.

“Polar bears.” Sara’s eyes were huge. She peeked over her shoulder as if expecting one to pounce from the bedroom.

“Churchill is famous for its polar bears. But it’s late in the season. When the ice goes out they leave to hunt seals. This year it’s very early but the ice is almost gone. Global warming, I suppose.” Kyle hated the fear pinching her pretty face. He rushed to reassure her. “But even if some bears are still hanging around, you don’t have to worry. There’s a town patrol that does a good job of keeping tabs on the bears’ whereabouts. Sometimes you’ll hear gunshots—pops,” he modified when her eyes expanded even more. “The noises deter the bears. I didn’t hear any on the way here yesterday or so far this morning, so it should be okay.”

“Uh-huh.” Sara inhaled and thrust back her shoulders as if she were about to venture into battle.

“Listen, Sara.” Kyle leaned forward. “Before we go outside I want to tell you something.”

“Okay.” It looked like she was holding her breath.

“Churchill is very safe.” He grabbed his jacket off the hook near the door. “But we tell this to everyone who comes here to prepare them. Just in case.”

“In case.” She gulped. “Right.”

“It might seem counterintuitive to you, but if you do happen upon a bear, do not turn your back on him and do not run.” Gently. Don’t terrorize her, Kyle. “Either of those actions will make you look like prey to him.”

“Which I will be,” she pointed out in a whisper, her face now devoid of all color.

“Well, yes.” He had to smile. “But what you want is to look like his adversary. Make yourself as tall as possible. Put your arms in the air and wave them. Yell as loud as you can. But do not run.” Why did he suddenly feel he had to protect her? “Bears love the chase.”

“Okay.” She trembled, her alarm visible.

Kyle had wanted Sara to be cautious. Instead he’d alarmed her.

Her eyes lost their silver sheen and darkened. She looked petrified.

Way to go, Kyle.

“I’d offer to drive you back, but I don’t think I could drive, even if Dad’s old truck was running. He cracked it up just before—” He swallowed, forced himself to continue. “Anyway, I don’t have transport.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Sara didn’t look fine. She looked like someone who had dredged up her last ounce of courage to face the lion’s den.

“Yes, you will be,” Kyle agreed. “Now let’s go take a look at Mom’s greenhouse.” He rose, ignored the twinge of pain in his hip and followed her outside, embarrassed by his slow progress down the stairs and Sara’s obvious attempt to ignore it.

Kyle didn’t intend to be in Churchill long, but by the time he reached the bottom step he’d made up his mind to hire someone to build a ramp. Dragging himself up and down these stairs sucked the energy out of him, not to mention that it made him feel like some kind of spectacle.

“Okay?” Sara opened the gate to his backyard.

“Just dandy.” He chose his steps over the uneven ground carefully. What a fool he’d been to wear these soft leather slippers and risk injuring himself again.

“The structure looks good,” Sara said, her head tilted to one side like a curious bird as she peered at the glass roof. “Of course, I don’t really know anything about greenhouses.”

“A friend wrote that he’d check on things till I could get home. It looks like he’s made sure everything is still solid.” Kyle pressed against the metal frame. Nothing swayed. “I brought the key. Let me check inside.”

The door swung to with a loud creak. Inside, the glass was dingy with years of dust. Debris covered parts of the floor.

“Oh, my.” Sara stared like a deer caught in headlights.

“After Mom passed away, Dad and I never used this for anything much but storage. I should have cleaned it out.” Kyle pulled away the cobwebs. “It’s filthy.”

“It won’t take long to clean.” Obviously recovered, Sara pressed the toe of her shoe against a stack of plastic bins. “What are these?”

“I don’t know. Dad must have packed them.” Kyle turned a pail upside down and sat on it. Then he opened the top bin. A bundle of bubble wrap lay inside. He lifted it out and slowly unwrapped it. A notebook fell out.

Instantly Kyle was a kid again, rushing home from school to find his mom in here, scribbling in her gardening journal while Dad teased her about her addiction to roses. Kyle gasped at the overwhelming pain.

“Kyle, what’s wrong?” Sara hunkered down in front of him. Her hand covered his. “Are you in pain?” she asked ever so gently.

“Yes.” For once he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. His heart ached so deeply he felt as if life had drained out of his body. He fought to be free, but the ache blemished his spirit like a scab on a scar.

“Can I help?”

“I’m okay.” Kyle inhaled, forced away the sadness. “This is my mom’s journal. I didn’t realize we still had it.” He flipped through the pages, chuckling at the funny drawings his mom had made. “She was always trying to produce a new breed of rose.”

“Under these conditions?” Sara lifted one eyebrow in surprise.

“Yes. Look.” He held up the book to show the sketch. “This was going to be her Oliver rose—named in memory of her high school friend. But the Oliver rose couldn’t take Churchill’s harshness. He was too weak.”

He was suddenly aware of Sara, crouched behind him, peering over his shoulder.

“I can’t read her writing.”

“No one could.” He cleared his throat. “Listen. ‘My dear Oliver is a wuss. One chilly night without the heater and he’s lost all his leaves. Pfui! A weakling. And a reminder of what God expects of us, a stiff backbone that weathers life’s challenges. I want a rose that will use the negatives of life to get tough and still bloom. I’ll wait and try again next year. But I fear my Oliver rose is finished.’” Kyle smiled. “She always spoke of her roses as if they were people.”

“It sounds like she had a sense of humor,” Sara said.

“A wicked one. Listen to this.” Kyle read her another passage about a yellow rosebush a friend had sent them. His laughter joined Sara’s. “I remember that bush. Coral Bells. It lasted year after year, no matter what adversity it encountered. My mother put Oliver next to it to give him some gumption. But it didn’t help.” He closed the book, suddenly loath to continue revealing these precious memories. “I wonder what else is in this box.”

To hide his emotions, Kyle tugged out layers of old newspaper, aware that Sara still crouched beside him, neatly folding each piece of paper he tossed on the ground. Below the paper lay trophies from school sports, local awards he and his father had won for their business, a book filled with clippings and letters from past customers—he kept pulling them out until finally the box was empty.

“Garbage.” Kyle refused to be swamped by memories again while Sara watched. “I should chuck them.” He set aside the plastic box and began working on the second bin. But it, too, was filled with childhood mementos that only served to remind him of things he could no longer do.

At the very bottom lay a series of Sunday-school awards and a big ribbon with top place printed on it in silver letters, from the championship quiz team he’d once led.

“More garbage.” Bitterness surged that God hadn’t been there when Kyle had needed Him, despite his faith and despite the many pleas he’d sent heavenward. “No need to keep any of this.”

But Sara was already rewrapping each item and laying it carefully back into the container.

“Looks like this is the last one Dad got around to packing.” Kyle paused, needing breathing space so he could face whatever came next without revealing to Sara how affected he was. “My father the pack rat must have needed room in the house.”

“I think he wanted to keep your special things safe for you,” Sara said, her voice firm yet soft. “So you wouldn’t forget your history.”

“Maybe.” He yanked off the last lid and tossed away the flat sheet of plain brown paper lying on top.

And stared at the contents.

Sara’s fingers curved around his shoulder.

He felt stupid, awkward and juvenile. But he could do nothing to stop the tears. They rolled down his hot cheeks and landed on his wrinkled shirt in a trickle that quickly became a river.

Kyle lifted out the familiar wooden box, letting the satin smoothness of the wood soak through to his hands, waiting for it to thaw his heart.

“Kyle?” Sara’s gentle voice bloomed with anxiety. But she said no more, waiting patiently until he finally pulled his emotions under control. “What is it?”

“A seed box,” he told her. His index finger traced the letters he’d carved on the lid years earlier. “It was a Christmas gift Dad helped me make for my mom when I was twelve.” He lifted open the top, slid out one of the drawers, brushed a fingertip against the velvet lining inside.

“It’s beautiful.” Sara leaned forward to examine the surface. “Is it rosewood?”

“Yes,” he said, surprised by her knowledge. “I had to order the wood specially. I thought we’d never get it done in time.” The laugh burst from him, harsh and painful. “Actually, I guess we didn’t.”

“What do you mean?” Sara sounded slightly breathless.

“Mom had barely put her seeds in this when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. By planting time she was too sick to come out here anymore.” He snapped the lid closed and thrust the box inside the bin. “She was so sure God would heal her. She said over and over, ‘Trust in God, Kyle. He’ll never let you down.’” Fury burned inside, a white-hot rage that could not be doused. “Well, He did. He let me down twice. And I will never trust Him again.”

He rose and made his way to the door, not caring about his awkwardness. All he wanted was to get away, to hide out until he found a way to deal with his anger.

“Do whatever you want in here, Sara. You’re welcome to it. Just don’t ask me to help you.” With that, Kyle stepped outside. He stood there, eyes closed as he inhaled the fresh, crisp air into his lungs and blew out frustration.

You’re starting over, he reminded himself. Forget the past.

Behind him he heard Sara close the greenhouse door with a quiet click. Desperate to be alone, he headed for the stairs to the house. He almost cheered when behind him a horn tooted and broke the strained silence. Kyle glanced over one shoulder at Sara.

“It’s Laurel,” she said. One hand went to the zipper of the red coat.

“Keep it. You might need it.” He held her gaze, nodding when her eyes asked him if he was sure.

“Thank you.” She hesitated then lifted her chin. “And thank you for letting us use the greenhouse. Enjoy your cinnamon buns.”

“Thanks.” He watched her walk to Laurel’s van. She opened the door then turned to face him.

“God bless you, Kyle,” she said in the softest voice. “I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

“That’s not necess—” Kyle’s words fell on emptiness. Sara was gone, the van driving away.

Kyle stomped into the house, fuming. He didn’t want her here, checking on him, blessing him. He wanted to be alone, to become totally self-sufficient.

Yet as he sampled the sticky sweetness of the cinnamon buns, Kyle almost welcomed the thought of someone else, someone whose presence would stop him from being engulfed by bitterness at what he’d lost.

He stopped himself. His plan for the future did not include staying here or becoming dependent. It certainly could not include getting mesmerized by a pair of silvery-gray eyes. He would never allow himself to be that vulnerable again.

For now, Kyle was home. He’d take the rest of his life one step at a time.

But if Sara did come back, he’d try to find out more about her, like what had made her stare so longingly at his dad’s laptop when she’d seen it lying on the desk.

And why she seemed so certain God would bless him.