He understood better than most that recovery from a traumatic illness or injury involved much more than just physical recuperation. Emotional scars ran far deeper and healed slower than flesh and blood. So how could he help her? He wasn’t a therapist or a doctor, he was just a regular guy – a guy with his own complicated issues. He should probably just back off and let her find her way.
Even as the thought to walk away came to him, he knew he wouldn’t heed his own advice. Something about Julia called to him. Bound him.
Here he’d thought he could handle people – that he was a master charmer, and everyone liked him. He pretended that no one really knew why he’d come back to Smithville, broken and resolute, but everyone knew. And it was becoming clear that he would not be able to keep blindly waltzing his way through life without getting close to anyone.
Snorting, he stood and stomped across the office to the window. Cramming his hands in his pockets, he glared out to the parking lot. He hated feeling helpless. He hadn’t felt this gut-wrenched since the night he’d sent William out to check on that delivery back in Philly. The weather had been bad, and one of their trucks had slid off the road, leaving a delivery stranded. Why hadn’t he gone to check on the mess himself instead of sending William?
And now, years later, he was trapped in hopelessness again. He’d tried to stay detached where Julia was concerned, but he was obviously too far gone for that now. He couldn’t get her out of his head.
As he turned back to stare across the dusty little office, he realized that there was only one answer. He’d have to find out more about what had happened and try to help her.
He didn’t know if he was up for the job, but the only real question left in his mind was if she would let him help?
* * *
The old man at the corner raised his hand to wave, a grin spreading across his wrinkled face. Julia waved back, almost used to people pointing and smiling at George as she drove. Even though she was emotionally exhausted from her run-in with Chad, she had squeezed in a trip to the grocery store so she would be able to cook dinner on her new stove once Steve hooked it up.
The man pointed to George and gave Julia the thumbs up. Her shoulders relaxed into the truck seat and she smiled tiredly, petting George’s back. She wasn’t fixated on getting where she was going nowadays, because she had nothing but time.
Pulling into the driveway, she reflected that before her illness she hadn’t noticed people when she drove -- at least not unless they ran in front of her car or drove carelessly. Pausing longer than necessary at a stop sign, like she’d just done, was something other people did and an annoyance of the worst sort. She’d had places to go and people to see.
Now she noticed individuals and trees and signs and the world around her. The song Nowhere Man came to mind.
Shade dappled her gravel driveway with shifting patterns and shadows as she pulled to a stop. The truck door squeaked when she pushed it open, and George jumped from her lap to land gracefully on the ground, but Ringo wiggled excitedly in the seat, waiting to be lifted down. It was a longer drop from the seat than his stubby legs wanted to take, she supposed.
Dropping Ringo to the ground, she reached back into the truck to tug the grocery bags out, contentedly remembering the ingredients she’d bought to cook on her new stove.
It had been a rough day, she thought, trudging up to the porch. Her meltdown in front of Chad had been a harsh prompt to face reality, but she had felt a little better after her nap and was ready for the distraction of putting her kitchen together.
When Chad had been in front of her, his persona larger than life, she’d been tempted to give up the battle and melt into the man, soak him up, like dry, cracked dirt in a summer thunderstorm.
Well, it served her right, she supposed, juggling grocery bags to unlock the door. She’d been on dangerous ground, and she’d needed to be brought back to earth, back to her reality. It hurt but it was what it was. She’d known that when she pulled into town, and she knew it now.
Glancing back at the truck to make sure she’d actually closed the door and not just thought about it, she remembered the day she’d bought the aging truck. She’d needed a vehicle to leave New York, and she wanted something different than the high-end BMW that had been sold while she was sick. Something she could pay for outright.
When she’d walked onto the used-car lot with cash in hand, the old truck had caught her eye and spoken to her inner redneck, and it had been a done deal. She hadn’t regretted the purchase for a minute.
Still having no cupboards in the kitchen, Julia plopped the grocery bags on the hutches standing in the living room and took a moment to allow the blood to flow back into her fingers. Ringo sat at her feet regarding her with shining brown dog eyes, his brows lifting one after the other.
Squatting to pat his head, she smiled. “Can you hear all the crap in my head, boy? Huh?”
The dog placed his front legs on her makeshift lap so she could rub his belly. As she scratched Ringo’s neck, Julia came to the conclusion that she had had a tough day and she should just lighten up. She really needed to concentrate on moving forward and to stop looking back. It was far too easy to feel like crap about who she had been instead of who she was today.
She smiled, miserable but determined. “We’re going to cook dinner tonight, isn’t that exciting?” she asked the little dog, ruffling his ears. His tongue lolled from one side of his mouth.
“We will finally have a kitchen,” she continued.
Ringo barked twice to show he was indeed happy about the kitchen. A knock at the screen door made them both turn, and Julia stood, surprised and pleased to see Tara smiling through the screen. Julia motioned for her to come in.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt a moment,” Tara laughed, bending to pat Ringo as he greeted her.
“Not at all, I just got home from the grocery store,” Julia replied, lifting grocery bags to show Tara. “Want to help me get these to the kitchen?”
Nodding, Tara collected the rest of the bags to follow Julia. “Oh, the floor turned out so pretty!” she gushed as she wandered through the room, her eyes on the floor.
“It did, didn’t it?” Julia replied as she bent to reach into the ugly yellow fridge and rearrange the contents to make more room. Turning back to the kitchen, she propped one hand on her hip to watch Tara. “Did you hear what happened?”
“When?” Tara asked, stopping at the fridge to set the grocery bags on the floor.
“The night we did the floors. Don’t tell me it hasn’t been all over town by now.”
Tara’s forehead wrinkled in thought. “No, I didn’t hear anything.”
Scoffing, Julia began emptying the contents of the grocery bags into the fridge. “Maybe Chad didn’t want to embarrass Bobby. Or me.”
“Why, what happened?” Tara asked, stepping back to lean against the sink.
Julia stood and glanced from the bags to the fridge. Satisfied that all the required items were in the fridge, she bent to collect the remaining bags from the floor and headed toward the pantry. “Let’s just say that Bobby had a little mishap and the stain bucket got knocked over.”
With her eyes large, Tara followed Julia toward the door of the butler’s pantry. “On the floor in here?” she questioned, glancing along the kitchen floor. “You can’t even tell. Did it ruin anything?”
“I didn’t have shoes on,” Julia replied, loading cans onto the shelves. “I pretty much climbed straight up Chad to get out of the mess.”
Tara gasped, her head pivoting back toward the pantry, her hand covering her mouth. “You did?”
Finished loading the shelves, Julia gathered the empty grocery bags, bent and tugged open a drawer. “Oh, I did.”
Her eyes glowing, Tara laughed out loud. “What did he say? How...?”
Julia shook her head and stuffed the empty bags into the drawer. “It was ridiculous. Bobby was trying to keep Ringo out of the stain, and Chad was worried about the floor. I just climbe
d off him and we all started wiping up.”
“I can almost see it!” Tara chuckled and moved aside so Julia could exit the pantry.
“It was lovely. I had a knee over his shoulder at one point and one arm locked under his chin.”
“No!”
Julia nodded. “And I’m pretty sure he got a face full of cleavage as I climbed off.”
“And he didn’t say a word about this, to anyone?” Tara asked indignantly, her eyes wide.
“Maybe he doesn’t want to brag about his floor-staining abilities,” Julia said, shrugging one shoulder.
Both women laughed.
“That’s awesome,” Tara blurted, amusement still glowing in her eyes.
Julia’s head jerked back in surprise.
“I mean, I thought only I did stuff like that,” Tara assured, one hand out. “Seriously, you wouldn’t believe some of the crap that happened to Justin and me.”
“I’ve been waiting to hear all about it,” Julia admitted with a smile. “Come sit down and tell me all the juicy details.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Ringo’s barking announced Steve’s arrival, tearing Julia’s attention away from the conversation. “Come in,” she called over Tara’s head.
“Ladies—” Steve said as he entered, bobbing his head, his hands full of tools. “Mind if I get started?”
Both women rose and Julia put out an arm to indicate for him to proceed.
“Well, don’t this floor look nice!” Steve commented, putting down his toolbox next to the oven. “And this thing’s a gem, ain’t it?” His large mitt of a hand caressed the edge of the stove.
“I’m so glad it found a good home,” Tara said.
Julia grinned and crossed her arms over her chest. “I love it,” she replied, her eyes shining.
“Well, let’s get her hooked up then, shall we?” Steve said, unloading tools from his box.
“I’m going to cook tonight,” Julia said to Tara, but doubt crept into her words.
Her head tilted to one side, Tara’s brow rose as she evaluated Julia’s face. “You okay?”
Turning to gaze out the window to cover her discomfort, Julia nodded. “Yeah, it’s just been a while. I’m probably... rusty.”
Tara harrumphed and waved her off. “It’s like riding a bike -- I’m sure you’ll do great. I’ll warn you though that these old ovens can be temperamental. It may have hot spots.”
Julia nodded. “I figured. We’ll have to get to know each other, won’t we old girl?”
“Old girl?” Steve scoffed, his voice muffled, and his arms hidden behind the stove.
“Yup. As a matter of fact, I think I’ll call her Bessy,” Julia declared, surprising herself more than a little. She’d never named an inanimate object before.
“Bessy,” Tara laughed, cocking her head to contemplate the oven. “It fits.”
Steve stood, dropped his wrench in the toolbox and brushed his hands on the stomach of his overalls. “Okay then, I’ll turn on the gas to ol’ Bessy and we can test the connection.”
No gas leaked from the wall connection, so Steve showed Julia how to light the burners with a long match.
“I brought you a box of these,” Steve said handing her the package of matches. “They aren’t easy to find nowadays, but you can get them at the hardware store.”
Julia nodded, watching the ring of blue flame dance on the stovetop. Memories blurred through the back of her mind, drawing her from the room through a long dark tunnel and into a hazy past. She stood in a sleek white kitchen, holding the handle of a frying pan over a gas burner. A voice drew her attention to her left where a blond man laughed, a wine glass in his hand. Brad.
Tara’s voice splintered the memory, yanking away the fragments of Julia’s vision.
“Julia, oh my God! Steve, help me!” Tara cried as her friend fell limply to the floor.
* * *
The room spun as two concerned faces came into view above Julia, leaning over her and pressing her shoulders down as she struggled to sit up.
“Are you feeling better now?” Tara asked, concern and fear resonating in her tone.
“Should I call 911?” Steve asked.
Tara shook her head. “Let’s give her a minute.” Slipping her arm behind Julia, Tara helped her sit up and lean against the wall. “Julia?”
Her hand to her forehead, Julia flinched at the light pouring through the window. Her stomach churned and the floor was hard and cold. Embarrassed at the attention, she felt a blush burn up her neck to her face. “I’m okay. This happens sometimes.”
Tara struggled to stay calm. “You fainted, flat out. Are you diabetic? Should I find you something to eat?”
“No,” Julia pressed her fingertips into her eyes and pushed away from the wall. “It’s nothing like that. I just get kind of—blank—sometimes.”
“Should— should I stay or go?” Steve asked, turning off the burner on the stove.
“I’m fine. You can go,” Julia muttered, struggling to her feet, searching for a scrap of self-respect. “Sorry I’m—just—Sorry.”
“It’s no problem.” Steve said, glancing from Tara to Julia and back. “Can I bring you anything?”
Julia shook her head and pulled a mantle of calm back around herself. “Really, I’m okay now. Thanks so much for hooking up the stove. I should cook for you sometime—” The offer was heartfelt, but the confidence that she could do any such thing was missing from her words.
“Well—okay then, I’ll call in a few days and see if you’re having any trouble with it.” Steve offered, still obviously unsure what he should do.
Tara nodded to him, offering reassurance. “I’ll stay for a bit, you go ahead.”
The big man collected his tools and nodded his farewell.
“Shall we go sit down?” Tara asked.
“No, I don’t want to sit,” Julia said, irritated that she’d looked like a fool. Again.
Tara shrugged. “Okay, what would you like to do?”
A long sigh emanated from Julia as she glanced around the room. Her gaze paused at the oven, and a tiny smile glowed in her tired eyes. She turned to Tara. “Think you could help me drag those hutches in here?”
Excitement clear in her face, Tara clapped happily. “Yes! I can’t wait to see how they will look!”
The women pushed and groaned, shoved and shimmied, the two sizeable hutches into the kitchen and into position on either side of the sink, then stepped back to scrutinize their work.
“It’s just like I envisioned,” Julia whispered, her chest heaving from the effort.
“It’s perfect,” Tara agreed, still watching Julia from the corner of her eye, alert for any signs of distress.
Julia leaned over the sink to look behind a hutch. “I should have asked Steve about the outlets.”
“Let’s see—” Tara offered, leaning across the sink to look behind the other hutch. “It looks like you can cut holes in the hutches, or we can run some power strips from the outlets.” She stepped back. “I have some nice ones that you can mount under the top shelves if you’d like so you won’t see them.”
Finally able to relax and enjoy having a friend offering ideas, Julia smiled, her eyes bright with tears. Blinking rapidly, she cleared her throat. “That sounds perfect.”
Tara nodded, ignoring the tears. “I can bring them by tomorrow and help you get them mounted. Sound good?”
Relieved and content, Julia agreed with a nod. “You’re the best.”
Shrugging, Tara turned toward the door to the hall and grinned over her shoulder. “I know.”
On the porch, Tara paused to stroll along the porch rail, admiring the roses.
“Wait here a minute,” Julia said, hurrying back into the house. She returned carrying a pair of shears and a crinkled sheet of tissue paper. Bending over the rail, she snipped off several branches of roses in various colors and wrapped them in the tissue paper.
“For your inn,” she said with a wide smile
, handing the roses to Tara.
Accepting the flowers with a reverent sniff, Tara glowed. “Thanks! Your yard is already the talk of the inn; now, we can enjoy your flowers in person.”
With a foreign sensation blazing in her chest, Julia waved as Tara backed out of the drive, then she squatted to pet George as he wound around her ankle. He was getting chubby, she noticed. Was she putting out too much food for him? She shrugged and decided to ask Bobby. He seemed to know about cats.
Taking a last glance across the cheerful yard, she stood. “Come on, Ringo, it’s time to cook dinner,” she called, then waited as the little dog trotted across the porch and into the house. Both creatures followed her to the kitchen.
Using the old, four-legged butcher block that she’d dragged up next to the stove as a prep surface, Julia retrieved mixing bowls and pans. Then taking her recipe book with her, she collected ingredients from the fridge and pantry.
Having never cooked as a pet owner, Julia was amused to find that Ringo sat patiently at her feet, his eyes never leaving the counter above as she chopped vegetables, trimmed cuts of chicken, and grated cheese. The scents of herbs rose from the cutting board, and Ringo’s little nose twitched with interest and excitement. When a scrap or crumb escaped to fall to the floor, it was immediately lapped up and the spot on the floor licked clean.
“Yuck, don’t lick the floor, boy. That’s gross,” she chided.
George, on the other hand, came running when the can opener broke the seal on a can of chicken broth. But after pacing for several minutes, his tail swishing back and forth over his back, he lost interest and left the room.
Much to Julia’s surprise, she remembered parts of how to cook – things like how to shake the pan to sauté items, when to turn the meat, or add the vegetables. But sadly, lost to her was the list of ingredients. Checking the recipe in the cookbook over and over again, she struggled to remember if she’d added the item from the list on the page, or if she’d just thought about adding it. She truly couldn’t keep track.
Hometown Series Box Set Page 39
