Blackberry Cove

by Roxanne Snopek

  If this is how she always was, no wonder Roman liked her. Not a lot of people took time to listen to cranky old men.

  “Of all people,” he said, “you don’t deserve my anger. Thank you for looking out for my dad. If you hadn’t been there . . .”

  He cleared his throat and looked away.

  She reached for him, caught his hand, and led him to a chair. She smelled nice, like the outdoors and something blooming. Her touch was soft but firm. Something inside him lifted a sleepy head.

  Hello, he thought. I wasn’t expecting that.

  Gently, Abby pushed him into the chair.

  “You’re exhausted,” she said. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee? It’s cheap and barely drinkable, but you look like you need it.”

  The color of her eyes made him think of hazelnut lattes. A smile tipped the edge of her lips. Her hand was still on his arm. “If you insist,” he said.

  When she walked away, he rubbed his arm, where the skin was already cooling.

  Chapter Four

  From Abby’s notebook:

  Prepare soil for spring planting. Incorporate generous amounts of organic materials and other amendments. Remember, well-rotted manure is your friend. Death and decay is the bedrock of new life.

  Abby could feel his eyes on her as she walked away, feel the weight of her secret and the guilt that came with it. Jon was hurting and tired and her knowledge of what lay ahead for him filled her with pain. She wished she could take off, leave it all in the hands of the medical staff, but Roman’s wishes trumped everything, for now. Until Roman told Jon, Abby was stuck in limbo. Aching to help, but without being able to say why.

  Roman was in good hands. Most of the staff knew him and Aiden McCall, the physician on duty tonight, would treat the man as if he was his own father.

  He’d even become something of a favorite at Sunset Bay Memorial, not for his personality, but for his service dogs. Everyone had loved old Sadie and Chaos was quickly earning similar affection.

  No matter how crabby Roman got, when people saw him stroking his dog’s ears, or saw Chaos leaning against him, eyes soft with adoration, their hearts generally melted. No one who’d earned that kind of love from a dog could be wholly bad.

  She hoped the reunion between father and son was going well.

  She plugged money into the vending machine and watched as the thin dark stream trickled into the plastic cup. It had been a long day for everyone but now that Jon had arrived, her nerves sizzled with energy. The quietness of the hospital after hours and the urgency of the situation made it strangely intimate.

  She wished she had come in her own vehicle so she could leave Jon to face this without having a stranger witness his reaction. But with Roman clinging to her hand, she’d automatically crawled into the ambulance and stayed at his side. The EMTs had allowed it, quickly seeing that she helped keep Roman calm.

  She didn’t know Jon well enough to say whether his discomfort at her presence would outweigh his appreciation for the support of someone else who cared about his father.

  Jon would have questions for her, of course, since she’d been the one to find Roman. She’d have to be careful about what she could and couldn’t say, without breaking Roman’s confidence.

  Abby had been in Jon’s shoes, watching a loved one suffer, without being able to do a single thing to help, and now she ached for him. She knew all about the helplessness and rage, how being dependent on the wisdom and whims of others eroded your own power, made you want to hunker down and howl.

  But it was more than empathy.

  The truth was, there was something about Jon that pulled at her, awakened desires long dormant, dreams she’d never allowed herself. The memory of her first sight of him last summer was burned into her mind. Hair burnished gold by the sun, chiseled cheekbones and sunglasses that hid sparkling, smiling blue eyes. He looked like a man at peace with his life. Long, loose stride, firm handshake, and eye contact that said he really saw you when he looked at you.

  Yes, there was a lot to like about Jonathan Byers. If a woman was in the market.

  She could still feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips and longed to sweep the hair off his forehead and ease the tired lines around his eyes.

  But she was window-shopping only. Her future was as cloudy as the woods in winter, shrouded with uncertainty, no clear way through. She knew better than to let her heart further complicate matters.

  When she returned with the cups of tepid liquid, Aiden was with Jon, sitting in the chair she’d just vacated. He leaned forward, speaking earnestly, and Jon nodded.

  “Abby.” He looked up at her, his eyes wide, his lips white. “Dr. Mac says Dad owes you his life.”

  Wild hope leaped inside her. Oh, thank God! Aiden had told him. The secret was out.

  Wait. That didn’t make sense. Jon would be in shock, not grateful.

  Heat rushed into Abby’s face. “I don’t know what you mean.” She rested one cup of coffee on the other and put a hand to her cheek.

  “Lying in one position for so long made a clot form,” Aiden said. “Thanks to you, we found it in time. It could have been bad.” He turned back to Jon. “There are other issues, but he’d prefer to discuss those with you himself. You should talk to him about . . . his prognosis.”

  Aiden’s voice was solemn. He’d been hobbled by Roman’s wishes, too.

  “Of course. More physio, more rest, more drugs. Dad’s not going to be happy about this.”

  Poor Jon. He had no idea what was coming.

  “He will be happy to see you, though.” Abby stepped closer with the paper cup, wishing again that she could flee. “Here’s your coffee.”

  “I’ve got to get back to work.” Aiden squeezed Abby’s shoulder gently. “Thanks again, Abby. See you later, Jon.”

  She bent to set the plastic cups onto the coffee table but her hand slipped and liquid splashed out from the top cup. She caught it in time to prevent a wholesale flood, but by the time she’d righted the flimsy container, the outdated magazines were all stained and her hand was dripping.

  “I’ve got it.” Jon grabbed a box of tissues, wiped the spill on the coffee table, and then took her hand in his.

  “I’ll wait here,” Abby said. “Give you some privacy.”

  Give Roman time to do the right thing.

  She tried to pull away but he’d put his other hand out too, capturing hers between them. She was achingly aware of the thin paper towel that was all that separated his skin from hers.

  “Please stay,” he asked her.

  She couldn’t say no.

  * * *

  Many years ago, Roman’s film crew had been working on a project near Agua Dulce, northeast of Santa Clarita, when a chunk of sandstone collapsed beneath the set. Several actors had been badly hurt. One girl had died.

  Roman had almost died, also.

  Jon couldn’t be in a hospital now, without remembering how his father had looked back then, his pelvis crushed, his ribs cracked, bleeding, bruised, and broken. But Roman’s anguish over the death of that young actor had damaged him in ways that could not be seen on an X-ray or CT scan.

  He’d learned to walk again, which the doctors said was a miracle. They said the pain would lessen, in time, with rehab and medication.

  They were wrong about that, though Roman bulldozed his way through it. His legs were unreliable, his posture twisted, his skin scarred. Reminders of his biggest failure were etched into his very bones and, Jon believed, his spirit. Whatever contentment the driven man had once had was gone, withered away like the atrophied muscles in his hip.

  The media referred to it as the Vasquez Rocks accident and lost no time turning the tragedy into a scandal. Rumors flared to life throughout Hollywood, like summer wildfires raging in the mountains. Had budgetary issues led to corners being cut, rules being bent, safety measures bypassed?

  Had Roman Byers’s negligence led to this catastrophe?

  By the time Roman could defend hims
elf it was too late. His reputation was destroyed, career over, everything crushed in the same pile of rubble that had buried him alive.

  Jon knew all this about his father. Knew that the man had plenty of reasons to be bitter and angry. Knew that the safety of his cast and crew always, always came first. Knew he’d been screwed by scabrous lawyers playing both ends against the middle. Knew that grieving people needed someone to blame, whether there’s fault to be found or not.

  What better scapegoat than a rich, powerful man in a private hospital, with no one to speak for him?

  Jon still itched to tell the truth of that story, but Roman had sworn all manner of violence against his son if he dredged it up again.

  The psychology major in him knew that Roman’s experience was part of what drove Jon to dig so hard on the story for Diversion. There’d been no defense for Roman, who’d taken responsibility and paid over and over for a disaster in which he’d been unjustly tarred a villain.

  Richard Arondi was a true villain whose victims would never get justice unless someone found a way to expose him.

  A nurse intercepted him outside Roman’s door. “The trip to X-ray exhausted him. Keep it brief, okay? He needs his rest.”

  He thanked her and then turned to Abby. “Here goes.”

  She touched his arm. “You sure you don’t want to greet him alone?”

  “Absolutely.”

  It was always easier to be around his father when a third person was with them. Conversation flowed more easily, allowing them to bypass the speed bumps and land mines that littered the history of their interactions. Not that things were bad between them. Just . . . complicated.

  Perhaps there was no such thing as an uncomplicated father-son relationship.

  He knew, from their phone conversations, that Roman saw Abby frequently, that he enjoyed her company, that she’d helped him out a time or two. Roman, who hated people seeing his weaknesses, didn’t feel threatened by Abby.

  Then he walked through the door.

  Immediately, he reached for Abby’s hand. She gripped it, as if recognizing his reaction.

  Seeing his father lying pale and somehow diminished against the stark white hospital sheets made him feel as if the intervening years hadn’t happened, that they were caught in a scene loop, destined to relive this worst moment over and over again, the only change being the increasing fragility of the man in the bed until finally, Roman would be nothing more than an indentation on the pillow.

  They tiptoed into the room. When he hesitated at the foot of the bed, Abby nodded her chin toward the thin metal-framed visitor’s chair.

  “He’s sleeping,” Jon whispered, his feet leaden. “I should come back in the morning.”

  The lights in the ward were dimmed for night. Outside the room, the staff went about their duties quietly, their soft-soled shoes barely a whisper on the polished tile, their voices low.

  Abby stepped closer and nudged him with her shoulder, a gesture that, in the small room, felt like a caress.

  “Stay for a little while,” she whispered back. “He knows you’re here.”

  Jon felt the hairs on his arms quiver at her nearness. She smelled of coffee and mint.

  “You sure you want me here?” She glanced toward the door.

  “Positive.” Seeing Roman in this condition was uncomfortable. But seeing him in this condition, alone, would be worse. He indicated the seat on the opposite side of the bed. “Please. He’ll be on better behavior if you’re here.”

  She bit her lip, then smiled crookedly. “Okay. If you say so.”

  The lightness in her tone was forced and even in the soft light, he could see the color rising in her cheeks. She smoothed her sleeves, adjusted her purse, then interlaced her fingers and squeezed them, as if they might fly away if she didn’t restrain them.

  He waited for her to perch on the end of her chair, then made himself comfortable. He reached through the metal safety railing and laid his hand over Roman’s.

  His father’s flesh was cool and dry, the bones beneath like dried twigs.

  His throat tightened. No matter how old you got, you always wanted your father to be strong and wise, big and brave. A hero.

  He lifted his gaze. Abby was looking at him, her eyes shining, holding her elbows, hugging herself, and Jon felt something flow between them. He imagined those arms around him and took comfort from the fantasy. For a long moment, they simply stared at one another and suddenly, his spirits lifted.

  He wasn’t alone.

  Abby cared about Roman; he’d known that. Roman had friends on the ranch.

  But this was something more. She also cared about Jon, enough to share the pain of watching a loved one suffer, as if she understood how desperately he needed someone to share this burden with him.

  He’d seen her numerous times around the ranch, had spoken with her a few times, but he didn’t really know her. He’d recognized her as an extremely attractive woman, of course. A man would have to be dead not to notice that. But he’d always been focused on his dad, and most of his dealings had been with other staff members.

  Once, when he and Roman had been invited to dinner, Jon had sat next to Abby at the big harvest table. She’d been pleasant and courteous, but there’d been a distance, a barrier that gave off the subtle but unmistakable message that when it came to the usual male-female games, she was not playing.

  He’d thought nothing of it. He was busy trying to keep his career going while keeping an eye on Roman. He didn’t have time for games either.

  But now he wondered.

  All this was going through his head during that long moment while he was drowning in that warm dark gaze of hers.

  Then, suddenly, Abby smiled. Her lips were still quivery at the edges, and moisture shone on her lashes. She reached out and lightly patted his hand, where it rested on Roman’s.

  The smile faded. “Go easy on him, Jon.”

  He felt his eyebrows rise. “Of course. It’s not his fault. Well, not exactly.”

  She exhaled audibly. “This is what I mean. Don’t fight with him. Just listen. Promise me.”

  What was she talking about? Was his frustration that obvious? He opened his mouth to protest, then let the words die away. He sighed. “Sure. Whatever.”

  She squeezed his hand lightly, then sat back in her chair and laced her fingers together again. “I’m glad you’re here. You might not believe this, but he needs you now more than ever.”

  The hand beneath his twitched and Jon jumped. “Dad?” He leaned closer. “Are you awake?”

  Something that sounded like “harrumph” came from Roman. One rheumy eye peeled open, then the other.

  “You scared the hell out of me.” He patted his father’s bony shoulder, feeling the weight of Abby’s eyes on him as he did so. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like shit.” Roman paused to clear his rusty throat. “Nice of you to drop in.”

  He bristled, then forced himself not to react. “I got here as fast as I could, Dad.”

  If his father hadn’t insisted on moving out to the back of beyond, they wouldn’t be having this problem. Jon always feared it would come to this.

  “Where’s Chaos?” Roman peered around the room, squinting.

  “I left him at your house,” Abby said. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring him back to the ranch with me. We’ll take care of him until you’re home again.”

  “That dog is a pain in the ass,” Roman muttered, “but I’ve gotten used to having him around. Never thought I’d say that.”

  Jon bit back a smile. “I’ll find you a place that allows dogs.”

  Roman blinked.

  Abby shot Jon a tight-lipped glance.

  He ignored it and pulled his chair closer. “I’m just being realistic. What if something like this happens again? It’s not safe for you to live out there anymore.”

  “I’m doing fine on my own.”

  “You’re peeing into a bag.” Jon rubbed his gritty eyes. “It’s time to fa
ce reality. A fall like this was inevitable. I’m just glad it wasn’t worse.”

  “My hip hurts.” Roman clicked the button that administered his painkiller, waited a moment, then clicked it again. “Is this damn thing even working?”

  Abby took it out of his hands. “It’s preloaded so you can’t accidentally overdose. Jon, you’re tired and worried. You can talk about future plans later, after the two of you have had a chance to catch up properly. The main thing is, you’re together now. I’m sure you can both agree on that, can’t you?”

  Roman gave a laugh that turned into a cough. “Bossier than she looks, isn’t she, Jon?”

  “I’ll say.” He’d always thought Abby seemed a bit shy. Maybe he’d been wrong.

  “If I were thirty years younger,” Roman said.

  Abby slapped her thighs and got to her feet. “Roman. You promised.”

  Jon looked between the two of them. “Promised what? What’s going on?”

  “Promised I’d behave myself.” Roman shifted in the bed and winced.

  Jon snorted and gently punched the pillow next to his father’s shoulder. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  Abby shook her head at them, her expression troubled. It looked like she wanted to say something, then thought better of it and left the room.

  Chapter Five

  From Abby’s notebook:

  MORNING GLORY MUFFINS

  Bursting with nutrition, this recipe is also chock-full of flavor. It’s flexible, as well. Mixing the bran and old-fashioned oats in with the wet ingredients, instead of the dry, helps soften it before baking. Unlike similar traditional recipes, which use white flour only and five times the amount of sugar, these high-fiber, nutrient-dense muffins will quickly become a family favorite.

  ¾ cup all-purpose flour

  1¼ cup whole wheat flour

  ¼ cup brown sugar

  3 teaspoons ground cinnamon