Blackberry Cove

by Roxanne Snopek

  2 teaspoons baking soda

  ½ teaspoon salt

  3 eggs

  ½ cup vegetable oil

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  ½ cup unsweetened applesauce

  ¾ cup mashed ripe bananas (2 medium, or substitute

  with additional applesauce)

  ¼ cup bran

  ¼ cup old-fashioned oatmeal

  2 cups grated carrots (can substitute zucchini, or use

  a combination)

  2 small apples, grated

  ⅔ cup crushed unsweetened pineapple, drained

  ½ cup sweetened, shredded coconut

  ½ cup golden raisins

  ¾ cup chopped walnuts

  Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

  Mix the first six ingredients in a large bowl.

  In a second bowl, combine the eggs, oil, vanilla, applesauce, and bananas. Then add the bran and oatmeal.

  Stir in carrots, zucchini, apples, pineapple, coconut, raisins, and walnuts.

  Fill greased or paper-lined muffin cups two-thirds full. Bake at 350 degrees for 20–24 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

  Cool for five minutes before removing from pans to wire racks.

  Makes two dozen muffins.

  As soon as Abby sat down in the waiting area outside the emergency room, fatigue overwhelmed her. It was the worst time of day, that last hour before dawn, when the birds weren’t singing yet and shift workers dozed off and drivers crossed the midline and insomniacs cried and prayed and made outrageous online purchases.

  She dropped her head into her hands, letting her hair flop around her like a curtain. The nocturnal world was full of whispered secrets, shadows, and shapes she could neither escape in sleep nor pretend away in daylight.

  “He’s sleeping the sleep of the drugged again,” Jon said as he entered the waiting room, his keys jingling in his hands. “Sorry about how he was talking. He gets that way sometimes.”

  Abby made herself smile. “I know. He’s always worse when he’s insecure. Did he . . . say anything more?”

  She already knew he hadn’t. Jon wouldn’t take that news casually.

  Jon nodded. “Told me to remind you to bring him something to eat tomorrow. Says hospital food is worse than cancer.”

  Abby twitched. She was going to kill the old man herself if he didn’t tell Jon soon.

  Jon looked toward the exit. “I’m going to head back to his place. Thanks for staying with me. I appreciate the moral support.”

  “No problem.” Abby stood up and her knees made an audible crack. “Um. Actually, I rode in the ambulance with Roman, so . . .”

  “Ah,” he said. “I get it. You were stuck.”

  “I’d have stayed anyway,” she protested. “I didn’t want to leave him alone.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “So it was all about him. Not at all about me.”

  She could see he’d inherited his father’s sense of humor.

  “I barely remember you,” she said. “What’s your name again?”

  He laughed. “Come on.” He gestured for her to precede him down the hallway. “You can help keep me awake on the drive.”

  “Don’t know how good I’ll be at that,” Abby admitted. “But at least I haven’t spent my day in transit. You must be wiped.”

  As they walked through the exit doors into the darkness, he touched the small of her back. It was a simple, old-fashioned gesture of courtesy, nothing more, but it sent warmth flooding through her body, along with a quivering, distracting, unexpected awareness. In the confines of the vehicle, they were close enough that she could feel his body heat and smell the leather of his jacket and something mildly woodsy and crisp. His soap? Cologne? It was clean and subtle and she breathed it in.

  They didn’t speak much during the drive, but instead of being awkward, the silence was easy. Comfortable.

  When they arrived at Roman’s place, Abby went to her truck, then paused and looked upward. Stars dotted the black velvet sky, a crescent moon hung like a sickle, and dew scented the chilly air. In the shelter of the trees, with the soft rustling sounds of small creatures going about their business in the underbrush, the night no longer seemed full of menace. Instead, it enveloped them, like they were the only two people in the wide universe and it was good.

  She’d stayed for Roman, of course. But she had been thinking of Jon, possibly more than was good for her. She’d forgotten how nice he was.

  It didn’t mean anything, though. He was Roman’s son, he was a good guy, and she’d done what any good neighbor would do under the circumstances.

  “Do you want to come in?” Jon hesitated, glancing toward the house. “You probably know the state of the pantry better than I do, but could I offer you something before you go?”

  The tentative way he said it tugged at her heart. She had a lot of work left to get the garden ready for visitors. She ought to go home and try for an hour or two of sleep, but he looked so forlorn.

  Then she heard Chaos, throwing himself at the gate. She’d opened the doggy door for him while the EMTs had been loading Roman into the ambulance, so he’d have access to the yard, but the poor dog was desperate for company.

  “All right,” she said. “Chaos needs some attention and I just remembered there’s a big mess in the bathroom. What kind of friend would I be to leave you alone with all that?”

  Jon threw her a relieved smile.

  The smile made something bloom inside her, something that whispered she wouldn’t be able to sleep now, anyway, that she had a civic responsibility to be a good neighbor, that he was nice and she was nice and spending a bit more time together might be . . . very nice.

  “I’m really glad you’re here,” she said. Then she ducked her head, embarrassed. “I mean, Roman pretends he doesn’t need you, or anyone, but he does. He feels bad about you coming all the way here, though. Missing work to be with him.”

  “I’ll bet he does. Probably reminds me of the times he took off work to stay with me, when I was a kid. Oh, wait. That never happened.” Jon smiled, to take the sting out of his words. “My mom took care of me. Dad worked. It’s what fathers did in that generation. Caretaking wasn’t their strong suit. Unfortunately, it makes them difficult to care for, too. They’ve kept themselves apart from sickness, from neediness. Makes them uncomfortable. They’re supposed to be strong. Superhuman. Bugs the hell out of them when they find out they’re not.”

  “Sounds like you’ve thought this through.” Abby didn’t want to say too much.

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. He’s been more or less disabled for years. He’s a terrible patient; you know that. But as bad as he is now, you should have seen him when he was first hurt.” He shuddered. “I honestly didn’t know if he’d make it, then. I’m not sure he wanted to. But he did. I always told myself, if he could get through that, he could get through anything.”

  How about brain cancer? she wanted to ask. Can he get through that?

  “He’s happy you’re here,” she said, instead. “He’s awfully proud of you, you know.”

  Jon’s eyebrows lifted. “He says entertainment journalism is an oxymoron. Emphasis on the moron. I’m starting to think he’s got a point.” He gave a little laugh, as if embarrassed, and turned his attention to unlocking the gate.

  The second he got it open, Chaos darted through and began dancing around them, whining and woofing with joy.

  Abby crouched down and stroked his ears. “Sorry, buddy, it’s just us. Your master can’t come home yet. But we’ll look after you.”

  They walked through the gate, their footsteps crunching lightly on the path. She always marvelled at Roman’s ability to work with, instead of against, the natural environment. All around them in his wild, woodland paradise, dew-laden leaves sparkled with reflected moonlight, like millions of tiny diamonds.

  “It’s so beautiful here,” she said. “I can see why he doesn’t want to leave.”

  Jon ex
haled. “This place is too much for him, now. The yard work alone.”

  “It’s low maintenance, mostly. He loves it so much.”

  “I know.” Jon’s voice was soft. “But he has to face facts.”

  “Does he have to face them right now, though? His bruises will heal and then he’ll be just like he was last fall.”

  Except for the brain tumor.

  “Maybe you’re right,” he conceded. “But it’s just a matter of time. A crisis has been coming for years. I never expected him to stay this long out here and he never would have without the dogs. He needs a place that will look after him.”

  Roman would throw himself off a cliff before accepting that. She was beginning to understand why he wanted to keep the truth about his illness quiet for as long as possible.

  They went inside and set about putting things to rights. Water from the overflowing bathtub had leaked through to the basement, as well as down the hallway, and they went through all of Roman’s towels cleaning it up. By mutual, unspoken agreement, they both continued cleaning, working their way through the kitchen and great room as well until, finally, as she threw the final load of laundry into the washing machine, they stopped and looked at each other.

  “I think that’s it,” Jon said, wiping sweat off his cheek. “Man, I thought the yard was bad but this is way too much house for him, too. I need to find him something more suitable.”

  “Give him another chance, Jon. He’s too young for a nursing home.”

  “I’ve looked into this, Abby. He’s got options. And yes, I’m assuming he’ll be mobile and independent again. He won’t need someone to help him with things like bathing and dressing, but he still needs someone there, in case of an emergency. In an independent living community he could have his own private suite, maintain his independence, come and go as he pleases. He could keep the dog. But the place would have round-the-clock staffing and building security. Sure, it wouldn’t be as secluded as this, but he also wouldn’t lie in his own piss for half a day if something happened.”

  It was definitely a safer option. She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory of how fragile, how vulnerable Roman had looked curled up on the floor.

  “He’ll never go for it. He’s so proud.”

  “Yeah, that he is. But I can’t live like this anymore. Maybe it would be different if we got along better, or if I lived closer. But he was in his forties when I was born, at the height of his career. We didn’t spend a lot of time together.”

  “Your mother is . . . ?” She hoped she wasn’t touching a nerve.

  “Off the hook,” he said. “They’ve been divorced for a long time. She’s remarried, to someone her own age, and had a couple more kids. She’d probably talk to Roman if I asked her but I won’t. She went through a lot with him. She doesn’t deserve to be drawn back into it. We were her starter family. She’s got her real life now.”

  He rubbed his face, the palms of his hands making a rough sound against the stubble of his chin. Abby’s fingers itched to feel that stubble for herself.

  “What about you?” he asked suddenly, surprising her. “Are you close with your family?”

  Abby turned away and let her hair fall in front of her face but the words came out before she could stop them. “What family?”

  He paused and leaned on the mop. Silence loomed between them. She could practically hear the questions building in his mind.

  She didn’t talk about her family. It was easier that way. Besides, what was there to say? There was no family, just two sisters against the world. But he’d shared so much with her that he deserved something in return.

  “It’s just me and Quinn.”

  She allowed a quick side glance at Jon. He’d set the mop aside and was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, looking at her. This is why she tried to keep from getting close to anyone. When she started to trust someone, she wanted to confide in them, to unburden herself, just a little. And it always ended up with them looking at her the way Jon was now.

  With pity.

  She forced herself to smile. “Quinn and I are fine. With all the crap I hear from people about their families, sometimes I think we’re the lucky ones.” She got to her feet and exhaled loudly. “I’m guessing this is the cleanest this house has been in a long time. Roman won’t recognize it.”

  * * *

  Abby had snapped shut like a clam. One minute, they’d been talking. She’d been listening with what seemed like genuine interest to his frustrations about Roman. They were really connecting. Then, after giving him the barest hint of her own background, just enough to intrigue him, she dropped the subject and backpedaled as if he’d tricked her into revealing state secrets.

  So she and Quinn had no one, no parents, no uncles or aunts, no siblings. Is that what she meant? There was definitely a story there, yet she brushed it off as if it was nothing, certainly not something to dwell on.

  Jon tucked the information away. He smelled a mystery, and if it involved Abby, it would be worth solving.

  Outside the east window, dawn was touching the stand of cedars, turning them a soft gray.

  “I could make you some coffee, but I owe you more than that.” Jon swiped the back of his hand over his damp forehead. “Can I buy you breakfast in town?”

  Abby had bound her hair in a thick tail at the back of her neck. She reached up and lifted it, then, shuddering, plucked at her T-shirt. “Absolutely not. I smell like sweat and bleach and wet dog. I need a shower in the worst way. But I’ve got a counteroffer.”

  Her cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and walked to the other room.

  “Quinn?” he heard her say. “Everything’s fine. I’m with Jon at Roman’s. . . . Yes, he’s in the hospital . . . I think so . . . Tell Daphne I’ll be back soon.... Yes, I figured . . . I’ll tell him . . . Love you.”

  The easy affection between the sisters touched him. If they’d had to stick together from an early age, no wonder they were close.

  “Let me guess,” he said, once Abby had ended the call. “You’re supposed to bring me to the ranch for breakfast.”

  Abby made a gun with her thumb and index finger and pointed it at him. “Got it in one. You’ll pay Daphne for breakfast by sharing all the latest details on your father, Hollywood, and the world at large. In that order.”

  After a quick shower, shave, and change of clothes, he felt ready to join the people at Sanctuary Ranch. He followed Abby’s truck in his rental car. As promised, she brought the dog with her, rather than leave him in Roman’s house. Jon planned to head back to the hospital after he’d eaten, so this was definitely a better place for the poor mutt. Chaos had spent enough time alone.

  His stomach growled as they bumped onto the ranch driveway. He’d eaten at Daphne’s table enough times to know that no matter what was on the menu, it would be delicious, it would stick to his ribs, and there would be lots of it.

  The cook met them on the porch, wiping her hands on the chef’s apron she wore over her blue jeans. She was a strong-looking, comfortably built woman with nondescript short bullet-gray hair that curled around her ears. She wore glasses this morning, low on her nose, and surveyed them over the tops of the lenses.

  “You’ve had an exciting night,” she said, waving them up the steps to the porch. “I told Roman he was going to crack his skull in that bathroom of his one of these days. Too proud for a grab bar, so this is what he gets.”

  She surprised Jon with a quick, hard hug.

  “He’s lucky that’s all he did,” Jon said. “Those bones can’t take much more.”

  Daphne held Abby out at arm’s length, clucking. “Look at you, honey. Like a cat that got caught in the rain barrel and been swimming in circles for three days.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Abby said, with a laugh.

  “Never mind,” Daphne said. “Tarred and feathered, you’d still be the prettiest thing this side of sunrise. You go fix yourself up while I put on a fresh pot of coffee.”

  J
on was relieved to see that aside from her two assistants, Daphne’s kitchen was empty. A couple of guests staying at the resort lingered over coffee in the great room beyond, but most of the staff had already left to begin their work.

  “Hey, Jon.” Jamie waved a paring knife at him from the workstation where she was chopping carrots. Another young woman worked next to her, flattening a ball of dough with a heavy wooden rolling pin while keeping her eye on the room beyond, where sounds of baby chatter could be heard. Sage and . . . what was the baby’s name? Sal. That was it.

  “Hey, Jamie.” He stooped to pat the large dog that snoozed in the morning sun. “How you doing, Jewel?”

  The dog lifted her gray muzzle, slapped her tail on the floorboards once, and went back to her nap.

  “How’s Roman handling hospital life?” Daphne set a steaming cup of coffee in front of him and perched on a stool at the island.

  Industry and community. Not your typical workplace. Nothing at all like the backbiting environment at Diversion.

  Jon sipped the hot brew, which was every bit as tasty as it smelled. “Miserable as ever. I don’t know how they put up with him. He’s lucky Abby found him when she did.”

  A light hand landed on his shoulder as Olivia Hansen entered the room. “Good morning, Jon. Nice to see you again.” The ranch founder wore her silver-blond hair in a loose braid and had the weathered skin, lithe limbs, and ropy muscles of someone who’d spent long years working hard in the fresh air.

  “Abby told me you’d been asking after Dad,” Jon said, smiling at her and the cook together. “I appreciate it and I know he does too, whether or not he expressed it.”

  “We care about Roman,” Olivia said. “How soon will he be home again? I’d ask Haylee, but I haven’t heard from her yet today. The baby’s teething and I don’t want to risk waking them.”

  Olivia’s niece Haylee was married to Aiden McCall—the same Dr. Mac who’d looked after Roman last night—but Jon was surprised at Olivia’s expectation that Aiden would break doctor-patient confidentiality.