by Tari Faris
Nate huffed and changed lanes. “You can’t tell me that while you were waiting, you were dreaming of a future husband who was out getting wasted and sleeping with any willing girl. Trust me, there were a lot of willing girls.”
Olivia flinched. He hated being so crass, but she had to understand how dark his past was. He wasn’t even telling her the worst of it.
“You deserve more than I can give you. So much more.” Nate’s throat tightened, and he rubbed his hand over his tattoo.
“Don’t play the martyr, Nate. It isn’t a good look on you.”
“I’m not being a martyr. I protect those I . . . care for. And I’m protecting you.”
“Don’t I get a choice?”
He shrugged. “I’m not going to let you choose less than you deserve. Choices come with consequences, and some things can’t be undone.” Wasn’t that what Austin had been telling him? Right before he’d left the photo for him to find. Talk about a slap in the face.
“You aren’t less than I deserve, Nathan.” Olivia’s voice cracked as she reached out to touch his arm.
The warmth of her hand and the feelings it stirred nearly undid him. He leaned toward the window, letting her hand fall away. “When your perfect guy comes along, you’ll be glad you didn’t waste your heart on me.”
He’d never forget the cruel smile on his uncle’s lips when he’d found Nate hungover in the barn. He didn’t remember much of the night that preceded it, but it couldn’t have been good. His uncle just stood over him and reminded him that they were cut from the same cloth. That Nate wasn’t fit for family life. That if he were smart he’d never marry, because he was destined to wreck every life he touched.
Hours later his uncle had walked out on Caroline, Leah, David, and their mom, never looking back.
His uncle’s words had loomed over his life like a nightmare prophecy. Nate had fought against the idea for years. But the day he’d met Chase was the day he’d been confronted with the irrefutable evidence that his uncle had been right. It was then that he knew he could never have a future with Olivia—or anyone.
three
The streets were too wet for her much-needed ride on Petunia, so the smell of chocolate and sugar would have to do. Drawing a deep breath, Libby savored the sweet scent as she took a pan of cookies from the oven and set them on top to cool as her phone rang. She dropped the oven mitts on the counter, checked her smartwatch, and tapped her wireless earbud.
“Hey, Mom.”
The deep voice of Dustin Lynch was replaced by her mother’s tense tone. “Have you talked to Hannah and Luke yet?”
“I talked to them just after they got settled in their room at U of M. Is there news?” Libby turned off the oven and pulled a paper plate from the pantry.
“They did another ultrasound, but because the placenta is attached at the back side of the uterus, the doctors still can’t tell how far it’s grown into the uterine wall. Since they’ve gotten the bleeding to stop, they’re hopeful.” Her mother paused, and Libby checked her watch to see if they’d been disconnected. When her mother spoke again, her voice was rough. “But they have warned them that this situation is dangerous for both mother and child, and a high risk that she will have to have a hysterectomy during the birth.”
Libby dropped into a chair at the table. “A hysterectomy? But Luke said he wanted like a dozen kids.”
“I know. Just keep praying.”
Pray? Her prayers had proven pretty ineffective in the past. She didn’t really trust that to change.
“Your mother called again.”
Libby stood and claimed a spatula from the drawer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You are my mother.”
“Angel called. She wants to see you.”
“Just because she gave birth to me doesn’t give her a right to step in and out of my life at will. If this was a normal adoption, I could choose not to have any contact with her.”
“I know. But she is my sister, and as much as I hate the choices she’s made—minus when she dropped you into my life—I love her.” There was another long pause as if her mother was waiting for her to respond. But Libby had nothing else to say. “I refused to give her your number and told her the choice was up to you. If you want to contact her, you can, but . . .”
“But she’s a toxic person. Honestly, I can’t handle that right now.” Libby’s voice shook slightly.
“I think that’s wise, but I wanted to give you the choice.” Her mom paused, then shifted her tone. “What else are you up to this morning?”
“Making cookies for Luke and Hannah’s neighbor. I ate the ones Hannah made. All two dozen in just three days. That has to be a new record for me.”
“You’re still going to take that man cookies after he was so rude?”
“I’m doing it as a favor to Hannah and Luke.” She began moving the cookies to the plate.
“They’d understand if—”
“Avoiding uncomfortable situations is what derailed my life last time.”
“No, a man with a gun derailed your life.” Her mom’s voice was gentle but firm.
She ripped off a piece of cellophane and covered the plate. “But then I chose to hide from . . . everything. I refuse to go down that rabbit hole again. It has to be different this time.”
“Just don’t let him push you around.”
“I won’t. Talk to you later, Mom. Love you.” She ended the call and scooped up the plate. She eyed Darcy asleep in the corner with Spitz. Normally she’d take Darcy as a buffer. But under the circumstances, she’d leave him home.
Her fingers shook as she slipped on her shoes. Her latest novel called to her from the arm of the couch, and every cell of her body screamed at her to put the cookies down, wrap herself in a blanket, and retreat into the fictional world.
No. She gripped the plate tighter and stood. She’d do the hard thing first, then she’d reward herself. If she hurried, she could be tucked away reading in just five minutes.
Libby opened the door and marched across the driveway before she could change her mind. She took the neighbor’s steps two at a time, then gave three solid knocks on his door.
No response.
She took a step back but then forced her feet to stop. Avoidance wasn’t an option. She could do hard things.
She eyed the truck in the driveway as a dog barked at her from the front window. He had to be home. She knocked again with a little more force. If he didn’t answer, she didn’t know if she’d be able to muster the courage to try again.
The door flew open, but the screen door obscured his face. “What?”
She attempted to swallow as all moisture evaporated from her mouth. Breathe in. Breathe out. She searched her mind for a thought . . . a word. Oh, why hadn’t she practiced this?
Think. He wasn’t Colin. He might even be a nice guy . . . deep down.
“Can I help you with something?” His tone had softened, but his words were still rushed. “I really have to go.”
She lifted the plate a little higher. “Cookies.”
Well, that was brilliant.
The white dog she’d seen the day she arrived pawed at the door, and the guy pushed it behind him. “Lie down, girl.”
The dog obeyed, and the man leaned his shoulder against the screen door to open it, holding his body at an odd angle.
His dark hair was a bit messier than last time, and a five o’clock shadow covered his chin, but his blue shirt made his silver eyes pop. He held the door a little wider and winced. “Can you put them in the kitchen?”
Could she put them in the kitchen? He couldn’t just take the cookies and end this whole interaction? Not to mention she wasn’t about to step into a strange man’s house.
When she didn’t move, he nodded toward a chair on the porch. “Or just leave them there.”
“Leave them on the porch?” Might as well toss them to the squirrels and ants now.
He winced again as he adjusted the grip on his left arm. “
Do what you want. I’ve got to take care of this.”
A drop of blood landed on the porch a few inches from her foot.
“You’re bleeding?”
“Yup.” He angled his arm, trying to get a better look at it.
The back part of his left sleeve was covered in blood. Libby jumped back as another drop hit the porch. “You need to go to the hospital.”
“It’s just a scratch.” His voice faded as he let the screen door smack shut and disappeared deeper into the house.
“A scratch?” She yanked the door open and followed him in as her mind flipped through the first-aid training she’d taken two years ago. RICE was for a sprain. ABC was for assessment. What was the wound acronym?
She grabbed his sleeve and he let out a small cry. “A scratch that has soaked the back of your shirt with blood. Why didn’t you take care of it?”
“I was trying to bandage it, but someone kept banging on the door.”
“You can’t just slap a bandage on it.” Libby followed him through a living room area into the kitchen. “You have to care for it. CARE. That’s it.”
“What’s it?”
“CARE. Check. Apply pressure. Raise. Ensure bandage is effective.” Libby set the cookies on the counter and eyed the wound. “Check the wound for impaled object. How did you cut it?”
He pointed to a broken jar on the floor. “I tripped back and fell on it. It broke when I landed on it.”
Libby knelt next to the broken mason jar and fit the pieces together. There were just three large pieces, and they all seemed to fit like a puzzle. At least he hadn’t shattered it. “I think we’re okay for C. A—apply pressure. I guess you did that. R—raise it above your heart.”
“The bleeding has almost stopped. I think we can just jump to B for bandage.” He motioned toward a first-aid kit spilled all over the counter.
“It’s E. Ensure bandage is effective.”
He lifted one eyebrow in her direction. “How can I ensure it’s effective if I haven’t bandaged it yet?”
A small giggle escaped Libby. “I guess it’s just to make the acronym work.”
“I prefer the BEC method.”
“What’s that?”
“Bandage. Eat cookies.” He turned on the hot water and started washing the blood from his hands.
Libby grabbed his sleeve again and inspected the sizable tear. “Take your shirt off.”
“What?” His movements paused as his brows shot up.
“I can’t bandage it with that sleeve covering it.”
He reached for a towel and slowly dried his hands, his eyes never leaving her.
Why was he looking at her so strangely? She ran through the past few minutes in her head. She’d gone into a strange man’s house, then demanded he remove his shirt. Okay, so she deserved that look. Her hands began to shake, and she dashed over to the sink, stuck them under the hot water, and added a fair amount of dish soap in hopes he wouldn’t notice. “Never mind. The shirt is ruined anyway.”
Five minutes ago she hadn’t even wanted to cross the driveway. But something about seeing the blood had triggered her emergency action response. As her adrenaline faded, she had to keep focusing on the problem in front of her. It was that or run away screaming. And she was done running.
Libby dried her hands and pulled at the edges of the torn sleeve. He winced as the ripping fabric slowly gave way, but he didn’t make a sound. If the muscled arm—which had seen many hours of manual labor—was any indication of how the rest of him was built, then it was better she’d skipped the whole shirt-off thing. No way she’d be able to focus on the wound.
Libby grabbed some gauze, soaked it with warm water, and started wiping away the dried blood. “This may sting a little.”
He didn’t comment but just stared out the window as she scrubbed the edges of the two-inch gash that ran down the back of his tricep.
“This may need stitches.”
“If you don’t bandage it, I’ll just slap some butterflies on it after you leave.”
“I assume you’re up-to-date on your tetanus shot, Mr. I’ll Doctor Myself.” Libby wiped the wound again with clean gauze. At least the bleeding had stopped.
He nodded and ran his free hand over his dog, who had walked over to lick his hand.
“What’s your dog’s name?”
“Shiro.”
“How did you pick that?” Libby pulled off the tabs of the butterfly bandage, then stretched it across the wound.
He didn’t even flinch. “She’s a Japanese Akita, so I picked a Japanese name.”
Libby added a second bandage. “What does Shiro mean?” She pulled the cloth away and inspected it.
“White.”
She reached for the third and final butterfly strip but paused as a laugh bubbled up. “White?”
“Yes. She’s white.” He dug his hand into the dog’s thick fur again. “At least I didn’t give a boy dog a girl’s name.”
“Darcy isn’t a girl’s name. He’s the hero of Jane Austen’s most famous work.”
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “The moody guy?”
“He wasn’t moody. He was complicated and deep.” She applied the final bandage with less grace.
“Ow.”
“Sorry.” She ripped open a gauze pad and pressed it to the wound. “Maybe I should’ve named him something interesting like Tan. You shouldn’t knock moody men. You’re the king of moody.”
“I am not.” The laughter in his voice eased some of the tension that she’d held in her shoulders for the past three days.
“I think Darcy and I would both disagree.”
“Okay, fine. But only around you—and my brother.” The last words came out mumbled.
Libby cut four pieces of medical tape, applying them one at a time to the edge of the gauze. “You don’t always yell at neighbors and their dogs?”
“Only when their dog may have fathered a litter of mixed-breed pups.”
“What?” Her fingers faltered on the tape.
“Shiro was in heat when I found Darcy in my yard. I had a stud appointment for her the next day.”
“Did they . . .”
“I don’t know. And we won’t know for almost a month. But I had to cancel the stud appointment.”
“Sorry. I guess you had a reason to be grumpy. I never got Darcy fixed because I thought I might get a female Lab someday and breed them. I never considered something like this happening.”
“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” His voice grew softer.
Libby taped the final edge of the gauze down. “And about the hippo . . .”
He spun to face her. “What’s up with that thing? Where did it go?”
“I think he’s over by the diner right now.” She carried the trash from the bandages over and dropped it in the bin. “He moves around the square. That’s all I know. You should ask a local for the full story.”
“You aren’t a local?”
“The day you moved in was my first day in town.” She washed and dried her hands again, then leaned her back against the sink, taking in the kitchen for the first time. Half the counter was missing, as well as a section of cupboards. “Was there an accident?”
“I’m gutting the kitchen—and the living room—in exchange for lower rent.” He picked up one of the chocolate chip cookies and took a bite. “You made me cookies?”
Warmth crawled up her neck. “No—well, yes, but to replace the ones Hannah made for you. She’s your real neighbor.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “You aren’t real?”
“I’m real.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “That’s just my brother and his wife’s house, not mine. Luke and Hannah Taylor are your neighbors, but they had to leave the day I arrived and asked if I could bring the cookies by.”
He popped the rest of the cookie in his mouth. “Where are the cookies Hannah made?”
“I . . . ate them.”
His chewing stopped. “You ate my cookies?”
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br /> “Not all of them.” She put the contents of the first-aid box back together. “I gave Darcy a few.”
“You fed my cookies to your dog?”
“Well, he likes oatmeal raisin. These are chocolate chip, so I didn’t offer him any of these.”
“Kind of you.” He reached for the plate with his good arm and lifted another one. “So you’re living with your brother and his wife?”
“For now. Then I’m moving to the house on your other side.” She pointed to what she hoped was north.
“Will I get cookies again from you guys when you become my real neighbor? I could get used to this.”
“No promises. And it isn’t ‘you guys.’ Just Darcy and me. But don’t worry, that yard is fenced. I already checked.”
When he didn’t comment, Libby added the scissors to the first aid kit and secured the lid. “Make sure you watch that for infection. If it isn’t healing, you really should see a doctor.”
“I’m good.” He locked eyes with her as if he were trying to figure her out.
Good luck with that, buddy. She couldn’t even figure herself out.
“If you just moved here, do you know my brother, Nate?”
Libby held out the first aid kit. “The pastor’s your brother?”
“So you do know him.” His shoulders seemed to tense.
“No, not really. I met him at Luke and Hannah’s wedding last year. But we never really had a conversation. Why?”
“No reason. Everyone loves Nate, and I’m sure you will too. It’s just nice to meet someone who doesn’t already think my brother walks on water.”
“Does he—walk on water?”
“Sometimes I wonder.” He set the first aid kit on one of the half-filled boxes. “Thanks again for the help with the arm. That would have been tricky on my own.”
“No problem.” She followed him back through the house. “Enjoy the cookies.”
“I will.” He held the front door open for her, then extended his hand. “By the way, the name is Austin.”
