She was right, and she was wrong. Everyone needed a break and to have fun. I planned on having a lot of fun once the crops were in. Still, the 4th of July tournament was a big deal, a tradition, and I hadn’t missed one yet. “Not a head coach,” I insisted. “If you need help, I can probably manage to be an assistant or something.”
“Perfect.” She gave me a motherly hug, then trotted out of the store before I could change my mind. Her short grey hair bounced as she left.
I chuckled, realizing she’d wanted me to be an assistant coach all along. “I fell right into her trap.” Oh well. It was only for one day; then things could go back to normal. This week, my goal was to get the grass mowed around the north field.
Thinking about the farm had me checking the time. I didn’t have much left.
I hurried and grabbed Grandpa’s groceries and a couple of things for myself, making it through checkout in record time by bagging my own groceries and giving the checker one-word answers.
I drove fast on my return to the Health Center but still managed to be ten minutes late. Grandpa should be done by now. A ping of disappointment went through me, knowing that I wouldn’t get to see Dr. Cahill again. She had a nice smile. The kind that made me want to make her laugh.
To my surprise, Grandpa wasn’t in the waiting room. I asked after him at the desk, and the receptionist directed me back to treatment room #1. I wandered that direction, leery of what I might find. Grandpa never stayed with a doctor this long. He usually barked at them, and they in turn kept the appointments short.
Since Grandma died, I sometimes wondered if Grandpa really wanted to get better. He’d been so lost without the love of his life—adrift, really. It was scary. And now, with all the health problems piling up …
Even if Grandpa was ready to go, I wasn’t ready to lose him. I might never be.
I opened the door, stuck my head inside, and was surprised to see Grandpa smiling. Dr. Cahill was on the floor, with Grandpa’s socks and shoes off to the side. She was looking over his feet with a practiced eye.
Grandpa used his hands as he talked. “All you have to do is take an old milk jug, fill it with half a cup of molasses and some hot water, shake it together, and partially bury the open jug near a rosebush, or something like that in your yard. Check it every morning, and that will help with those June bugs.”
“That is all it takes?” Dr. Cahill asked in slight disbelief. “Those things are everywhere.”
“Well, that won’t get rid of all of them, but it attracts them away from the house and will give you a little reprieve.” Grandpa nodded sagely.
I swallowed, amazed at the feeling of camaraderie and respect in the room. This woman was a pixie. Any second now, I’d see a sparkle of magic dust trickle from her fingers.
“Good to know. I really appreciate the local intel,” Dr. Cahill stated as she helped Grandpa put his socks and shoes back on. She winked at me as she walked back to her stool, inviting me in with a crook of her finger.
It was all I could do to keep from wrapping her up in my arms and hugging her. Grandpa sat in his wheelchair, his head cocked like he was the biggest rooster in the nest and in total control of the situation. But I had a feeling that Dr. Cahill was really the one orchestrating this visit and pulling the conversation in the direction she wanted it to go.
I leaned against the wall and tucked my hands in my pockets while I studied her out of the corner of my eye. She wasn’t large in stature, but she had quiet confidence that made others listen when she spoke. Her blue eyes were like microscopes into the soul. They were the same color the sky turned here in Iowa before a storm. That blue-grey combination was so familiar that it felt like … home.
“Ready to go?” Grandpa’s voice snapped me back to the room.
I lifted a shoulder. “Sure, Grandpa, whenever you are.”
“Don’t forget,” Dr. Cahill broke in, “you need to check your sugars every morning so we can see how to adjust your medication and get you feeling better. And I will see you back next month.”
“I’ll set my appointment on the way out,” Grandpa replied. “It was nice to meet you, Dr. Cahill.”
My jaw hit the floor. Grandpa never agreed to anything the doctors said, let alone agreed to come back without Aunt Meredith threatening to burn dinner for a month.
Grandpa reached for the wheels, and I shook myself out of my shock to stand behind him and take the handles.
“And don’t forget to go check out Victory Park,” Grandpa told her as I wheeled him out the door. “There is a small trail that goes along the river there I think you would really like, but with the heat, make sure you go in the morning or evening.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Dr. Cahill replied as she held the door for Grandpa’s wheelchair.
Thank you, I mouthed as I wheeled Grandpa past. Words could not express how grateful I was for her bedside manner. I glanced down at her fingers, checking for that pixie dust.
She smiled and nodded her head, her long blond ponytail gently brushing around her neck. I wanted to reach out and put my arm around her waist and pull her close as I walked by, but I knew that wouldn’t be appropriate. I was crushing like a teenager.
My eyes were drawn to the elegant sweep of her neck, and I wondered what it would be like to bury my face there and press a kiss to her soft skin. Her hair was beautiful, different shades of gold that caught the light every time she moved. It reminded me of the corn silk tassels in the fields I took care of every day.
I couldn’t deny that I was attracted to Dr. Cahill. Not just physically, but I was also impressed with how she’d handled Grandpa. Then there was that wink that said that she and I shared a secret.
Why did she have to feel so much like home, when I knew there was no chance that she would ever stay?
Chapter Three
Andrew
I woke up and dressed, with a whistled tune on my lips for no apparent reason. As I dressed, my stomach rumbled, craving my usual bowl of Cream of Wheat with a handful of raisins thrown in for good measure.
When Grandma was alive, she’d made the same breakfast every morning—adding a teaspoon of brown sugar to make me smile. She’d said my smile was the sweetest thing this side of the river.
I believed her back then—when a kiss could fix a scraped knee and a cookie could dry tears—but I wasn’t so sure about it anymore. There just didn’t seem to be as much time to stand around grinning at the ladies and getting their opinions. Unless one of them happened to be the new doctor in town. I’d earned myself a good bit of embarrassment from grinning at her the other day. My cheeks were still recovering from burning with humiliation as Grandpa recounted my less-than-impressive flirting skills.
Not that I’d tried to flirt with her. Whatever back-and-forth happened came from my subconscious. If I’d thought about it, I might have asked her out.
I geared up for Grandpa’s morning lecture on what needed to be done around the farm. He had a to-do list that lined up with the seasons. The Farmer’s Almanac could have referenced him for their articles and planting schedule. He didn’t have to do more than sniff the air to know it was the last day of June and exactly what that entailed for the corn.
Grandpa was at the table, dressed in a pair of overalls and a red tee shirt, reading the paper. Days on the farm had a certain rhythm to them, a predictable, warm-quilt kind of pattern tied with a sense of security and purpose. Those overalls were one of the squares, and I couldn’t imagine life without them.
“Mornin’.” I nodded as I took the oatmeal pan out of the dishwasher and filled it with water. “How’d you sleep?”
“As good as I’m going to.” Grandpa flipped the newspaper pages, making them snap, before he folded it and set it aside. “What are you up to today?”
I stopped measuring the oats and turned to look at the old man to see if I’d heard him right. I took in the freshly shaved jaw and the wisps of hair on his almost balding head. Yep. That was Grandpa. But this wasn’t ou
r routine. Grandpa never asked me what needed to be done. He told.
I recovered quickly and turned back to the stove. We had a script, the two of us, and he’d deviated, making it so I couldn’t find my place. I scrambled for a reply. “Uh, do you want to go for a ride and take a look at things with me?”
It’d been months since Grandpa had ridden around the farm. If there was a way to get him on a tractor and let him putter about, I would do it for him. But Grandpa’s driving wasn’t safe for anyone these days. If we had money for a golf cart … maybe. Tractors were too expensive and too dangerous to play with. I’d learned that lesson one fateful summer day as a teenager when I’d thought he could drive my buddies around in the bucket. Thankfully, no one had been seriously hurt.
“That sounds like a good idea,” Grandpa replied. His voice had a strange quality. It sounded like … hope. Hope that he’d get out of the wheelchair and the rocker for a while and be able to see the land he’d worked his whole life.
Guilt grew faster than a weed around here. It wasn’t like Grandpa was trying to plant guilt seeds. If he’d been trying—then I could have easily brushed him off. No. It was more like the old man was coming to terms with things and adjusting.
Well, the acceptance was a long-time coming—and it was sad, in a way—but it was also a breath of fresh air. I felt like I could breathe. There’s a box that comes down when people refuse to talk about things. It had landed right over the top of us, trapping us all inside, unable to progress or even go back. We’d been stuck in the thick sludge of limbo. Walking free was exhilarating.
What had made the change?
I studied Grandpa for a minute out of the corner of my eye. He looked the same. Except for the Band-Aid on his finger. He’d checked his blood sugar.
I could kiss that doctor. My mind brought up the image of pulling her close, her blond hair all around us and her beautiful eyes growing heavy with desire.
“Let’s eat quick and we’ll get out of here,” Grandpa said, rapping his knuckles on the table and breaking me out of my thoughts.
It was probably a good thing I didn’t follow that path, but I was a little irked that he’d broken in before I’d had a chance to taste her sweet lips.
I put the lid on the oatmeal and hurried back to my room to find a hat. We finished off breakfast, not talking but shoveling food as fast as we could, and made our way out to the truck just as Aunt Meredith pulled in.
I closed the passenger door on Grandpa and walked over to Aunt Meredith’s car to explain where we were going. “It’ll just be for a little bit.” I adjusted my hat.
“I won’t lie, it’ll be nice to have the place to myself for a little while. I’ve been dying to vacuum his recliner.” She smacked my arm. “Don’t hurry back now; his bedroom could use a good going-over, and he won’t let me in there but once a month.”
I laughed at how excited she was to clean, and I pulled the car door open for her to get out. “I can’t promise more than thirty minutes.”
“I’ll take what I can get.” She was already halfway through the front door but threw a wave over her shoulder before disappearing inside.
Shaking my head, I made my way back to the truck and settled behind the driver’s seat. I turned off the radio—my usual companion in the morning—and took a right out of the driveway.
Grandpa kept one hand on the handle, like he’d done the year I’d learned to drive. I’d thought he was holding on for dear life back then, but maybe it was just his habit when he wasn’t the one driving. “The corn looks good, Andrew. Folks always say it should be knee high by the 4th of July, but I always like mine head high by the 4th of July. You’ve done just that.”
I looked at him incredulously. Who was this person, and what had he done with Grandpa? Grandpa never was generous with compliments. Saying I’d done a good job was the biggest compliment he’d ever dished out.
Just as I was starting to feel like a rooster, Grandpa added, “But the grass needs to be mowed around the field, you’ve let it get too long, and it looks like we are running a shoddy operation.”
A laugh burst out, the kind that was startled into sound by the unexpected. This was the Grandpa I was used to. Thankfully, I also knew how to take his direction. “I know, Grandpa. I was thinking the same thing.” I checked my mirrors. “The rainstorm last week put me behind in the mowing, but I’m starting on the north field this afternoon. I’ll get it knocked down.”
“Good man.” Grandpa watched the fields roll by. “It does my heart good to see the farm continuing on.” He spoke quietly, almost more to his reflection in the side mirror than to me.
I kept quiet, not wanting to interrupt his thoughts.
As we drove, Grandpa relaxed in the passenger’s seat and sighed. He dropped his hand from the handle and let it rest in his lap. “You should start thinking about a family, son. There’s more to life than growing corn.”
I chuckled. So we’d gotten to the heart of the change. He’d buttered me up with a compliment or two and was going to tell me what I was doing wrong. Or maybe my pathetic attempts at flirting yesterday worried him to the point that he felt he needed to intervene in my love life.
I wasn’t sure which one was worse.
Then again, Grandpa might just feel like he hadn’t finished things here quite yet. For a while, I didn’t think he’d want to go on—Grandma was his whole world. Sure, there was the work and the crop, but he’d done it all for her. This new attention to life was like adding a yellow block of sunshine to the quilt.
I didn’t want to cut him off or discourage him from moving forward, but I wasn’t ready to settle down. “I’ll worry about that when the snow falls. You said yourself that courting is a winter project.”
Grandpa chuckled. “It’s always nice to hold a woman close when it’s cold outside.” The ride was good for Grandpa in more ways than one. The fresh air brought some color to his cheeks. He continued, “Just don’t wait too long—life has a way of slipping by.”
“I won’t.” I said the right words, but I couldn’t think about all that right now. The life I’d chosen was busy and demanding. Maybe when the house was done …
I didn’t want our time to end, but there were chores to do and I’d promised to get going on that grass.
We made our way home, and I helped Grandpa into the house and got him settled on the couch. Aunt Meredith bustled out of the back bedrooms, wearing yellow rubber gloves and carrying a bucket of cleaning supplies in her hand. “I’ll leave you some lunch, but I’ve got to be at the senior center to set up decorations for the 4th of July celebration.”
Grandpa harrumphed as he dug around in his recliner cushions. “What’d you do with the remote?”
She grabbed it off the side table. “It’s right here, Dad.” She dropped a kiss to his head, and he smiled up at her. As cantankerous as he could be, Grandpa loved his daughter more than he loved … well … the remote control.
I made quick work of the morning chores, too busy to think about much more than the task at hand. Which was good, because when my mind was free, it had a tendency to wander back to a certain doctor. I couldn’t help but wonder what her day looked like. Was she as busy as I was? Did she have a moment to eat? Did anyone watch out for her, make sure she was doing okay? Starting a new job had to be stressful, and this town was full of talkers. If she gave them half a second, they’d talk for half an hour. I should have warned her about that.
I pulled my phone out and stared at the black screen for a full minute, trying to come up with something to say. Nothing sounded right or suave, and it all sounded desperate and ridiculous. I might as well just send her a message that said I was a weirdo and to stay away.
I went back inside later on to make sure Grandpa ate lunch. He could move back and forth to his wheelchair, but it took a lot of effort and wore him out. And there was always the chance that he could fall. I’d never say it to him, but I was scared he’d break a hip and lie there for hours in pain, waiting for me to
come in from the barn.
After he finished up, I got him a blanket and settled him in for an afternoon nap in the old maroon recliner. Aunt Meredith was long gone—off to do her part for the town. I’d like to be able to do more than show up for the celebration. There was a parade to organize, floats to make, food booths to set up … But if the grass was going to be mowed, it’d have to be me that did it, so I hustled back outside.
The old John Deere waited in the barn. It had rust on the wheel wells and the shine had long since faded off the paint, but she was a beaut. I pulled himself up into the cab and settled into the old black chair, resting my hands on the faded controls. My thumb fit perfectly into the worn spot. “Come on, old girl. Time for another round.” I turned the key, and the tractor sprang to life and started its crawl down the road to the north field.
I made my first pass and found myself humming a country song, the words lost in my memory. I searched for them, but instead came up with an image of the doc—her blond ponytail swinging as she swayed to the music in my head.
I shook himself. Daydreaming about a beautiful woman could only lead to trouble.
Chapter Four
Harper
It was six o’clock Friday evening, and I’d just finished my last chart note for the day. Knowing I’d put the finishing touches on the first week in the new office filled me with a sense of quiet satisfaction.
Normally, it took a doctor a while to build up their patient load, but I’d had a full schedule since the second day. People in Keokuk had been in sore need of a local doctor so they didn’t have to commute to the city. What that meant was that there were many chronic conditions going untreated. I loved the look of relief on a person’s face when they knew they finally had help.
I tried not to think about the long term, about my plans to use this job as a stepping stone for a better one. I just had to focus on what I could do now and help these people while I could.
Opposites Attract: His Country Doctor (The Journal of Medical Romances Book 1) Page 2
