She might be right not to trust him. But it still hurt deep in his gut. That wasn’t something he knew how to change.
* * *
Alisa wandered over to the living room window. It was practically ten o’clock. She should be asleep. Work started early at the Pine Tree Diner. But she was too restless to even lie down.
Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t get Nick out of her mind. Why had he gotten into a fight? One so violent he’d hurt a man badly enough that he’d been sent to jail?
In the week Nick had been here, she’d only seen his gentle side. Not a trace of anger or violence. He’d been that way as a boy, too. Was it alcohol that had made him change? Or living with a drunken father?
She looked across at the motel. Nick’s room was dark. Was he still out with the guys at the barbershop? Drinking? Would he come to work in the morning hungover?
Her gaze drifted to the back of the motel. There, in the dim night lights, she saw Nick’s shadowed image doing chin-ups on the bar he’d stuck between two trees. The way he worked out so hard, it was like he was driven by some inner affliction. Something on the inside that he needed to vanquish.
Mama had told her to give Nick a chance. It was one thing to have him working in the kitchen. But did she dare risk her heart on such a troubled man?
* * *
“I don’t need a wheelchair. It’s my hands and arms that were burned.” Mama held up her bandaged limbs for the hospital volunteer to see. “There’s nothing wrong with my own two feet.”
“Mama, please.” Alisa had brought her mother street clothes to wear home. But Mama had balked when the gentleman in a blue hospital volunteer jacket came to take her downstairs in a wheelchair.
“It is a hospital rule, ma’am,” the volunteer said. “We don’t want to risk you hurting yourself.”
“Stuff and nonsense. I’m perfectly capable of—”
Dr. McCandless walked into the room. “What’s all the ruckus, Ingrid? I could hear you halfway down the hall.”
Mama’s cheeks colored. “Royce, they’re treating me like I’m a baby. I’m ready to go home. I’ve work to do.”
“You deserve to be pampered once in a while.” He gestured for the volunteer to leave. “Now, if you will allow me, my dear.” He took her upper arm and eased her into the chair, kneeling to adjust the foot rests.
Alisa did a double take. Almost no one called Mama by her Christian name. And she most certainly hadn’t ever heard Mama call Dr. McCandless by his first name.
She eyed the doctor. Probably in his sixties, his silver hair and upright posture gave him a distinguished appearance. Dressed as he was in a blue blazer and slacks, he would have looked at home at a fancy country club. His bedside manner and reassuring voice had made Alisa feel safe as a child and, as a mother, confident of his skills.
But what was this new tone of affection between the doctor and her mother?
Safely seated in the wheelchair, Mama said, “Would you get the flowers, honey? They’re still so beautiful.” Four large bouquets were situated on every available level surface.
“Sure.” Alisa tucked the bag of her mother’s things under her arm, gave two bouquets to her mother to carry in her lap and wrapped her arms around the other two vases filled with flowers. Mama’s friends had certainly been generous.
“Ready now, away you go in your carriage, my dear.” The doctor pushed Mama out the door toward the elevator with Alisa following close behind.
As they waited for the elevator, Alisa asked, “Did you get any instructions from Dr. Johansen for your home care?”
“Oh, it’s all in the bag you have.” Mama waved her bandaged arm in Alisa’s direction.
“You’ll need to have your bandages changed daily,” Dr. McCandless said. “If you have trouble doing that for her, Alisa, give me a call. I can drop by for a few moments.”
“It’s very nice of you to offer.” Alisa was pretty sure she could manage, but she sensed something else was going on here. Did the good doctor want an excuse to visit her mother? Amazed and generally pleased, Alisa thought that was likely the case. Her mother had worked hard all of her life. Papa had been gone for ten years. Having a gentleman friend would be good for Mama’s morale.
In the elevator, the doctor said, “As her hands heal, Ingrid will need physical therapy, probably three times a week to start.”
Mentally, Alisa groaned. The closest physical therapy facility was in Kalispell, thirty-five miles away. Up and back, plus the time spent in therapy, meant nearly three hours out of her workday. She’d have to make some adjustments in her schedule.
“When the time comes, Ingrid, I’d be happy to arrange my schedule to drive you to your appointments.”
Alisa’s brows shot up. Dr. McCandless had always had a busy practice. Little kids with runny noses and nasty coughs and their anxious mothers filled his office waiting room. How in the world was he planning to reschedule his patients?
Looking up at the doctor, Mama gave him a beatific smile. “That would be very sweet of you, Royce.”
The elevator stopped, and Alisa’s stomach did a flip. Had her mother’s medication included a brain-altering ingredient? Alisa had never seen Mama act this way with any man.
Except her father.
* * *
After all the fuss and paperwork of getting Mama released from the hospital, and the surprising revelation about Mama and Dr. McCandless, it was almost noon before Alisa got her to the diner.
The entire kitchen staff stopped work to cheer and applaud when Mama walked in the kitchen door. A moment later, the waitstaff on duty popped in to do the same.
Obviously both pleased and embarrassed, Mama waved them off. “Go on with you. We’ve got customers to feed. No need to get stirred up over me. I’m fine.”
Everyone went back to work except Nick. “We’re all glad to have you back, Mama.”
She lifted her chin. “So. You’re a big deal chef, are you?”
“I know my way around a kitchen,” he acknowledged.
She sniffed as though unimpressed. “And you didn’t think to mention that? You’d rather get your hands dirty painting and fixing broken steps?”
A smile kicking up the corners of his lips, Nick shrugged. “Seems to me that’s what you needed done.”
“Humph. Now you’re gonna learn my secret recipe and pass it on to somebody else?”
“I won’t tell a soul.” He made a zipping gesture across his lips, his twinkling eyes revealing his delight.
Alisa put her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Mama, I think you should go upstairs and rest for a while before you try to work. If we have to scratch the special tonight—”
“Nonsense. I’ve been doing nothing but sleep for three days. Bring me a stool. I want to watch this young man make my dumplings. They gotta be just right. Our customers will know.”
Nick quickly retrieved a stool from across the room and set it right beside his workstation, then helped her up onto it.
“Okay, Mama. Fire away. Teach me what I need to learn.”
Alisa stood nearby watching the two of them at work, teacher and student. He was so eager, it was obvious why he’d been sent to Le Cordon Bleu for training. And why he’d succeeded as a chef.
Mama had taught Alisa her technique to make Czech dumplings years ago, but she hadn’t really had the touch to get them to come out quite right. Nick was devouring the lesson. She was happier out front with the customers rather than being stuck in the kitchen where it was often twenty degrees hotter than in the restaurant area. Nick belonged here preparing food in the same way an artist worked with his paint and brushes. This was Nick’s medium.
A pity he was only filling in until Mama could get back to work.
Feeling like a third wheel, Alisa wandered out to the
front, her realm, unlike Mama’s and Nick’s in the kitchen.
Things were quiet. Automatically, she picked up a damp cloth and started to wipe the menus clean of sticky fingerprints and spilled syrup.
Jolene strolled over between serving customers. “I saw you brought Mama home. How is she feeling?”
“Stubborn. She won’t go upstairs to take a rest. Instead she’s teaching Nick how to prepare her chicken and dumplings.”
Jolene jerked back. “You’re pulling my leg. I never thought she’d let anyone outside the family learn the secret of her dumplings.”
“That’s what she’s doing. She did make him promise to never reveal her recipe to anyone else. He’s a lot more than a short-order cook. He’s a chef. Turns out Nick trained at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris.”
“Well, isn’t that something special.” A smug smile curved her lips. “Not only is the guy cool in a crisis, good-looking, likeable as all get-out, but he cooks, too. Honey, I hope you’re taking a real close look at him. He sounds like just what the doctor ordered.”
“Ordered for what?” Alisa frowned. It sounded like Jolene had elected herself the president of Nick’s private fan club, extolling his virtues to anyone who’d listen.
Jolene laughed. “Honey, if you can’t figure that out, you’re hopeless.” Still chuckling, she picked up the coffeepot and headed for the table of four.
Alisa watched her refill their mugs. She certainly hadn’t ordered up a man like Nick, virtues or not. The very idea that she and Nick might someday...
She couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought. She’d given up fanciful dreams years ago.
Chapter Ten
“I don’t know about you, Mama,” Nick said. “But I’m bushed. Why don’t we take a break? I think I’ve got a pretty good handle on the dumplings.”
Mama looked both surprised and relieved by his suggestion. She’d been showing signs of fatigue the past half hour or so. No wonder, since they’d been making dumplings for three hours straight. Pain from her burns had begun to deepen the age lines in her face.
“Are you sure, young man? I can keep going if you need to.”
He helped her off the stool. “You’ve got me beat, Mama. I’m going to get some air. You want me to help you upstairs?”
Alisa came into the kitchen through the swinging door to the front. “Mama? Are you all right?” The hint of concern laced her words.
“I’m fine, but Nick says he’s tired. He’s taking a break.”
Nick handed Mama off to Alisa. “Your mother is one strong lady. Just like you,” he said under his breath. “It might be time for a pain pill and a nap.”
Alisa nodded and mouthed, “thank you.” She led Mama up the stairs.
Exhaling, Nick went over to the sandwich station. Truth be told, he was tired. His leg ached, and he was hungry. He put together a turkey, cheese and tomato sandwich on rye, grabbed himself a pint of milk and took his lunch outside.
Rags whined when he spotted Nick.
“Yeah, I know. You want to go running.” He released the dog, who shook his body from one end to the other. “Okay, boy, go find us a stick. Go on, fetch.”
Rags raced off, and Nick sat down on the porch steps. Dark clouds were forming to the west, promising rain. That was a good thing. The ground was bone dry. A high fire danger warning had been issued for the surrounding forest.
He’d only taken a couple of bites of his sandwich when Rags returned carrying a dead pine branch about six feet long in his mouth.
“I don’t know, buddy. That looks pretty ambitious to me.” Setting his sandwich aside, he stood and broke two feet off the tip of the branch.
Rags eyed the larger, discarded section with evident longing.
“It’s okay. We’ll save that for another time.” He held up the shorter piece, let Rags sniff it, then heaved the stick halfway to the motel.
Rags bounded after it.
Nick had settled down for a few more bites of sandwich when Alisa stepped out onto the porch. He glanced up and smiled. She looked almost as tired as her mother had. The stress of keeping the diner going on her own was beginning to show. “Mama okay?”
“I got her to take a pain pill. She’s resting on the couch. I’m pretty sure she’ll fall asleep.” She looked out toward the approaching clouds. “Thank you for pretending it was you who needed a rest.”
“I was hungry, too. Figured we both needed a break.”
Racing back with his stick, Rags leaped up the steps past Nick and proudly presented it to Alisa.
A youthful giggle escaped as she picked up the stick. “Your dog is fickle. He should’ve given you the stick.”
“Not fickle. He’s trying to make points with the pretty lady who brings him yummy scraps.”
She failed to squelch her smile. “Just like a guy, huh? Always an agenda.” She gave Rags a good pat and scratched him around his ears.
Nick wondered what agenda she thought he had. Some guy had sure made her leery of men. Shame, too, because she was the kind of woman a man could get used to having around. If he was the right guy. And she’d let him. A privilege she appeared unwilling to grant him. Smart lady.
“Okay, fella, go get it.” She threw the stick toward the back of the diner.
Just then Greg appeared. He spotted Rags and raced him to the stick. Rags won but was overwhelmed with joy to see the boy. They trotted back to the porch together.
Alisa went down the steps to meet him. “Hey, munchkin. You have a good day at school?” She gave him a hug, which he shrugged off. His lips were turned down in an almost cartoonish sad face that broadcasted it had been a lousy day at school.
“Mom, they’re having a father-son fishing contest on Saturday. Pete and his dad are entering. So’s Shaun and his dad. I was thinking maybe...” He turned to Nick, who got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew what it was like to not have a father, not one that took him fishing or hunting or even bowling. But he wasn’t qualified to be anyone’s dad. And he didn’t dare get close to Greg because he’d be leaving soon.
“Sorry, sport. I wouldn’t be much help in a fishing contest. I’ve never caught a fish in my life.” The tangled line with a hook that he’d once dropped into the lake hadn’t fooled a single fish, assuming there had been any around.
The boy’s hopeful expression crumbled. Alisa’s pained look mimicked her son’s disappointment.
“I could go fishing with you, munchkin,” she volunteered.
“You’re a mom. Not a dad,” Greg grumbled.
“Okay. Then we’ll think of something else fun to do on Saturday,” Alisa promised, the shine of tears in her eyes.
His lower lip sticking out, Greg shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. A tear in the knee had ripped in what looked like a new pair.
“I never get to go fishin’ like other guys.” Head bent, shoulders hunched, he started up the steps.
“Wait! I have an idea,” Alisa said.
Greg stopped and eyed his mother beneath lowered lashes. Nick figured an idea to go bowling wouldn’t cut it with Greg. Not for this Saturday.
“Fishing can’t be that hard,” she said. “Papa’s old boat is in the shed. There’s a motor, although I can’t guarantee it runs after all this time. And up in the rafters there’s fishing gear. Rods and reels. Maybe some lures, I don’t know.” Her father had rarely taken time off to go fishing, and she could only remember going with him once or twice. “But if Nick could put it all together—”
Nick rocketed to his feet. “Now wait a minute. Even if I could get the motor running and get some line tied onto a reel, we’d never catch anything. I don’t even know how to cast. Or what lure to use.”
“We could learn together,” Greg said in a heart wrenching, pleading voice that was impossible to ignor
e or refuse.
Grimacing, Nick squeezed his eyes closed. He hadn’t expected to get this close to the boy. Or care so much. “I don’t know, kid. You know we’d probably lose.”
Greg lifted his chin. “Mom always says it’s not about winning. It’s about showing up and playing the game.”
Wise mother! Alisa had her lower lip pulled between her teeth waiting for Nick’s decision, her son’s plea reflected in the shine in her eyes.
“I shouldn’t have suggested...you don’t have to,” she said.
Yeah, he did have to. He might not be the boy’s father but he could act like it for a day. Fill in for the real deal like he was filling in for Mama as the diner’s chief cook. Every kid should have a chance to go fishing. Nick was long overdue himself.
“Looks like you’ve got a fishing partner, sport. Let’s go take a look at Papa’s boat before I have to get back to work.”
For a moment, the grateful smile on Alisa’s face made Nick feel like he could conquer anything, including the biggest lake trout around.
* * *
Guilt and relief battled in Alisa’s chest as she went back inside. Guilt because Greg didn’t have a father. That she’d foolishly picked the wrong man to love. Now her son was paying a price.
Relief, and renewed trepidation, churned through her because Nick had agreed to take her son fishing. That would be one more knot binding Greg to a man who would likely leave them. One more rung in a ladder of hero worship that went both up and down. And when it came down, it landed with a crash.
And she’d just orchestrated the same potential fall for herself!
Blowing out a sigh, she blamed the city fathers for organizing a father-son fishing event. Didn’t they know some kids didn’t have fathers? They could just as easily had a parent-child or grown-up friend-child event. Then none of the kids would have felt left out.
This year her son would be a part of the fun. But what about next year? Where would Nick be then?
* * *
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