by Leah Atwood
“I still listen to you, Grandpa. I look up to you.”
“Si, es verdad. All I’m asking is, be careful. Por favor.” Though Grandpa spoke perfect English now, sometimes he reverted to Spanish, mostly when something upset him.
“I understand. I’ll disinvite her for dinner in a week. I’ll try to stay away when she visits you.” A feeling of loss entered Arturo’s heart.
“Gracias.” His grandfather’s voice dipped. “It’s for the better.”
Logically, Arturo got it. Their lives were anchored in different places, his life revolving around football and Lana’s around her patients. He didn’t have the right to give Lana, or himself, any hope for a future together. He hadn’t had the right to invite her to dinner in the first place. She’d just looked so tired, lonely, and sad that day that he’d wanted to cheer her up.
His grandfather was right. It was for the better. Still, Arturo felt like something had been crushed inside him, making it harder to breathe. He felt worse than after losing a game. Much worse.
He’d let something precious slip through his fingers, and he didn’t even know what exactly that was.
“Lo siento. Lana is going to arrive soon,” Grandpa said. “Do you have anything to occupy yourself with outside the house?”
He should go to church. But he wasn’t ready for that yet.
A jog should do him well. Then a memory flashed in Arturo’s mind, of his grandfather teaching him how to give old furniture new life. “I know exactly what I’d like to do. Do you still have all the tools in the shed?”
* * *
Lana changed the dressing and snapped off her gloves. She chatted with Arturo’s grandfather, hiding her disappointment that Arturo wasn’t at home.
Noises from outside drifted to her, so she figured he was in the backyard. But what was he doing? She searched for an excuse to go to him.
She was pathetic. Simply pathetic.
Lana glanced at the grandfather clock. She still had some time before her next
patient, plus she could skip lunch if necessary.
“Is your grandson working in the yard?” The question suddenly seemed silly. If Arturo
needed something to get done, he could’ve easily hired out the work.
“Yes.” There was too much understanding in the old man’s dark eyes, and she
squirmed.
Maybe he didn’t approve of her spending time with his grandson. Her stomach clenched. Did he think her too plain and unworthy of being with a celebrity? Just like Michael’s friends had?
No, from what she’d seen so far, Grandfather De La Vega was too kind, too wise for that.
“Um, it’s hot out there. Would you mind if I take a glass of iced tea to Arturo?” She looked at him expectantly.
He ran his gnarled fingers through his white hair. “That’s nice of you. But is that what you really want?”
She attempted to shrug nonchalantly. “Sure. It’s just a glass of tea.”
“There’s a pitcher in the fridge. But watch your step.” Grandfather De La Vega paused, his hazel eyes sharp and questioning. “The small staircase leading outside is a little wobbly. Be careful. I’d never want you to get hurt.”
The concerned look in his eyes told her he hadn’t just meant the staircase. He was obviously giving her a warning not to get involved with his grandson. But she already knew that if she fell for Arturo, she’d only be left with a broken heart when he returned to his one and only passion.
Football.
Afraid to leave Grandfather De La Vega alone, she hesitated.
As if guessing her thoughts, he dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Go then. I’m not a child. You don’t need to babysit me.”
She poured a glass of tea and headed outside, mindful of her steps. The staircase was slightly wobbly indeed, but nothing bad.
The sounds of a saw singing and then a hammer pounding were coming from the shed, so she hurried there. As she opened the door, she paused, taking it in. The shed had pieces of furniture in different stages of repair, from a shiny table that looked new to a scratched chair missing a leg. Built-in shelves were filled with wooden scraps, tools, and stain and paint cans.
The main attraction was the man standing in the middle of the shed with a saw in his hands. Her breath quickened. What was it about a man with a powerful, loud saw that called out to her on a totally different level?
He turned off the saw. “Hello, Lana.”
“Hello, Arturo. I, um, brought you some tea.” That didn’t sound like a good idea anymore. She looked down.
“Thank you.” His voice was slightly gruff, unlike his always cheerful tone.
As she looked up, a lump formed in her throat. He wasn’t smiling at her as he usually did. She missed that smile. She placed the glass on a side table that seemed relatively clean. Maybe she could make herself useful. She’d probably have to stop at home and change later, but it would be worth it. “How can I help?”
He shrugged. “How about sanding?”
“O-okay. How do I do that?”
“Take this sandpaper and rub it against the wood surface of this chair. Follow the grain.”
In her haste to snatch the sandpaper, Lana reached out to him too fast, and her fingers touched his. A wave of awareness rushed through her. She jerked her hand back, as if burned by fire.
His breath hitched. Well, how about that. He also seemed to be affected by… What exactly was happening between them?
Nothing.
Nothing could happen between them.
Finally, she managed to get the sandpaper without causing a major hazard to her senses and moved it along the chair’s surface. “Like this?”
“Yes.” He took several sips of his drink. “The tea is awesome. It was very thoughtful of you. Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome. But I didn’t make it.” If she cared to guess, it was probably Arturo who’d made it.
“You brought it to me. That counts.”
When he talked to her like that, she’d drag an iceberg to the Sahara for him. No, not a good thought at all. She tried not to stare at his great muscles, bulging as he moved a large wooden board. She returned her attention to sanding, wishing he were less ripped and intimidating. If she ever became attracted to anybody else again, it’d better be… an accountant, maybe? A medium-height accountant who hated working out. That would be her ideal man from now on.
“What are you making?” She looked closer at the construction. “Hand railings?”
“Yes. I want to replace the staircase and make it a smooth incline into the backyard, and then do the same with the one leading to the front door.”
Of course. Arturo obviously tried to make it easier for his grandfather, just in case he ever had to use a wheelchair. She’d noticed grab bars in the bathroom when she’d washed her hands today. They hadn’t been there before. Arturo was changing the place to better accommodate his grandfather.
She winced when he hit the nail with such force she was surprised the wood didn’t split in two. “Maybe I should take over the hammer.” She moved, sensing anger behind his actions.
“No, thanks. It’s just… It’s frustrating to want something beyond your reach.” He sent her a long look.
Her heart made a funny flop. No, he couldn’t be talking about her.
He finished the row of nails, this time with much less force. “After the railings, I hope to repair a side table and a rocker. Those would be Christmas gifts. Grandpa mentioned you’re reviving the Christmas drive for the veterans. He said some of them needed that kind of furniture.” He gestured at the can of primer and brushes, and she took her cue.
Soon she was running the brush against the railings, careful not to cause any drops to spatter in her direction. “That’s very considerate of you.” Admiration for the man stirred inside her. Arturo wasn’t like Michael, who only thought of charity as something to help his image. “Why carpentry?”
“Grandpa taught me when I was a kid. Most of
this house was built by him, as well as most of the furniture. My grandparents were poor. Grandpa came from the wrong side of the tracks, and Grandma defied her rich family to marry him. She wasn’t forgiven and lost all support from her family.”
“I didn’t know that. That must’ve been true love.”
He drained the glass and returned to putting nails in the railing. “At first, I resented growing up poor. Grandpa wouldn’t take handouts. But we managed. He even saved up money to take me to a football game in Houston. After we got back, the only thing I talked about was football. So he took me to tryouts…”
“And you immediately made the team.” She couldn’t imagine it would’ve been any different. Lana dipped her brush in the can, careful not to have any drips.
“Not exactly. I was smaller than other guys my age and looked weaker, too. So I didn’t have much chance of being accepted. The coach shook his head. Grandpa asked him to give me the football and tell me to run. And then… let’s say, the coach changed his mind. Somehow, Grandpa always found funds for uniforms and sports equipment. I honed my speed and agility. I did squats, push-ups, lifted weights, you name it. With time, I grew taller and stronger. I owe many things to my grandpa. Oh, and he also taught me how to fish.”
With all the energy coming from him in waves, she couldn’t imagine Arturo sitting still in one place for a long time. “You fish?”
He moved the railing so that it would be easier for her to paint. “I haven’t done it in ages. Grandfather’s backyard backs up to a river. Hopefully, one of these days you could…” Something flashed in his eyes, maybe hesitation, maybe regret.
“Yes?” She stopped running the brush along the wooden surface.
“No, nothing.”
He was going to ask her to go fishing with him. She was sure of that. But he’d stopped himself. Probably because he wasn’t going to stay in Rios Azules too long. The thought upset her more than it should have. “Is that what you like to do in your spare time? Carpentry and fishing?”
“I don’t have much spare time during preseason or the season. In the off-season, I still train my body and mind. The way a player spends off-season will influence largely the way his season is going to be. And then there’s training camp… I do try to spend as much time with Grandpa as I can. Plus, I do commercials and charity work. I hang out with friends occasionally.”
“And occasionally date?” She almost bit her tongue. She shouldn’t have asked that question.
“That, too.” He held her gaze. “I’m not seeing anyone now. What about you?”
Her joy at the fact he was unattached surprised her. “I’m not seeing anyone, either.”
He stepped closer to her. “Lana, I have to say something…” His phone played a popular song.
She picked up an empty glass and turned to leave to give him privacy.
“Don’t go, Lana.”
The phone stopped ringing.
She turned to him and set the glass down. “Why do you want me to stay? Well, besides sanding or painting.”
He stepped closer still. “I don’t have the right to ask you on a date. I can’t offer you commitment. I have to go back to Houston soon and take Grandpa with me. But I can’t help myself. I like spending time with you. Do you think we can talk without…”
“Without me taking it for something more?” She looked into his eyes. “Don’t worry. I know well enough not to delude myself about you. I know who you are and who I am.”
He grimaced. “Because I’m famous? Do you know how much I admire you? You have such a beautiful soul.”
“Thank you…” She felt a warm wave of gratitude. No man had ever treated her like this. Part of the wall she’d constructed around her heart after Michael’s betrayal tumbled down.
“You just said you know who you are. And that’s it. When you asked what I’d do if I had to retire, I realized I don’t know who I am beyond football. Granted, I’m grateful for my fantastic career. I couldn’t wish for better. But you made me dig deeper inside myself.” He paused.
So he really did listen to her, considered her opinion and her questions. Michael had made fun of her, calling her questions silly. Even his private nickname for her was “silly girl.”
Arturo continued, “Injuries are abundant in my line of work. At some point, I might be forced to retire. What then? I’ve exercised my body my entire life, pushing beyond my limits. It’s time to exercise my soul. From what I’ve heard about you from Grandpa, you could be the best coach for that.”
“I don’t know about that. But I’ll pray for you. And… would you like to go to church with me and your grandfather on Sunday?”
“The game is on Sunday.” He sent her an apologetic glance.
Her hopes dimmed. “Well, how about joining us for the Christmas gift drive? I’m sure many veterans are football fans. They’d be ecstatic to see you.”
He nodded. “Deal. Well…”
“If you’re in town.” She concentrated on moving the brush along the railing.
Dear Lord, please help Arturo. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here. Please give me the right words.
“I think your grandfather would enjoy doing carpentry and fishing with you again. And reading the Bible,” she said quietly.
“What about you? What do you like to do in your spare time?” he asked.
“Pray.” Could she teach him by example?
His expression was unreadable.
She continued, “Reading, knitting, talking to Mari, watching a comedy, baking a pie. I’m an introvert. I know for some other girl, being with a famous guy would be a dream come true. But not for me.” Why had it taken her so long to realize it? She’d hated all the glamorous parties Michael had dragged her to, but she’d tagged along because she’d loved him. Judging from the way her heart fluttered when she as much as looked at Arturo, she was on the verge of making the same mistake again.
“Why not?” He frowned.
“I can’t stand all the attention.” She glanced at her watch with regret and closed the can of primer. “I have to get going.” She’d used up her lunch break to talk to him.
“And I need to check on Grandpa.”
Hmmm. She had an idea how to help Arturo. She’d have to get Mari and Grace Carrington on board, and probably some other people. Lana was grateful that Mrs. Carrington, whom everybody in town called “Lady Grace,” had approached her once after a church service, invited her for a cup of coffee, and soon become sort of a mentor to her. As one of the women who’d run most charities in town, Lady Grace had turned out to be Lana’s primary ally in reviving the Christmas drive for veterans. According to Mari, Mrs. Carrington’s ancestors had been nobles in Great Britain, hence the title. The older woman had often asked people to call her simply “Grace,” but it was difficult to change people’s habits.
Lana could call Mari and Lady Grace later. She’d run it by Arturo once she knew everybody agreed to help out. She’d name it Operation Grandpa.
Smiling, Lana stopped outside, walked to the faucet, cleaned the brush, and handed it back to Arturo. He returned to place it in the shed. She headed toward the house, and he caught up with her quickly.
When they entered the house, an inner alarm sounded. Grandfather De La Vega wasn’t in his usual place in the rocker. Had he gone to take a nap? She hoped so.
“Grandpa?” Worry coated Arturo’s voice.
A groan reached her from the hall. “Help!” It was Grandfather De La Vega’s voice.
Oh, no.
She and Arturo took off in a run.
Chapter Seven
His gut twisting, Arturo rushed into the hall. Grandpa was lying on the floor, his walker nearby. Had he fallen, tripped over a rug? Or had his blood glucose dropped to a dangerous level again?
“Grandpa!” Arturo hurried to him as guilt swallowed him whole. He shouldn’t have gone to the shed. “What was I thinking, leaving him alone?”
“Arturo, don’t blame yourself.” Lana leaned to hi
s grandfather. “Mr. De La Vega, can you hear me? Are you okay?”
There was no answer, and Arturo misdirected his anger at Lana. “Well, do something. CPR. I don’t know. You’re the nurse.” Immediately, he regretted his words.
Her eyes widened as she glanced at him. She turned away quickly, but he glimpsed tears in her eyes. Guilt knifed inside him. She blinked rapidly as she knelt near his grandfather and checked for his pulse. “He’s breathing. He doesn’t need CPR.”
“Sorry for snapping at you.” Arturo gritted his teeth, his frustration at himself mixing with worry for his grandfather. He’d been trained in first aid, in case one of his teammates ever needed it when no medical personnel were close. How come he’d forgotten the first rules of CPR?
“Call 9-1-1,” Lana said. “He’ll have to be taken in to have an X-ray for broken bones. A CT scan will need to be done, too.”
He placed the call and reported the situation.
“His pulse is normal,” Lana said as soon as he disconnected. She reached for the blood glucose meter and checked Grandpa’s sugar level.
Arturo’s heart nearly stopped, until she nodded to him, and it resumed beating.
“Blood glucose level is normal, too. So he didn’t collapse from hypoglycemia.” She checked Grandpa’s blood pressure and temperature.
Grandpa mumbled something, and Arturo struggled to hear his words.
“I was fine until you came in and started hovering over me,” Mr. Grumpiest muttered under his breath.
The pressure in Arturo’s chest eased up. He’d grab his grandfather in a bear hug if he weren’t afraid to hurt him.
Lana lifted her hand as if in a warning. “Don’t touch or move him.”
The wail of the siren interrupted her words. Soon his grandfather was rushed on a gurney into the ambulance.
A shadow of doubt came over her face.
“Do you need to hurry to your other patients? If so, please feel free to go. I’ll let you know how Grandpa is doing. Thank you for everything. Again, sorry for snapping at you earlier,” Arturo said.
“I know you’re worried about your grandfather. Just don’t do it again. And yes, please call me with an update.” She rattled off her phone number. “I’ll stop by in the evening to discuss how to help you take care of your grandfather.”
