Warmth radiated through him at her light, professional touch, and he found himself drawn to the way the flickering fire turned her hair to molten gold.
Then her light fingertips brushed over the mid-calf area of his right leg. He drew in a sharp breath and forced himself to not flinch.
Her gaze flew up to meet his. “Does it hurt here? Or...here?”
Always, but he wasn’t about to admit it.
“So...what happened?”
He shrugged. “Shattered tibia and fibula. Took three surgeries to rebuild them.”
“Would it be more comfortable if you took your brace off while you’re resting?”
“No.”
She gave a searching look. “So tell me about your pain meds.”
“Huh?”
“Tell me about your pain meds,” she repeated. “Do they give you adequate relief? Or have you been trying to taper?”
He set his jaw. “I quit the prescriptions right after I was discharged. I manage without anything, except for maybe an ibuprofen now and then.”
“Toughing out pain isn’t macho, Ethan. Not when something mild can help keep you moving so you can maintain your muscle mass, strength and mobility.”
“Which I am doing.”
She rose. “If you say so. But if you have problems, come to the Aspen Creek Clinic. Dr. Talbot is there Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and she’s excellent. I’m usually there Monday through Friday.”
Though he had no intention of going, he nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And, of course, there’s a VA hospital in the Twin Cities, plus some VA clinics that are a bit closer.”
“Right.”
She blew out a slow breath. “Why do I think it’s a waste of time talking about this?”
“I’ve had good medical care, but I’m done. I figure that now it’s up to me.”
She frowned at him. “Let’s move on to something easier then. Your jeans are damp from the snow—knees on down—so you must be chilled. Can I throw them in the dryer for you?”
“Uh...no. But thanks.”
“I probably have a large enough robe around here someplace. Or maybe some sweatpants would be better.” Her eyes twinkled and a flicker of a grin touched her lips. “I have hot pink or lime.”
He snorted at that. “The jeans will dry.”
“Not very fast, but suit yourself.” She snagged a brightly colored lap quilt from the back of the sofa and draped it over his legs, threw another log on the fire and went into the kitchen. He could see her piling chocolate chip cookies on a plate.
“Coffee or cocoa?”
He shifted his attention to the crackling fire, thankful for the warmth radiating into the living room. “I’m good.”
“No—make a choice. I’ve got cookies here, too.”
“Coffee, I guess. Thanks. While you’re over there, you might want to check those grocery sacks and put things away.”
She lifted the edge of one of the sacks and peered inside. “Two dozen eggs, butter, a loaf of bread...”
“I wasn’t sure if you were low on any of the basics, so I grabbed a few things in town in case you wouldn’t be able to get out for a while.”
“Thank you. This was so thoughtful.” She cocked her head, listening to the wind howling outside, then prepared a hot cup of coffee for him with the Keurig machine on the counter. “And it was probably a really good idea. The wind wasn’t supposed to pick up until later on, but it sounds like it’s already here. I’m not sure if you’ll even be able to make it back down the road to the highway, if you wait much longer. You should probably go right away.”
“Not until I’m sure that you’re all set for this weather. Do you have plenty of firewood?”
“There’s a big stack in that alcove by the fireplace, and I’ve got two cords under a tarp next to the back porch.” She gave him a plate with the mug of coffee and the cookies. “So we’re good.”
“What about all the animals? I can help you with chores before I go.”
She smiled at that. “Thanks for the offer, but I think you’ll want to keep off that leg for a while. There’s not much to do—the chickens always roost inside the barn when it’s this cold, so I just need to close the little door to their outside run. They already have free-choice feed and an electric waterer that doesn’t freeze.”
“What about the pony?”
“It’s too early now, but before dark I’ll close Penelope in for the night, bed her down and feed her. She can go in or out at will during the day, but the silly thing wants to stay outside no matter what—rain, sleet or snow. I just hate to think of her outside all night in the wind and cold.”
Cole, still standing at the front windows, looked over his shoulder. “The plow still hasn’t come. Why not?”
“They’re probably taking care of all the main roads first, honey. Why don’t you find a board game in your room or bring out your Legos? That would be a lot more fun than watching for the snowplow, wouldn’t it?”
Cole’s shoulders slumped as he disappeared into his room.
Ethan lifted his coffee in salute. “Perfect coffee. Cookies, too.”
“Glad you like them.” She glanced toward Cole’s open bedroom door and then moved to the sofa next to Ethan’s chair and leaned forward, her elbows braced on her thighs. She lowered her voice. “I was hoping I’d have a chance to talk to you privately. It’s about Cole.”
Ethan set his coffee cup on the small end table next to his chair. He already had a good idea about what she wanted to discuss, but he didn’t have the answer. Not for sure. “The incident with the spilled cocoa last night?”
“Exactly. It broke my heart to see his reaction. He was so frightened—like he was expecting to be severely scolded. And it makes me worry about who—and when—someone treated him that way.”
“I can’t see my brother ever treating Cole like that. Distant? Yeah. Not giving the kid enough attention? Probably. Rob was usually caught up in his own big dreams and financial dramas.”
“And Dee was a good mom, I’m sure of it. I visited whenever I could, and I never heard my sister raise her voice unless one of the kids was really out of line and refused to listen. They loved her to pieces. Cole followed her around like a little duckling.”
“I saw that, too—what little time I was around.”
Glancing at Cole’s bedroom door again, where the sound of a battery-operated toy car now buzzed around the room, Hannah took a deep breath. “And that leaves your aunt Cynthia. And some babysitters, I suppose. But Dee didn’t work outside the home, so there wouldn’t have been many of those.”
Ethan stared at the flames dancing in the fireplace, remembering Cynthia’s anger when he and Rob had accidentally broken a vase while playing in her living room. He’d been in kindergarten, and facing her cold fury had made him feel like his world was about to end. “Cynthia means well. I can’t imagine her laying a hand on anyone. But she’s not Mary Poppins.”
Hannah nodded. “I saw her at Rob and Dee’s funeral, of course, and after that I went down several times over the summer to see Molly and Cole. As you can imagine, they were just devastated. But they were also shell-shocked and terribly withdrawn. I would have gone down to see them more often, but Cynthia privately told me—coldly discouraged me—from even that much contact. She said it only confused the children during such a fragile time. She said they were much worse after my visits.”
“But she’s not in the picture any longer. So what are you trying to say?”
“Just that Cole’s fear over spilling the cup of cocoa worries me. A lot. And now you’re here, talking about wanting to take the kids back to Texas. Where there are no grandparents to help you out. No other aunts or cousins or lifelong friends around, either.”
“I can’t insta
ntly manufacture a support system, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“So where does that leave them, if you go back on active duty, or find a job, or simply want a date night with someone? I didn’t ever see Cynthia screaming at the kids, but from the way she’s treated me, I think it’s a very distinct possibility that she might. If—by chance—you gain even partial custody, I want you to promise that woman will not have any lengthy contact with Molly and Cole.”
“Agreed.”
“And I...” Hannah faltered. “You do?”
She looked so surprised at his immediate acquiescence that he felt a sudden heaviness in his heart. Did she really think him so uncaring, so totally unsuitable to raise Molly and Cole?
“Whatever you think of me, I only want the best for them. And whatever her faults, I’m sure Cynthia wanted that, too. But she hasn’t mellowed into a sweet, patient old lady, and I don’t imagine she’d even want to have any part of caring for them in the future. So that case is closed. I promise.”
“Still—” The sound of the little race car stopped and Hannah paused, listening.
“Hannah,” Cole called out. “I need your help with Candy Land. It’s up too high.”
“Excuse me.” Hannah rose and headed for Cole’s room.
Curious about what she’d done for the boy’s room with such short notice, Ethan swept aside the lap quilt and hobbled after her. He leaned a shoulder against the door frame and watched her reach for the game on a shelf, then he surveyed the room.
He felt his heart swell until it barely fit in his chest. It was everything he and Rob had never had as boys. Perfect for making Cole feel at home.
The walls were light blue, with a dinosaur wallpaper border along the top and dinosaur curtains on the double window facing the backyard.
The boyish furniture was rustic oak that could take a lot of abuse—a big dresser topped with a dinosaur-themed lamp and the kind of bunk bed with a place for a desk in its lower level. But instead of desk, a fort had been constructed in that space, complete with a window and camo-print canvas hanging across a little doorway.
Filling another wall, floor-to-ceiling shelves were already filled with toys and books. It looked as if Cole had lived there all his life.
Hannah handed the board game to Cole. “Do you want to play in here or out by the fireplace?”
He promptly headed toward the living room. Hannah glanced at Ethan then studied the room. “Well, what do you think?”
“How did you ever get this ready so fast?”
“Craigslist and a lot of friends. This used to be my office, so it was loaded with my stuff, and the walls were pale peach with lacy curtains. As you can imagine, we worked like mad to make it into a boy’s room.”
The back door squealed open and slammed shut. Boots thumped onto the floor and then Molly came around the corner in stockinged feet, her cheeks rosy.
“You were out there a long time,” Hannah said. “You must be really cold. Do you want some cocoa?”
“No thanks,” Molly mumbled. She went into her room and shut the door behind her.
“Sorry about that. I would show you her room, but I guess we’re still in an adjustment phase, so I’m going to just let her be for a while. With school on Monday on top of everything else, I think she needs some space.”
In the living room Cole was setting up the game. He looked up at Hannah and Ethan with such hopefulness in his eyes that Ethan just couldn’t say no.
Ethan smiled. “Can I play a round with you before I go?”
From outside at the front of the house came a loud zzzzzt and a bang. Instantly all of the lights went out and the refrigerator stopped humming. The lights flared on for a second then went dead.
Ethan jerked and spun around, adrenaline surging through him at the sound of enemy fire. The choking smell of smoke and blood, hot metal and burning rubber.
He was in the back of that doomed transport vehicle, trapped by the explosion and shrapnel—
“Are you okay?” Hannah murmured. Her hand hovered over his arm then she cautiously drew it back. “You know where you are, right?”
He blinked, confusion spinning through his brain. He forced himself to focus on her face and the turbulent emotions began to calm, leaving raw embarrassment in their wake.
The cats curled up in front of the fireplace had darted for hiding places. The two old dogs had barely stirred. And Cole was looking up at him as if he’d seen a ghost. “What was that sound outside?” he cried. “You were scared!”
“He was just surprised, Cole. That loud noise was probably because a tree limb fell over the power line close by.” Hannah gave him a reassuring hug. “Or maybe it was a careless squirrel.”
Cole’s eyes widened. “A huge, monster squirrel? Like Godzilla?”
“Nope. Now and then a regular ole squirrel fries itself at the top of the tall power pole out in front—by touching the pole and the power line at the same time. It’s happened three times in the past six months, so now maybe the power company will finally install the squirrel guard they’ve been promising.”
She reached for her cell phone, scanned the directory and called the power company. After a five-minute wait she spoke to someone.
“Well, guys. They say there are lines down all over the county due to this storm, and thousands of people are without power. They won’t get to us until sometime tomorrow, and that’s if the road is plowed by then. Apparently the main roads in and out of town are drifted shut and the plows have stopped until the wind dies down.”
Ethan stood at the front window and forced himself to concentrate on slow, steady breathing as he stared out at the heavy snowfall driven horizontal by the strong winds.
The curtain of snow obscured both his SUV and the county road that hit a dead end just past Hannah’s house. And at just three o’clock, the daylight was already fading. “It’s now or never, if I’m going to get back to town, but from the sound of things, it isn’t worth trying.”
Hannah joined him at the window. “Not if it’s so bad the plows quit.”
He frowned. “I’m glad to be here, though. I hate to think of you and the kids alone out here if anything goes wrong.”
“We’ll be fine—I’ve lived here for five years, and this storm isn’t anything new, believe me. But I appreciate the concern.” She went to the fireplace and added another log. “I’m going to let the pups run outside for a few minutes, then bring them in here to romp. Then I’ll check the generator and get it ready, bring in more firewood and get the kerosene lamps set up. After that I’ll go take care of the outside chores. I think you should either play Candy Land with Cole or go back to the chair and rest that leg.”
“Candy Land it is.” He laughed aloud. “But what a list you have. Reminds me of a country oldie I’ve heard on the radio about a guy giving his wife a long list of chores starting with ‘Put another log on the fire...’”
She chuckled. “If memory serves, she’s leaving him by the end of that one. But my chores won’t take too long.”
She headed for the door leading to the garage and jerked to a halt. Then spun toward the window over the sink.
“Fire! Oh, no—fire!” Hannah jerked on her boots, hopping on one foot and then the other as she hurried to the back door. Shoving her arms into the sleeves of her jacket, she jerked up the zipper and wrenched open the door. “Call 9-1-1 and tell them the barn is on fire. Hurry. The fire number for this place is 478.”
Ethan hurried after her, punching in 9-1-1 and making the call as he hobbled to his jacket and boots and pulled them on.
She was going into that blaze to save those stupid chickens and pony. She was as impetuous and foolhardy as she’d been thirteen years ago.
Only this time, it could kill her.
Chapter Seven
Ha
nnah plowed through the wide, deep snowdrift in the backyard. It reached her upper thighs and each step was a struggle—as if she were trying to swim through a vat of thick, cold molasses. High winds threatened to knock her off her feet.
Ahead, the blaze licked at the walls of the barn on the two sides she could see. Something exploded inside—maybe an aerosol can, fueling the flames even higher.
Her heart clenched. She wasn’t going to reach the animals in time. Please, Lord, make Penelope go outside. And please help me save those poor chickens.
She spared a quick glance over her shoulder. Ethan was closing the distance between them, his face grim. Back at the house, Molly and Cole stood in the open doorway to the deck, their faces pale with fear.
“If the dispatcher calls back with any questions, tell them the barn is on fire at Hannah Dorchester’s place, Spruce Road,” Ethan shouted back at them. “Got it? Dorchester. Fire number 478. Write it down—478. And shut that door!”
The wind slammed snow into Hannah’s face and down her neck as she pivoted and again struggled toward the barn through the snow. Her lungs burning and throat raw with exertion in the cold, she’d begun to feel the searing heat of the blaze when Ethan closed a strong hand on her shoulder and pulled her to a halt.
“No,” he shouted above the keening wind. “Don’t!”
“I’m not stupid—I’m not going inside. If the hens are in their run, I’ve got to try to grab them and get them away from the heat. And I’m praying Penelope hasn’t panicked and gone back into the barn. Do you see her?”
He scanned the area near the barn, squinting against the driving snow. “No—wait. Is that her back in the trees?”
Thickly covered in snow from ears to tail, Penelope looked more like the mound of a ski run mogul than a pony, but she’d stayed at the far end of her corral instead of running into the familiar safety of the barn. If it were true that some horses did that, at least Penelope had more common sense.
Hannah reached under her jacket and unbuckled her leather belt. “Can you reach her and put this around her neck? I’ll come back for her in a minute. She’s going to the garage.”
An Aspen Creek Christmas Page 7
