Finding Home

by Irene Hannon

  “No problem.” Lindsey bagged Cindy’s purchases and eyed Clint. “Where’ve you been anyway? A dustbowl?”

  The man grimaced. “A construction site. I stopped by The Point a few minutes ago with the contractor who’s going to develop the interpretive trail in the public-use area Mattson set aside. It’s a mess out there. But I have to say Mattson’s people are being accommodating. I ran into Scott Walsh, the foreman. Very cooperative. Seems like a good guy. He even offered us additional resources if we need them.” Still brushing himself off, he snagged a cookie and headed into the store.

  Cindy watched him go. Interesting. Clint Nolan had been in town for a couple of years, and he generally kept to himself, living alone on the first floor of the two-family home he’d bought a mile out of town. He’d gotten involved in the Save The Point campaign Lindsey had spearheaded but in a quiet, behind-the-scenes kind of way, and he rarely offered opinions unless asked.

  Yet he’d been forthcoming in his appraisal of Scott.

  The man must have impressed him.

  Lindsey had obviously come to the same conclusion. She nodded in the direction Clint had disappeared. “See what I mean? And Scott’s always been pleasant in our encounters. An excellent neighbor, too. He happened to be passing by last week while I was out in the lot debating what to do about a flat tire. He pulled in and changed it even though I told him not to bother.”

  “I might have just met him on a bad day.”

  “That’s possible.” Lindsey handed Cindy the receipt. “We all have those.” A shadow flitted over the other woman’s eyes, reminding Cindy that lots of people had problems far more serious than hers.

  “But there are also happy endings.”

  “Yeah. There are.” The tension in Lindsey’s features relaxed. “You keep that in mind, too.”

  The bell jingled again to admit another customer, and as Lindsey turned to greet him, Cindy gathered up her bags. After handing one to Jarrod to tote, she pushed through the door and crossed the gravel lot to her Honda.

  As she loaded the groceries in the trunk, Jarrod extracted the white bag containing the cookies and peeked inside, his expression puzzled. “How come he did this, Mom?”

  “I guess he was trying to be nice.”

  “He wasn’t nice to us last week.”

  “You don’t have to eat his cookies if you don’t want to.” Stifling a smile, she closed the trunk as he pondered that. Fat chance her son would pass up homemade cookies—no matter the source.

  “I don’t want to throw them away.” He crimped the top of the bag in his fingers and maintained a firm grip on it.

  “Guess you’ll have to eat them then.”

  “Yeah.” He followed her around the car and climbed in. “So do you still think that guy is mean?”

  “Do you?”

  “I dunno. He was nicer tonight.” He snapped his seat belt in place. “But I guess it doesn’t matter. We probably won’t see him much anyway.”

  That was true. Scott had been on the job site since the project broke ground in January, and their paths had only just crossed. With her working more hours than ever, the odds of them meeting again were slim.

  Yet as they drove home, Cindy found herself wishing they would meet. Which was odd.

  And unfair to Steve.

  Besieged by guilt, she struggled to find a logical explanation for her reaction. But the best one she could come up with—that she wanted to reassure herself she and Scott had smoothed out their rocky beginning—was lame.

  The real explanation was simpler. And it was based on chemistry, not logic.

  Like it or not, back in the store she’d felt a subtle zing of attraction for Scott Walsh.

  And she didn’t like it.

  Because it was one more complication in a life that already had far too many.

  Chapter Three

  Scott swung into a parking space near the E.R. entrance at St. Joseph’s Hospital, yanked the key out of the ignition and pushed open the door.

  This was not how he’d intended to spend his Friday night.

  Two steps out of the car he realized he hadn’t tucked in the shirt he’d thrown on after taking the call from Seaside Gardens. After pocketing his keys, he shoved the tail into his jeans without breaking stride, double-checked the rest of his attire—and discovered he’d also forgotten his socks.

  But as long as Gram was okay he could cope with missing footwear. She’d already broken one hip. Another fall could be fatal.

  His stomach clenching, he strode inside as the E.R. doors whooshed open to admit him. He didn’t waste any time at the intake desk, and in less than a minute he was being ushered back to a treatment room.

  As he passed the central nursing station, he caught sight of Paul Butler and slowed his pace. He’d known that his fellow congregant from Good Shepherd Church was a doctor, but he’d forgotten he worked at St. Joseph’s.

  “I’ve been watching for you.” The man came around from behind the desk, white coat flapping. He took Scott’s hand in a firm clasp and answered his question before he could ask it. “Your grandmother is in X-ray, but my preliminary exam didn’t indicate anything more than a few bruises. The assisted-living facilities don’t take chances with falls, though. We see a lot of elderly patients who go back as soon as we check them out.”

  The knot of tension in Scott’s stomach loosened. “That’s good news.” The words came out hoarse, and he cleared his throat.

  “You can wait in the treatment room for her to come back if you like.” The doctor indicated a room four doors down. “But depending on how backed up X-ray is, it could be a while. If you haven’t had dinner, you have time to visit the cafeteria. Or there are vending machines in the hall near the waiting room.”

  “Thanks. I’ll hang out in the treatment room for now.”

  “No problem. Flag one of us down if you have any questions.”

  As the doctor returned to the desk, Scott continued toward the room. From the threshold he eyed the single hard plastic chair in the corner, hoping it was more user-friendly than it looked.

  It wasn’t.

  After sixty futile seconds of contortions as he attempted to find a comfortable position, he gave up, determined to ignore the protest of his weary body.

  Ten minutes later, though, it was more difficult to ignore the rumble from his stomach. Lunch had been a long time ago. Eight hours, to be exact, according to his watch. If the call from Seaside Gardens had come in even fifteen minutes later, he’d already have scarfed down the frozen dinner he’d been ready to nuke. Should he run to the cafeteria after all? Visit the vending machines? But what if some news came back on Gram while he was gone?

  No. He’d stick it out for a while.

  But thirty minutes later, when the complaints from his stomach and the unforgiving contours of the plastic chair ganged up on him, he stood. Five minutes. That’s all it should take to run to the vending machines and appease his hunger. The walk would also get the blood flowing again to the other complaining parts of his anatomy.

  As he left the confined space and headed for the waiting area, he surveyed the other treatment rooms. Most of the doors were closed, suggesting a busy night. One was partly open, however, and he spared it a quick glance as he passed. A young boy was hunched over in a hard plastic chair in the corner, similar to the one he’d vacated.

  A young blond-haired boy.

  With a familiar face.

  Scott stopped. Frowned. Backed up.

  His eyes hadn’t lied.

  It was Jarrod Peterson. And he looked scared out of his mind, his gaze riveted on a scene blocked from Scott’s view by a drawn curtain.

  Who was back there? The boy’s mother? Father? Both?

  He had his answer a moment later when a nurse lifted the curtain to exit the treatment room. Cindy Peterson lay covered with a sheet, her eyes closed, her blond hair spilling around her shoulders, a large gauze bandage taped to her forehead.

  For the second time that eve
ning, Scott’s pulse took a leap.

  Angling toward the main desk, he scanned the busy staff behind it for Paul.

  The doctor caught sight of him as he approached. “Sorry for the delay. They’re swamped in X-ray.”

  “No problem. I was on my way to get some food and I caught a glimpse of Cindy Peterson.” He gestured toward the treatment room.

  “Are you two friends?”

  “We’re...acquainted. What happened?”

  Paul gave him an apologetic shrug. “Sorry. I can’t discuss her case. But you’re welcome to speak with her.” The doors to the ambulance dock banged open behind them, and two paramedics entered wheeling a stretcher. “Gotta run.”

  As Paul went to meet the arriving patient, Scott debated his next move. Cindy wore a wedding ring, but there was no sign of her husband in the treatment room. Was she here alone? Should he offer assistance—or lay low and respect her privacy?

  All at once the door to Cindy’s room opened and Jarrod poked his head out. As if seeking...help? When he spotted Scott, his eyes widened and he darted back inside, closing the door behind him.

  Decision made. If Cindy did need help, Jarrod was too spooked by his presence to venture into enemy territory. In any case, he was no doubt passing on the news of his discovery at this very moment.

  Scott walked over to the room and knocked. “Ms. Peterson, it’s Scott Walsh. May I come in?”

  There was a brief murmur of subdued voices before Cindy responded. “Yes.”

  He pushed the door open and rounded the privacy curtain. Her eyes were open now. Against the pallor of her skin and the white tape affixing the gauze pad to her temple her irises were an even more startling blue than he remembered.

  A sudden, unexpected urge to reach out and take her hand in a comforting clasp swept over him, and he retreated a step, jamming his fingers in the front pockets of his jeans. Jarrod had beat him to it anyway. The boy had a death-grip on his mom’s hand—though it was clear Cindy was the one doing the comforting.

  “I saw Jarrod as I passed the room. You look like you had a close encounter with a hard object.” He phrased the comment as an observation rather than a question. A simple yes or long story would suffice if she preferred not to share the reason for her visit to the E.R.

  But she gave him the details.

  “I was cleaning out a clogged gutter and the ladder tilted. I fell, hit my head on the brick garden edging and blacked out for a few seconds. When I came to Jarrod was already calling 911.” She gave her son a smile. “He’s a handy guy to have around in an emergency. No serious damage, though. The doctor thinks I have a mild concussion at worst.”

  “That is, in fact, the official diagnosis.” Paul entered and grinned at Scott. “I see you made yourself at home.”

  Cindy looked from one to the other. “You two know each other?”

  “We go to the same church. The pastor roped us both into working on the Christmas tree lot last year, and we became well acquainted as we scraped sap off our hands.” The doctor checked over his shoulder at the activity behind him. “We’re putting all your paperwork together, along with instructions. Once all that’s done, you’ll be free to go. But give us a few minutes. The victims of a multiple-car accident are arriving as we speak. No more ladders for a while, okay?”

  “Maybe forever.” As the doctor flashed a final grin and exited, Cindy brushed the fine hair off Jarrod’s forehead. “Hang in a little longer, okay, buddy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what are you doing here?” Cindy shifted her focus to Scott.

  He gave her a recap of Gram’s situation. “But Paul thinks she’s just bruised. I hope he’s right. She’s had a rough year and a half. My grandfather died, she fell and broke her hip and then she had to leave her home of almost fifty years and move into assisted living. I’m not sure how many more setbacks she can take.”

  Cindy’s eyes softened in empathy. “That’s a lot of trouble to deal with all at once.”

  “Yeah.” He raked his fingers through his hair, considering his next move. He’d still seen no sign of a husband—and Cindy was in no condition to drive, even if her car was here instead of back in Starfish Bay. Might as well take the plunge. “Assuming Gram’s okay, she’ll go back to Seaside Gardens in their van. Do you need a ride home?”

  Cindy’s lips parted slightly and she blinked. “Um...thank you, but that’s too much of an imposition. I can call a friend.”

  No mention of a husband. Now Scott was more curious than ever. He opened his mouth to ask a leading question. Closed it.

  Don’t push, Walsh. It’s none of your business.

  “Okay. I hope you have a speedy recovery.”

  “Likewise for your grandmother.”

  He started to leave. Paused. If he’d missed dinner, had Cindy and Jarrod lost out on a meal, too? The blow to the head had probably killed Cindy’s appetite, but if Jarrod hadn’t eaten he must be starving.

  Turning back toward the duo, he directed his question to Jarrod. “Have you had dinner?”

  The boy shook his head.

  “Me, neither. I’m about to track down the vending machines. Can I bring you back some peanut butter crackers or a candy bar?” He cast a rueful glance at Cindy. “I doubt they have anything more nutritious than that.”

  Jarrod bit his lower lip, clearly tempted, but in the end he declined. “No, thank you.”

  “Are you sure, honey? It could be a couple of hours before I can get you any food.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “It’s kind of you to offer.” Cindy smiled at him, and the warmth in her eyes was like a shaft of sunlight on a cold day, dissipating the chill of loneliness he’d begun to accept as his lot.

  For some reason he suddenly found it difficult to breathe. “No problem. Take care.” Lifting his hand, he exited.

  Time to fill the empty place in his stomach.

  Too bad there wasn’t a vending machine that could fill the empty place in his heart.

  * * *

  “Don’t even think about it, Lindsey. Stay put. Tomorrow morning is fine.” Cindy pushed back her hair, struggling to maintain a calm, in-control tone. “I’ll call later and let you know where we’re staying. We’ll be fine.” Removing the cell phone from her ear, she pressed the end button.

  “What’s wrong, Mom?” Expression anxious, Jarrod closed the space between them and laid a hand on her knee as she sat on the edge of the gurney.

  “The coast road is fogged in.” Despite the pounding in her temple, she did her best to summon up a reassuring smile. “Looks like we’ll be spending the night here at a motel. They’ll probably have cable.” That was one extravagance she’d cut from their budget at home—and it was sure to appeal to Jarrod.

  “Yeah? That would be cool. When can we leave?”

  “Give me a minute and we’ll be all set.” She pulled her son close and laid her cheek against his fine hair. How was she going to muster the energy to deal with the logistics of summoning a cab, finding a decent motel and arranging for some food for her son? The mere thought of dealing with all that overwhelmed her.

  “Excuse me again...”

  At the familiar voice Cindy lifted her head and found Scott once again at the door.

  “My grandmother was just released. Bruises only, I’m thankful to report. But I discovered the fog when I went out to the parking lot. I gather the coast road is socked in. I didn’t know what arrangements you made, but if the friend you called lives in Starfish Bay, I think you’re stranded.”

  “I just found that out. There are plenty of motels around here, though.” A tremor shook her words, and she wondered if she looked as wan as she felt.

  Apparently so, judging by the twin crevices that appeared on Scott’s brow.

  He folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. “Given your head injury, it might be better to stay with friends.”

  “All my friends are in Starfish Bay.” She tugged Jarrod closer and somehow managed a smile. “But I
’ve got my best buddy with me. We’ll be fine.”

  He watched her, as if waging an internal debate. “Look, I’m living at my grandmother’s house now. It has three bedrooms, including one with twin beds. You’re welcome to use it tonight. It would be more comfortable than a motel, and I’ve got a fridge full of food. I don’t know about Jarrod, but I’m starving.”

  The man was inviting her to spend the night at his house.

  Cindy took a few beats to digest that. The gesture was kind, but Scott was a stranger. She couldn’t possibly spend the night in the home of a man she’d met a mere week ago.

  Could she?

  She ticked off what she knew about him. He owned a reputable company, or he wouldn’t have been hired by Louis Mattson. She’d heard nothing but positive things about him from Lindsey and Genevieve. Even Clint Nolan had gone out of his way to comment favorably on him. He had a kind heart, or he wouldn’t have spent his Friday night hanging out in an emergency room with his grandmother. Plus, he was a churchgoing man, according to the doctor.

  Surely it would be safe to accept.

  Wouldn’t it?

  As if reading her thoughts, Scott gave her a one-sided smile. “I don’t blame you for being cautious. Who knows, I could be an ax murderer.” His teasing wink dispelled any such notion. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I call my minister and let him put your mind at ease about my character?”

  She was fading fast, and if the man was willing to let her talk to his pastor, she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “That won’t be necessary. I accept. With gratitude.” She felt Jarrod stiffen beside her, and she gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

  The other side of Scott’s mouth tipped up. “Then let’s get this show on the road. Are you ready to leave?”

  “Yes. I have my papers in hand.” She held up the instructions the nurse had left with her. “But are you certain you don’t want to spend the rest of the evening with your grandmother?”

  “After all this excitement, she’ll be asleep five minutes after she gets back. I’ll call and check on her from the house, though. Once I explain the situation, she’ll be pleased I offered to help you out. She’s always believed that performing charitable acts is good for the soul. This will earn me some brownie points.” He flashed her a quick grin, displaying a disarming dimple. “I’m parked near the door. Are you steady enough to walk, or should we get a wheelchair?”