by Jillian Hart
Lights flashed to life in the darkness near the barn, headlights on the road going to town. Curious, he zeroed in, recognizing the old-model Fold pickup, too far away to see the driver but the engine’s backfire said it all. Whip’s truck. Millie had to be behind the wheel. Whip was too incapacitated to drive.
Was everything all right? Worry trickled through him. Not your business, he told himself. He watched the truck motor by, disappearing first behind the barn and reappearing on the other side. A few brief moments and it disappeared again around the corner. Her absence tugged at him, the same way her presence did, a physical pain right behind his sternum.
It wasn’t tenderness aching in his heart. He refused to allow it. There was nothing weaker than love. It shattered in an instant, it withered with time and died without warning. He’d never been able to let himself love Millie, and that would never change. He would be a fool if he tried.
Chapter Eleven
Dawn was a pink-and-gold explosion across the eastern sky. Millie took a bracing sip of hospital coffee and kept watching her son sleep on one of the waiting room couches. Covered with a blanket a nurse’s aide had fetched for her, hands tucked beneath his chin, he looked lost in good dreams.
She rose from the couch, careful not to make any noise. Aside from the desk nurse, there was no one around, but she didn’t feel alone. God’s presence accompanied her as she studied the parking lot below. A newspaper truck pulled up to the hospital’s portico, slipping out of sight beneath the roof, a reminder that life went on, relentlessly moving forward with news to report and deliveries to make.
Her phone chimed a merry little tone, not loud enough to wake Simon, thankfully. She rescued her cell from her pocket. Likely it was Milton or Brandi, wondering where she was for the morning milking.
Surprise. Hunter’s text stared up at her from her screen. Saw U drive by last nite. How’s Whip?
Still unstable. Her fingers felt stiff from being up all night and from dread, but she managed to tap out an answer.
I’m sorry.
Not UR fault. She hit Send, smiling a little. She took her coffee cup off the windowsill and sipped in caffeine. This would be easier if Hunter wasn’t a decent man.
Don’t worry about the milking. Milton’s on it.
I knew he would B. Simon shifted in his sleep, sighing, but he didn’t wake.
I let Brooke know UR in Bozeman. She’ll check in on U. Gotta go. His text popped on her screen, but it was what he didn’t say that mattered. He hadn’t asked about how she was doing or how she felt. Wasn’t that Hunter, though, always shying away from feelings? He liked sticking to the facts and problems to be solved. He had no use for touchy-feely stuff.
Emptiness ached within her. She tucked her phone away, trying not to let it bother her. As if she needed his shoulder to lean on. The last time she’d tried, it had ended in disaster. She eased down beside her son, watching him sleep. Really, Hunter had never been there for her in the ways that mattered.
Another chime interrupted her thoughts. She dug out her cell just as a doctor appeared in the hallway. “Ms. Wilson?”
“Yes.” She whisked by a snoozing Simon and faced the doctor, cold with fear. “How’s my dad?”
“Stable for now, but his organs are shutting down.” Dr. White’s sympathy schooled his craggy features, worn by time and experience. Gray tufts of hair stood up on end. Clearly he’d had a long night, too. “He doesn’t have much time left.”
She nodded, her tongue tying. Beneath all the sharp words and the unhappiness he’d tried to make of her childhood, there did lurk some affection. She hadn’t felt it in a really long time, not since she’d been old enough to realize what kind of man her father really was. “Is he comfortable?”
“We’re doing our best. He’s scheduled for tests this morning. You might want to go home and get some rest. It will take most of the day.” He plunged one hand into the pocket of his white coat. “I’m done with my shift, but Dr. Ames will call you with the results.”
“Thank you.” She took the card he offered her. Sad. Buried somewhere inside her was the little girl who’d loved her dad.
“Mom?” Simon blinked, sleepy-eyed, peering over the back of the couch. “Is Grandpa gonna come home with us?”
“I don’t know. Maybe not today.” She tried to purge last night’s trip to the emergency room from her mind. Dad coughing blood. Simon’s worried eyes as he handed tissues to his grandfather. Her fears they would reach the hospital too late.
She smoothed a tuft of her son’s dark hair. “You did an amazing job last night. You were a big comfort to your grandpa.”
“It had to be scary to be like that.” He scrunched his forehead, wrestling with a question. “Mom, is he gonna go to heaven when he dies?”
“I honestly don’t know.” One thing was for sure, Whip wasn’t worried about it. “Your grandpa believes you live and you die and that’s it. There is no heaven or hell. There is no God.”
“How can there be no God?” Concern bunched up on his button face, as dear as could be.
“I think Grandpa closed his heart up so tight through the years, now he can’t feel anything real at all. Even God.” She smoothed those wrinkles away. “C’mon, let’s go hunt down something to eat.”
“Okay.” He slipped off the couch, lurching a bit from tiredness.
Only then did she remember her text message. She glanced at her phone, surprised it wasn’t from Milton or even Hunter.
Feelin’ hungry? Brooke wrote. Follow the direction below & you’ll find pancakes, eggs & sausages. Not 2 mention service with a smile.
* * *
“There you are!” Brooke bounded down the steps toward the curb, dressed in jeans and a pink smock with cartoon cats on it, looking ready for her job at the vet clinic. “I’ve been keeping my eye out for you. You look exhausted.”
“What gave it away? The bags under my eyes?” Not to mention the disheveled hair, the wrinkled clothes from her attempts at sleeping on one of the waiting room couches and the huge yawn she tried to hide with her hand. She closed the truck’s door with a mighty shove, thankful she had a wide berth at the curb. Plenty of space whenever she needed to leave.
“Are you kidding? You look great.” Brooke wrapped her in a quick hug. “I wish I could look that good after a night without much sleep.”
“You flatterer. Not at all sure what I’m going to do with you.” She hiked her purse strap higher on her shoulder, keeping an eye on Simon as he drew in the loose gravel with the toe of his sneaker. “Can’t believe you invited us over. It’s early, and you must have to leave for work.”
“Not quite yet. Hi, Simon. Any chance you like blueberry pancakes?”
“Definitely!” Wide grin, dimples showing, Simon turned them full-wattage on Brooke. “Is my stomach growling or what?”
“I can hear it from here. You’d better go on ahead and feed that monster. Go on.” Brooke’s gentle manner shone like the fresh morning sun as she waved the kid down the walk. She turned to Millie. “Come with me. How’s your dad?”
“Hanging in there. I was afraid last night that would be it, but he’s hung in there. He still might.”
“It’s good you got away from the hospital. Recharge, get something nutritious to eat, get in a nap. I’m giving you my apartment key. You and Simon can hang there for a while. Both Bree and I are at work all day, so you might as well make yourselves at home.”
“That’s great of you, Brooke.”
“It’s nothing, really. This might not be the time, but how are things with Hunter?”
“Weird.”
“Well, of course, given that it involves my brother.” Brooke rolled her eyes, leading the way up the porch steps, next to a wheelchair ramp. Colbie and Lil’s home, Millie surmised as she tripped up the steps. “Other than w
eird, how’s it going?”
“Why are you asking?” She slid her gaze sideways, stopping on the porch because a cold hand gripped her stomach. Something was wrong. “You’re not hoping we’ll get back together, right?”
“Right. Then again, he isn’t as gruff as he first appears. Time has mellowed him.”
“I noticed.” Hard not to. She pushed down the memories, images that tugged at her with unprecedented force. The caring in his eyes, the gentleness in his voice, the way he’d chased bats with Simon. “He’s mellowed, but he hasn’t changed.”
“I keep hoping maybe you can change him.”
“Sorry, not interested.” She shrugged, wishing she could give her friend a different answer. Simon had disappeared through the screen door, which slapped shut behind him. A lazy breeze stirred fragrance from nearby rose bushes. “Maybe you can find someone else for him.”
“Oh, that’s not likely.” Brooke swung open the screen door. “After all these years, Hunter only has eyes for you.”
“No way, because he hates me for leaving. I’m pretty angry at him for letting me go.” There, that was the truth, out after all these years of shoving it down. She stepped through the screen door and Brooke followed her in.
In the nearby kitchen, sausage links sizzled, a stack of pancakes sat in the middle of a dinette table where Colbie uncovered a butter dish for Simon. The boy plopped down in a chair and looked at the food hungrily.
“This is really nice of you.” So tired, her feelings felt right at the surface. “This beats a restaurant hands down.”
“It was Hunter’s idea.” Colbie smiled, pretty with her cap of dark hair and sweetheart’s face. “Good to see you again, Millie. I can’t believe this boy of yours. How old is he?”
“Nine.” Simon licked his lips hungrily, his eyes on the food. “Did you make faces in the pancakes?”
“Monster faces,” came a voice from the behind the cabinets. Bree, Brandi’s twin, carried a plate of omelets from the stove. “Faces are my specialty at the bakery I work at. I get to put them on cookies and muffins. Total fun.”
“Cool.” Simon grinned up at the twin and the impressive omelet platter that slid onto the table. “Can I say grace? Can I?”
“Eager to get eating, are we?” Colbie sparkled with humor as she rescued a full carafe from the coffeemaker. “I’ll take Mom her plate. She’s still in bed. Go ahead without me.”
“Do you need help?” Brooke asked.
“Nope, I’ve got it covered.” Colbie took a plate from the counter and whirled down the hall, out of sight.
A loud growl drew everyone’s attention. Simon shook his head. “I told you I was hungry.”
“That was your stomach?” Bree plopped into a chair. “Hurry. This kid needs food.”
“He needs something.” Millie ruffled his fine, baby-soft hair as she settled into a chair beside him. Such a good kid.
“Dear God.” Simon folded his hands together, bowing his head. The cowlick in the back stuck straight up, visible for all to see. “Thank You for our daily bread. We are grateful for every cup and plateful, and please love my grandpa even though he doesn’t love You. Amen.”
“Amen.” A lump stuck in her throat. Taking a swallow from the juice glass next to her plate couldn’t dislodge it. The boy had a good heart, so like his father’s, when he wasn’t busy protecting it. Suddenly sad, she grabbed the platter Brooke handed her and forked monster-faced pancakes onto Simon’s plate.
* * *
“Hunter, haven’t seen you in my store in a long time.” John Denton stepped into sight from the back room behind his store counter. “The church had a good picnic on Sunday.”
“They always do.” He unfolded Millie’s list. “Looked like your family had a good time.”
“Our daughter won the potato sack race. Wild times, my friend, wild times.” John’s humor rang as warmly as his smile. “What can I do for you?”
“How much for that little TV in front?” He leaned against the scarred wooden counter, tucked the envelope into his pocket, trying to act like this was no big deal. Just doing errands for a neighbor.
Yeah, tell that to his heart. It skipped every third beat, a telltale sign he was on hazardous ground. Did he retreat, change his mind and return her list? No. He hauled out his wallet and thumbed through the wad of bills.
“How does twenty bucks sound?” John offered.
“Like there’s something you’re not telling me. It works, right?”
“Yes, just fine the last time I turned it on. You helped my parents during the wildfire last year. It was their crop you helped save. Wouldn’t feel right to make a profit on you.”
“As long as you’re sure.” He counted out two tens and waved off a receipt. “Thanks, John.”
“Not a problem. Say, I happened to notice you spending time with Millie.”
“No, don’t even say it. Nothing is going on.” He tipped his hat in thanks, turned on his heel and snagged the thirteen inch off the display. “See you around, John.”
The bell overhead jangled as he escaped onto the sidewalk. He opened his truck door and tucked the television onto the passenger side floor.
“Hey, Hunter.” A familiar voice—the minister’s voice—called out. “You’re an answered prayer.”
“Me? That’s unlikely.” He straightened up and shut the door.
“I just heard about Whip. I’ve tried calling Millie, but no one’s home. I don’t have her cell.”
“I do.” He whipped out his phone and scrolled down the screen. “Has there been any news?”
“Only that he’s in stable but serious condition. How is Millie holding up?”
“How should I know?” He tapped out a text. “Millie and I are civil. We aren’t exactly what I’d call close.”
“Are you sure? There aren’t some old feelings still there?” That was Tim, always trying to fix what was broken.
“I don’t have those kinds of feelings, trust me.” His heart banged against his ribs. What he felt was new, things he’d never been able to feel before. Only a sappy man would go around admitting it to anyone, including himself. He hit Send, and Tim’s phone chimed, muffled by his pocket. “There’s her number. Give her a call.”
“Will do.” Tim headed down the sidewalk with a wave.
Hunter tugged the list out of his pocket to double check it. Looked like he had everything. The ride through town went quick, and he’d pulled into the Wilsons’ driveway in no time. The lazy country day, the cows grazing in the fields and the empty horse pasture close to the house resonated with lark song as he went in search of the extra key. Still above the doorframe, like always. That made it easy to get in, haul in supplies and the TV and get to work.
He’d do the same thing for any neighbor, he rationalized while ripping open a pack of 9 volts. He hauled a chair from the kitchen and opened the smoke detector in the hallway. No battery. He inserted one, winced at the squawk and hopped down. On to the next task.
The truth followed him around the empty house like a whisper, one he couldn’t keep denying. Millie wasn’t just any neighbor. For the tenth time, he took out his cell, pulled up her number and his thumb hesitated over Call. He didn’t do it, but he wanted to.
How telling was that?
* * *
Why did she keep checking her phone? All evening long, everyone had called—Tim, Brandi, Milton, Cal and even Mrs. Hoffsteader, everyone but Hunter. Why was it his name she wanted to see on her missed-call list?
Millie dropped her cell into her purse, grabbed the truck key and opened the door. The last dregs of sunshine flirted with the tops of the trees crowning the hill behind the house. The day had whizzed by in a haze of sleep deprivation, discussions with doctors and sitting with her father, who was more ill-tempered than usual. Wrung out, she
hopped out of the truck, thankful to be home.
Hunter ambled out of the shadows, a hammer in hand. His tool belt slung low on his hips, his Stetson shaded his face. “Hey, you’re back.”
“And not a moment too soon.” She kept her voice low, so as not to wake Simon napping on the bench seat. “Don’t tell me you’re fixing the roof again.”
“The roof? Haven’t even climbed up there. Honest.” He raised his fist to cover his heart, hammer in hand. The strong line of his jaw softened with the hint of a grin. “You’ve had a long day. My sisters helped you out?”
“Immensely. They made us breakfast, gave us a place to grab a few hours of shut-eye and a shower and there was their friendship.” Her phone chimed with another text. She held up her phone. “There’s Colbie now.”
“They’re good at that. Those sisters of mine are the friendly sort.” Grass whispered beneath his work boots as he tread closer. “I was never good at relationships.”
“No kidding.” They smiled together, the long evening shadows cloaking them. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“You know me, up to no good.”
“I do know you, which is why I’m asking.”
“I just finished walking the fence line. Nailed in the last new board. It’s ready for the horse I promised Simon.”
“Good timing.” She glanced over her shoulder, watching her son sleep. It was after nine, past his bedtime. “He couldn’t keep his eyes open on the drive. This is rough for him.”
“And for you.”
Was that sympathy in his voice? A note of caring? “I can handle it, but I worry about Simon. This isn’t the summer I want for him, full of doctor’s appointments, hospital waiting rooms and seeing his grandfather decline.”
“He’ll be all right. He has you to make sure of it.”
“That sounds strangely like a compliment.”
