by Lisa Jordan
Dr. Clark’s eyes narrowed. His chair creaked beneath his weight as he sat back to digest the information. His lips thinned and nostrils flared, but he didn’t say a word.
Nick could only imagine what the older man was thinking.
“Ten years ago when I was a senior in high school, I dated a girl for about a year. Our relationship ended before I started college. I didn’t want her to feel tied down when I was a couple of states away. I thought I was doing the right thing. We spent one night together. She ended up pregnant, but I didn’t know about the baby. She went to my mother, asking for my address, but she wouldn’t give the information to Josie. Instead, she said she’d pass on the message to me, but she didn’t.”
“And now you learned about this daughter?” Dr. Clark raised an eyebrow and shifted again in his chair.
“A beautiful daughter who has leukemia. I’ve been tested, and I’m a match for a bone marrow transplant. Her doctor wants to start the transplant process soon.” When Dr. Clark didn’t say anything, Nick continued, “I’ve missed out on nine years of her life. I don’t want her mother to go through this alone. They’ve been through so much already. My daughter is my responsibility.”
Dr. Clark dragged himself to his feet and sauntered to the window. With his back to Nick, he shoved his hands in his pockets and jingled change in his pockets. “Your revelation puts this university in an awkward position.”
“In what way, sir?”
“A small conservative college like ours depends on denomination support. If word gets out that one of our professors has an illegitimate child, I’m afraid that could have damaging consequences.”
“But, sir—”
Dr. Clark cut him off. “We’re already dealing with the backlash from Dr. Dole’s escapade with that student. The daughter of one of our biggest supporters, might I add. I’m just not sure we could survive another scandal.”
“Let me get this straight, sir. I’ve been with Linwood Park for the past four years with a stellar record. I tell you my daughter is dying of leukemia and needs a bone marrow transplant to survive and you’re worried about the reputation of the university?”
Dr. Clark half turned to face Nick. His bulldog jowls sagged like stretched-out socks. “Now, Dr. Brennan, you’re twisting my words.”
“Perhaps you should straighten them out for me.” Nick took time to pull himself to his full height and forced a civil tone. “Are you saying my job is at risk, sir?”
“I’m sure, in time, you will understand the wisdom of what I’m saying.”
The room with its dark paneling, tall bookcases stacked with dusty tomes and hard leather furniture closed in on him. He needed fresh air and sunlight—something, anything to restore the oppression in the room.
“Unfortunately my daughter doesn’t have enough time to wait for your wisdom to sink in. What happened to grace?”
Chapter Seven
Standing with his back pressed against the counter in his small apartment kitchen, Nick swallowed a groan at the look of panic that skittered across his brother Ross’s face.
“What about my friends? And my room? Where will I sleep?”
Nick opened the fridge and pulled out the milk. He checked the date before pouring a glass for Ross. He put a bendable straw in the glass and set it in front of his brother. “Miss Patty needs to be with her family right now.”
“But I love Miss Patty. She loves me. We’re her family.” With shaky hands, Ross pulled his digital camera out of his jeans and took a picture of his milk and cookies. Then he turned and took another one of Nick standing at the counter.
“You’re right, she does love you. And Miss Patty does think of you as family, but her daughter needs her, too.”
Dressed in jeans and a blue long-sleeved pullover shirt, Ross looked like any other guy his age. If only… With his short-term memory loss, slurred speech and uncoordinated muscle movements due to his traumatic brain injury, Ross wasn’t like other guys his age.
“I don’t want to go.” Ross broke the chocolate chip cookie Nick had bought at Cuppa Josie’s into pieces. “I don’t want to leave my friends.”
“You’ll make friends with the guys at Jacob House.” Nick pulled out a kitchen chair and straddled it. “Walt likes to whittle. You like to whittle. Paul paints. Ernie likes to bowl. And Gideon likes to put puzzles together. You love puzzles.”
“I like to do puzzles with Miss Patty.” Ross’s jaw tightened.
Nick stifled a sigh, forcing himself to remain patient with his brother. None of this was Ross’s fault. The blame rested on Nick’s shoulders. “You will be sharing a room with Gideon.”
“What if they don’t like me?”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Nick placed a hand on Ross’s shoulder. “You’re a great guy.”
“What if my friends forget me?” Ross picked up his camera and flipped through the pictures of the friends at his current adult care home.
“I’ll help you stay in touch.”
“You promise?”
“Of course. Anything for you.” Whatever it took to make his brother happy. Ross was the only family he had.
Not anymore.
He had Hannah. Another reminder of how well he screwed up.
Ross put a broken piece of cookie in his mouth and chewed. “Will you wear a cape when you come to visit me? So my friends will know you’re Super Nick?”
“But I’m not Super Nick, Ross.” Nick stood and pushed in the chair. He shoved his hands in his pockets, wrapping his fingers around the Superman key chain Ross gave him one year for his birthday. If only his brother could realize failures weren’t heroes.
“You are to me.”
Ross’s words washed over him as he stared out the small kitchen window over the sink. Gnarled oak limbs hunched like old men against the crisp March wind. Raindrops skated over the knobs and bends to the ends of the branches, hesitating a fraction of a second before dropping off the end in a free fall to the ground.
That was how he felt—as if he was free-falling.
*
Josie had less than two hours to prove she was a woman of her word. If she was late…no, she couldn’t think about that right now. She had to make the mortgage payment on time this month.
But no matter how many times she added the figures, the number was still the same. And she was short by three hundred dollars.
Josie picked up a picture of Hannah taken at the lake. She traced a finger over Hannah’s sunburned nose and sideways grin.
Nonno’s favorite passage from Matthew whispered to her heart, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
When they learned about Hannah’s leukemia, Nonno prayed that passage over them every night. Yet, Josie still treaded through her days, trying to keep her head above water. All she had to do was let go. And let God. She visualized treading water and letting go of a rope that she had been gripping with all of her strength.
Why was faith so easy to have when things were going well?
Replacing the frame on her desk, she leaned back in her chair, covered her face with her hands and fought the scream rolling around in her throat. An ache pulsed in the pit of her stomach.
She had no other choice. The irresponsible daughter had to call her dad for a loan that she had no idea when she could pay back.
Dragging her fingers through her hair, she picked up her cell phone, scrolled to her dad’s number and hit Send. And got his voice mail. Terrific. Now what?
She heaved herself out of her chair and walked into the kitchen. Not seeing Agnes, she headed to the empty dining room.
Agnes sang “It Is Well with My Soul” to herself as she sprayed the glass panel on the front door and wiped it clean. Without disturbing her friend, Josie shoved her hands in her front pockets and stared out the front window, listening to Agnes’
s words.
Yesterday’s rain had frozen overnight, producing slick roads and a two-hour school delay. Giant snowflakes frosted the sidewalk like a sheet cake. Businesses would be letting out soon. The sidewalks would be full of people hurrying home. Maybe a few would stop in to grab a hot drink before braving the rest of the cold. Could she make three hundred dollars in the next hour? Not likely.
Agnes gathered the glass cleaner and paper towels. She turned and jumped, dropping the paper towels. She pressed her palm against her chest. “Gracious sakes, Sugar Pie. You nearly sliced ten years off my life.”
“Sorry. I thought you heard me coming.” Josie swallowed hard to choke back the lump in her throat.
“I was watching the snow and not paying attention.” Agnes cocked her head and gave Josie a piercing look. “What’s got you looking downer than a groundhog in February?”
Josie waved a hand over the empty dining room and sighed. “Ten customers. That’s all we’ve had since lunch. I don’t know, Agnes. Is it worth it anymore?”
Agnes nodded toward the street and wrapped an arm around Josie’s shoulder. “Sugar Pie, take a look outside. Would you want to be out in that mess?”
“I’ve got to do something to generate some cash.” In the stillness of the dining room, the steady ticking of the clock above the fireplace chipped away the remains of her hope. “Harv will have the apartment bathroom fixed and then I can rent it out again. Other than that, I’m not sure what else to do. But that won’t help me today.” She blinked away tears pricking the backs of her eyes. When did she become such a crybaby?
“Sugar Pie, if I had it to loan you, I’d do it in a heartbeat.” Agnes laid a hand on her shoulder. “I do have a suggestion. Or two.”
“Does it involve money?” Josie rested her cheek against Agnes’s cool hand.
“Sort of.”
“Giving it or receiving it?” She couldn’t afford to spend a cent right now.
Agnes smiled. “Receiving it.”
“Then I’m all ears.”
Agnes pulled an envelope out of her apron pocket. “For starters, you should give this another gander.”
Josie eyed the coffee rings on the envelope. Tightness squeezed her chest. “Ag, you know I don’t do competitions.”
“With those lacy-top drinks you serve, you’d be a natural at this.” She took the envelope from Josie and removed a glossy brochure, advertising the Mid Atlantic Latte Art Competition. “Look here. It says a five-thousand-dollar grand prize. That kind of cash’ll put a dent in your hairdo.”
The baristas who smiled in the brochure as they swirled designs into their lattes made the art look so easy, but Josie knew from experience it wasn’t the case. But five grand…wow, she could do a lot with that. “Any other time and I’d attempt it, but right now Hannah needs me. What else you got?”
Agnes shook her head, sending her fist-size hoops bobbing from her ears. She pointed toward the side staircase and the loft above the register that overlooked the dining room. “What do you think about renting the loft for morning Bible studies, afternoon book clubs or even crafting get-togethers? Maybe some of the locals would like to set up their art and handicrafts. You could sell their stuff on consignment or something.”
As appealing as the idea was, the thought of adding one more thing to her schedule pressed weight on her shoulders. “That area is such a mess. Since the storeroom fiasco, I’ve been using the loft for storage. I don’t know. Between baking, running the shop and caring for Hannah, when will I find time to take care of it?”
Agnes smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. I’ll take care of cleaning it out and scheduling.”
“Those are great options, Agnes, and I appreciate your willingness to help. But I need that extra money today. Plus, you spend enough time here. Don’t you get sick of me?”
“Sick of you? Sugar Pie, you and that precious child of yours keep me from going batty at home. Besides, I refuse to let you do everything yourself. Letting those part-time high school girls go and cutting Gideon’s hours while business slowed was understandable, but every minute you spend here takes you away from Hannah.”
“I hate it, but right now, I have to work. If only God would give us that miracle I keep begging for.”
“You keep praying. He’ll keep answering.”
The bells jangled against the glass as the front door opened. Nick walked in, stomping snow-covered feet on the mat and brushing snowflakes from his leather jacket.
He flashed that devastatingly handsome smile and nodded to them. “Hey, ladies.”
“Well, aren’t you a tall drink of water.” Agnes purred as she gave him a once-over.
Josie swallowed, caught her breath and smiled back. “Afternoon, Nick. Want some coffee?”
“Please. I stopped in to see if you needed a ride home. The roads are getting worse.”
“Thanks, but my car drives great in the snow.” She moved behind the counter and grabbed a mug, handing it to him.
“Okay, if you’re sure.” He took it from her, allowing his fingers to linger a second longer than necessary.
Josie pulled her hand away and grabbed the roll of paper towels Agnes had set on the counter. Tearing one off, she wiped down the spotless glass on the pastry case. “I am, but thanks again. You’re welcome to drop by later, if you want. I’m sure Hannah would love to see you. Maybe we could play a game or something.”
Josie, what are you doing?
Nick raised an eyebrow. “Is Hannah the only one who wants to see me?”
Over Nick’s shoulder, Josie caught Agnes’s exaggerated wink as she headed up the stairs to the loft.
Turning back to Nick, she smiled. “Well, Nonno has taken to you.”
“Funny girl.” He set the mug by the register and rounded the counter until he was two feet from her.
Josie swallowed and backed up, bumping into the espresso machine. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Funny-looking maybe.”
An unreadable expression flitted across his features. She squirmed beneath his penetrating stare. He took another step closer and twirled a loose curl around his finger. “There’s nothing funny-looking about you, June bug.”
Her breath hitched at the mention of the nickname that caused images from high school to tumble through her mind. Bonfires. Homecoming games. Working late on the school newspaper. That fateful canoe trip where she overturned their canoe and earned the nickname of a pesky bug. But somehow he made it sound like an endearment. Simpler times.
“I can’t believe you remembered.” Was that breathless voice hers?
“How could I forget anything about you, Josie? You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met.” He caressed her jaw.
“Maybe you need to raise your standards.”
“Don’t do that.” His voice, still low and whispered, took on an edge. He cupped her elbows and pulled her to him.
She placed a hand on his chest to keep some distance between them. “Do what?”
“Put yourself down. Just take my compliment and say thank-you.”
“Thank you.”
“That’s better.” Nick brushed her hair off her cheeks. “Your skin is so soft.”
Words evaporated from her thoughts. She reached up and cupped his jaw, appreciating the scratchiness of his five-o’clock shadow. He smelled of early spring crispness, hope and promise of happily ever after.
Nick lowered his head.
“Josie—oh, pardon me.”
Josie jerked, knocking her forehead against Nick’s chin. She twisted out of his arms to find Agnes standing in the middle of the stairs, a grin the size of Texas splitting her face.
“Excuse me,” Josie mumbled to no one in particular. She pushed through the kitchen door. She ran water into the sink, cupped her hands and splashed it over her flaming cheeks. She reached for a paper towel and buried her face in it.
The kitchen door swung open. Turning around, she found Agnes leani
ng against the counter, grinning at her.
“Don’t look at me like that, Agnes Levine.”
“Whatever do you mean, Sugar Pie? Can’t a girl smile once in a while?”
“Right, like you’re smiling just for the fun of it.”
Instead of finding a solution to her financial situation, she allowed herself to get caught up in Nick’s flirtatious charm.
“Oh, lighten up. It’s about time someone put a spark in your campfire.” Agnes pushed away from the counter and headed back to the dining room.
Yes, but her father taught her playing with fire was dangerous. And, of course, she didn’t listen. And now she risked getting burned.
Chapter Eight
Nick knew how he could help Josie today, but he couldn’t do it alone. He needed Agnes’s help. But would she go behind her friend—and boss’s—back to do it?
When Agnes returned to the dining room, Nick slid off the stool where he’d sat for the past seven minutes thinking about his almost-kiss with Josie. If only Agnes hadn’t chosen that moment to come back downstairs. But he had to stop thinking about that. If he was going to help Josie, he needed to move fast.
Keeping an eye on the kitchen, Nick touched Agnes’s elbow and lowered his voice. “Hey, Agnes, may I have a word?”
“Darlin’, you keep smilin’ at me like that, and I’ll give you whatever you want.” She placed a hand on her hip and trailed a polished nail across his chin.
He grinned, then cast a glance at the clock hands moving toward five o’clock. “I need a favor. I promise I have good intentions.”
“What’s up?”
“Who makes the daily bank deposits?”
Agnes tucked her flirt away and narrowed her eyes. “Josie does. That poor darlin’ gets frazzled about deposits. She says if something happens, it’s no fault but her own.”
“Could you get a deposit slip for me?” His eyes shifted to the clock. He had twenty-five minutes to pull this off.
“What’s going on in that handsome head of yours?”
He glanced at the kitchen door to make sure Josie wasn’t coming out and lowered his voice. “I came in through the back door originally and overheard the two of you talking about her mortgage being late this month. I want to help. I wasn’t around when Josie really needed me so I want to make up for that. I’m sure she told you what happened between us.”
