Small-Town Bachelor

by Jill Kemerer

  “Thanks, hon.” She fluffed her bangs. “The insurance adjuster hasn’t been out, but he told us to use their contractor. We’ve called the guy and keep getting a machine. I don’t like that we can’t pick our own builder. We need the restaurant up and running. Where will everyone go for Friday fish fry? And now that the weather’s gotten nice, people are looking to eat on the patio by the lake. I don’t know what we’ll do if we can’t get opened again soon.”

  Claire hated to think of the restaurant shut down indefinitely, but she hadn’t gotten the nerve up to go back and see the damage for herself. The other night a sound from the television reminded her of the roof tearing off, and it had taken her ten minutes to calm down. “I’m praying.”

  “Thanks.” Sally sniffed. “We don’t have it as bad as most of the folks around here. Lois and Herb moved to a hotel twenty minutes away until their house gets fixed, and I don’t know how those Riley sisters are doing it, living with half a roof. Don’t get me started on Miss Gert.”

  “Miss Gert? Is Whiskers still missing?” Claire selected another cheese cube. “I thought Dad formed a search party.” Miss Gert was eighty-four, lived in a house so old it could have been built by Christopher Columbus himself and doted on her long-haired, extremely pudgy cat.

  “Oh, they found him all right. Eating a dead bird in that ramshackle barn behind her place. But she can’t keep Whiskers inside with her back room damaged. She’ll have a heart attack worrying. I told Dale to get some of the boys together and patch it up for her, but she thinks the noise will hurt poor Whiskers’s ears.”

  “Want me to go over and talk to her? Maybe I can take her to the grocery store or something while they do a quick repair job.”

  “Would you?” Aunt Sally beamed. “I’d do it myself, but you know she can’t stand me. She aimed that BB gun of hers at my head last time I tried to bring her lunch.”

  Claire laughed. “I’ll do my best. And let’s hope the insurance people and builders get things done quickly.”

  “Reed’s boss called him while I was there yesterday. No calls have come through from any girls. I’d say he’s definitely girlfriend free.” Sally gave her a knowing look, then handed her the takeout bag. “You’d better get moving if you want to enjoy your meal while it’s hot. Tell Reed hi for us, and let him know I’ll be bringing lunch tomorrow around noon. I like that boy. He’s respectful and cute.”

  Claire couldn’t deny it. He was cute.

  “Nothing to say, huh?” Sally popped a hand on her hip. “Hey, I may be getting older, but I’m not blind. I’ll gladly bring a handsome guy lunch every day. Yes, I will. And I think you should make the most of this opportunity. A fine man like him hasn’t come through town in years.”

  Claire wasn’t touching this conversation with a fly-fishing rod.

  “How’s he been with you? Not much of a talker, is he?”

  “He talks,” Claire said. “He’s probably in pain and doesn’t want to show it.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. With you bringing him dinner, maybe we can convince him to stay.”

  Not likely. “I think he’s pretty happy in Chicago.” Claire reached for the handles of the paper bag. She kissed her aunt on the cheek, thanked her and headed back to Granddad’s cottage.

  Five minutes later, as she made her way up the ramp, she paused to savor the low sunlight spreading gold over the lake. Her favorite place in the world. God had touched this land, blessed it with beauty. Giving the side door a perfunctory two knocks, she cracked it open.

  “Yoo-hoo, Reed? It’s Claire.” She set the bag on the large island and continued to the living room, stopping when she glimpsed him.

  Shirtless.

  Her mouth dried to ashes. Wow. Reed’s arms flailed over his head, and the T-shirt he wrestled with tangled in his hands and forearms. He muttered something, and she chortled, choking on a laugh as she sped to his side.

  “Let me.” She tugged the cotton off him, and then, trying not to gawk at his bare chest—she’d be attempting to erase the image of that six-pack for some time, maybe forever—she straightened the material and stretched it over his neck. She spun on her heel to return to the kitchen. Why was she out of breath?

  “When you’re ready, come to the table.” Her words came out higher-pitched than a three-year-old’s.

  Reed followed her. His face had reddened—embarrassment or exertion?—but he stopped the wheelchair at the low farmhouse table next to a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “Isn’t the view incredible? Another gorgeous day on the lake.” She snatched two plates out of the cupboard, piled silverware and napkins on top and quickly set the table. Then she divvied up the fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn and biscuits before taking a seat next to him. “Want me to say grace?”

  “I’ll do it.” Reed folded his hands and said a prayer. When he finished, Claire smiled at him, but the hollowness in his eyes stopped her from digging into the food. “What’s wrong?”

  He sent a sharp glance her way. “Nothing.”

  “I didn’t cook this.” She backed her palms to her shoulders. “Aunt Sally did.”

  That brought the hint of a smile to his unshaven face.

  “Is it your leg? The first week is the worst for pain. Have you been taking your meds?” She strolled to the counter and found the orange bottles of various medications he was supposed to be taking.

  “I’m fine,” he growled.

  “You are not fine.” She held up one of the bottles. “I can see it in your eyes. I’m a trained professional, you know.”

  “I’m not an animal.”

  She chuckled. “I know. My otters are more playful. You’re grumpier.”

  “Your...what?” His crinkled nose and eyebrows reminded her she’d never told him about the rescued babies.

  “Otters. I’m caring for twins until the zoo takes them later this summer.”

  “Why?”

  “Their mom was attacked. Lost the use of her back legs. My friend Lisa runs an animal sanctuary nearby and was able to deliver the twins. They stayed with their mother until they were weaned, but Lisa only keeps injured animals. They’re too tame to be released into the wild, so I made an arrangement with the zoo. I’m housing them until the new exhibit is ready next month.” Finding the prescription ibuprofen, she returned to the table and slid the tablet his way. “Here. You should be a quarter way through the bottle by now. Haven’t you taken any?”

  “I don’t need them.” He pushed it away. “Before you start lecturing, though, I have been taking the antibiotics.”

  “I’m not lecturing.” Technically, she was lecturing, but she preferred to think of it as reminding. “Now is not the time to play tough guy, Reed. The painkillers will make this easier on you.”

  The vein in his temple jumped. He ignored the pill and bit into his drumstick.

  What now? She couldn’t force him to take it. And she couldn’t hide it in a piece of cheese the way she did when a pet stubbornly refused a tablet.

  Well, she probably could hide it in a piece of cheese, but Reed was an adult. He could make his own decisions and live with the aftermath.

  She suppressed a sigh and dug into her potatoes, telling him about Wompers, the enormous dog no one in their clinic had been able to budge from the waiting room this morning. The owner tried to drag the poor beast, but the dog could not be moved.

  The dark circles under Reed’s eyes and the tightness around his mouth churned her stomach.

  “Just take the stinking pill.” She pointed to it with her fork.

  He glared for five seconds but finally popped it in his mouth and took a swig of lemonade. She smiled. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  They finished the meal in silence. When Claire stood to clear their plates, Reed backed the chair up, but it got caugh
t on something. He jammed the wheels forward, then backward, then forward again. His body crackled with tension. “I hate this.”

  Claire wanted to go to him, put her arm around his shoulder and comfort him. But it wasn’t her place.

  “This stupid chair,” he said. “I can barely get around.”

  “I would hate it too. I wish I could make your leg heal with the snap of my fingers.” Claire strode to the living room and opened a cabinet. “Maybe you need something to take your mind off things.”

  She selected an early CD by Michael Bublé and slid it into the stereo. Jaunty music filled the air. Returning to the kitchen, she stacked dishes in the sink. Then she paused in the living room—Reed had wheeled to the sliding door and looked out at the lake. He rested his chin on his fist, his gaze faraway.

  “As hard as it is for me right now, the view almost makes me forget. Your grandfather knew what he was doing when he made his home here.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” The whitewashed walls, tan leather furniture, bookcases filled with paperbacks, old ashtrays and golden retriever knickknacks relaxed her. Reminded her how Granddad always had a hug and a pot of coffee for her. “It’s been a big part of my life.”

  Reed’s eyes appeared almost copper in the weakening light, and the expression in them... Apologetic? Or appreciative?

  “Claire?” His long lashes lowered. “Will you help me out of this torture chamber so I can sit on the couch?”

  “Of course.” A slow ballad came on. She bent for him to put his arm around her shoulder and lifted as he heaved his body upward. The smell of his skin hinted at an ocean breeze. “There. Move to the left. Careful.”

  He reclined on the couch, his cheeks ruddy from exertion.

  “Better?” She adjusted the yoga blocks under his cast.

  “Yeah.” He sounded hoarse. “Come here a minute.”

  She moved to his side, her pulse racing. Why did her skin feel prickly all of a sudden?

  He took her hand, his thumb rubbing over her hers. “Can you stay awhile?”

  “Yes.” Her voice sounded like a tiny mouse’s, if tiny mice could speak.

  “Good.”

  For a split second, she thought he might want to kiss her.

  She wanted him to kiss her.

  “Tell me what’s going on with the town cleanup.” He let her hand drop.

  She blinked. See? He didn’t want to kiss her. Just helping the town. Nothing more.

  Claire crossed to the chair, a safe distance from him but close enough they could chat with ease. “Not much. The insurance adjuster hasn’t been out to Uncle Joe’s yet. On Sunday, a bunch of people cleared the street downtown to be drivable, but other than tarps covering a few houses, nothing is happening.”

  “We need to change that.” His tone went from smooth to brisk. She liked smooth better. “Do you have a paper and pen? If we’re going to get this town restored, I have questions to be answered.”

  “Really?” She scurried to the kitchen for pen and paper. When she returned, she clicked the pen, preparing to write. “What do you want to know?”

  “What stores would you say need the most work?”

  She thought a moment and listed the ones she could think of. “Let me call Dad. He knows more than I do.” Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, she dialed his number. “Dad? Reed and I are making a list of all the stores destroyed—”

  “Good idea. I’ll be right there.” He hung up before she could respond.

  She shrugged, smiling at Reed. “Dad’s on his way.”

  The corner of his mouth twisted. “You mean I don’t get you all to myself?”

  All to himself? Claire widened her eyes and shrugged.

  Then he grinned. “Your dad’s great. I want to make as many calls as possible before I leave next week.”

  And just like that, her spirits dropped to the floor. Next week would be here before she knew it, and playing with temptation had burned her twice before. Not this time.

  * * *

  Five more minutes. Five minutes and he was sawing the cast off. He’d use a butter knife if he had to.

  Reed gripped the arms of the wheelchair. The itch in his leg permeated his thoughts. A thin branch taunted from the limb overhanging the deck. If Reed went outside and snapped the twig, he’d jam it in his cast and scrape his leg until no skin remained.

  Fridays were supposed to be good days. Fun days. But after two hours of studying the weekly report he would be in charge of as vice president, he’d almost fallen asleep of boredom. So he’d switched gears, making phone calls to local business owners, construction crews and even two insurance adjusters. Right up his alley. But, with nothing more to do, Reed had thumbed through every magazine in the cottage. Knew all the summer fashions. Skimmed the bookcases and learned about the war of 1812. Memorized the capitals of the fifty states. The television bored him. Inactivity? A cruel, cruel fate.

  Knock, knock. The side door opened.

  “Guess what we’re having for lunch? Lobster pasta salad and my famous BLTs with avocado sauce.” Sally breezed into the kitchen. Knocks were clearly cursory in Lake Endwell. At least this time Reed was fully dressed. “Give me a minute and I’ll have everything ready.”

  He never guessed how difficult it would be to do the most simple of tasks on his own. Dale stopped by each morning, helping Reed wrap his cast in a plastic bag and tape it so he could take a shower. Dale also showed him how to maneuver the wheelchair to get down to the dock—an exhausting undertaking Reed wouldn’t be attempting on his own anytime soon.

  Yesterday had brought Reed to an all-time low. He’d slammed his fingers in the drawer trying to get out a spoon, and when his cell phone fell to the floor midcall with John, it had taken him ten minutes to pick it back up. Barbara had called late in the afternoon to check on him, and he still winced at how terse he’d been. But, come on, why couldn’t Dad call? Why did it always have to be her?

  And what about the other night when Claire had trotted into the living room and caught him wrestling with a T-shirt? He’d wanted nothing more than to wheel himself into the lake and be done with it. Naturally, he’d poured the charm on by acting like a baby and refusing pain meds.

  No wonder he lived alone.

  Sally fussed with the food on the counter. “...and you and I are going to eat outside. It’s too nice out to be cooped up all the time. I brought some cards. I only know Go Fish, so if you’re looking for something fancy, I’m not your gal. Oh, and I brought some gossip mags. Look.” She brandished a magazine with celebrities on the cover. “It’s got all the pictures of the stars without makeup. I think she looks like an absolute hag.”

  She tossed the magazine on his lap. He held it up. The picture must have been altered. The actress did look like a hag.

  “Come on, don’t be shy.” Balancing two plastic plates in her hands, she used her hip to slide the glass patio door open. “It’s warm out here. I’ll launch the umbrella.”

  He had little choice but to follow, and, frankly, he’d promised himself he would make more of an effort with everyone. Except Claire. Every time she came over, he wanted her to stay longer. And he couldn’t stop staring at her. Drawn to her easygoing personality. Blinded by her baby blues.

  She’d made it clear as the lake in front of him that she needed a man to put her first. Here. In Lake Endwell.

  He was not that man.

  But...he anticipated the way her face lit up when she waltzed in the door. Enjoyed the lilt of the “Yoo-hoo” she called to announce herself. Could listen to her tales of dogs and cats and otters all day long. Kind of had a hard time looking away from her sparkly tank tops with various sayings on them like yesterday’s Zoo Freak.

  Whenever he glimpsed her lips, he wanted to kiss her.

  Sally set the plates on the
patio table. “I’m experimenting with different flavors of iced tea. Do you like kiwi?” She cranked the umbrella until it soared over them.

  “Uh, yes.” Good. A distraction. “I do like kiwi.”

  “Great. I’ll be right back. You go ahead and start in on the sandwich. You’re probably starving.”

  He wasn’t hungry, but the food did make his mouth water. Sally was an amazing cook.

  “Here you are.” She took the seat opposite him then grunted. “Why haven’t you eaten?”

  “I thought I’d wait for you.”

  “Aw, that’s why I like you.” For a minute he thought she might pinch his cheek, but she didn’t. “Since you’re looking livelier today, why don’t you tell me about yourself. What’s it like to live in Chicago?”

  In between bites of the most delicious bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich he’d ever tasted, he filled her in on his job and the work he’d put in to become vice president. When she asked about life outside of work, he told her how much he enjoyed mountain biking and watching his beloved Chicago Bears, and he filled her in on his canceled Alaska trip.

  “So, Sally.” He pushed his empty plate away. “What’s the word on the restaurant?”

  Sally tossed her napkin on the table in disgust. “The word is nothing. We’re not getting anywhere with this contractor. I’ve called at least fifteen times. All I get is a recording.”

  Reed frowned. Almost a week and they hadn’t even talked to the builder? “Give me the name of the company and your rep. I’ll see if your insurance will pay for a different contractor.”

  “Oh, honey, I don’t want you lifting a finger right now. You worry about your leg. We’ll worry about the restaurant.”

  He laughed. “It’s not lifting a finger. It’s swiping one. Give me the number. I want to help.”

  “Well, bless your heart. I’m taking you up on it.”