Buck swayed unsteadily. “I think my good leg’s made of rubber.”
“Not sure I can carry you, bro, but I’ll try if I need to.”
“No. I can do this. Just give me a second. The meds they gave me aren’t playing nice with my equilibrium.”
Ken held Buck steady until he was ready to try hopping on one foot toward the door, using the crutch on his left side and his brother on his right. It took awhile, but eventually they made it into the house. They stopped in the living room and Buck dropped onto the sofa.
I’m as winded as an old man.
Ken went to the bedroom, returning with pillows to prop up Buck’s leg. “What else can I get you? Need help into the bathroom?”
“Just some water, I think.”
“And the telephone. You’re going to have to call for help when nobody’s here with you.” Ken walked to the kitchen as he spoke, raising his voice a little while in the other room. “No trying to get around yourself. No weight on that ankle. You’ve got to follow doctor’s orders or you’ll pay for it later.”
Buck groaned. Having to ask for help didn’t come easily for him. He was the one used to helping others, not being helped.
I can do for myself.
Ken returned with a bottle of water and the telephone. “Don’t do anything stupid, Buck, while you’re here alone.”
“I won’t.” He closed his eyes. “All I want to do is sleep right now. Just let me go to sleep.”
His brother might have spoken again, but Buck heard nothing more.
When Buck managed to resurface, he discovered Charity seated in a chair on the opposite side of the living room, tapping her fingers on the keyboard of her laptop. Ken must have left. But how long ago? He shifted his position on the couch. The movement drew Charity’s gaze from the laptop screen.
“Hey,” he said, his voice gruff in his ears. “What’re you doing here?”
If his question insulted her, she didn’t show it.
“Sorry. That was rude.” He pushed himself to a sitting position. The room swayed but then righted itself again. “Ken asked you to look after me, didn’t he?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
Despite her guarded expression and his muddled brain, he guessed the reason she was there. “You don’t have to feel guilty, Charity. It was an accident.”
“I know.”
“Is your dog okay? I didn’t fall on him, did I?”
This, at last, softened her expression. “No, you didn’t fall on her. Cocoa’s fine.”
“That’s a relief.” He held out his right arm and stared at his cast. Beneath it, he felt a dull throb of pain. Nothing unbearable, but definitely there. He swung his right leg around to rest on the coffee table. The pain was worse in his ankle.
“Can I get you anything?” Charity set her laptop on an end table and rose to her feet.
Bare feet, Buck noticed, with bright-pink polish on her nails. For some reason that made him want to grin.
“Would you like something to eat? There are a couple of casseroles in the fridge. Your pastor’s wife brought them over.”
Ken was right on that one.
“Not yet. Not feeling very hungry. But my horses will be.”
“Your brother said they’re taken care of and you aren’t to worry about them.”
Buck reached for the bottle of water on the coffee table, held it between his knees while he removed the cap with his left hand, and then took several long swallows. It helped the scratchiness of his throat. Only, the less he drank, the less often he would need to use the bathroom, so that was something he ought to consider. And how was he going to get there when the time came? It wasn’t like he wanted to ask Charity—a never-married female and no relation—to help get him there. Besides, she was a slip of a thing. He doubted she could lift anything heavier than an unabridged dictionary.
As if reading his thoughts, she walked to the corner of the room nearest the front door. “Mayor Abbott was in Boise on business when he learned about your accident, and he rented this for you from a medical supply store down in the valley. He delivered it a bit ago and said you need to call the store with your insurance information.” She rolled a three-wheeled scooter toward the sofa. “You put your right knee on this padded rest and hold on to the handlebars. With that cast on your hand and arm, it won’t be easy, but it’ll be better than a wheelchair, and Ken said you can’t do crutches. Ready to try it out?”
He answered with a slight shake of his head.
“Tom Butler volunteered to stay with you at night for as long as you need him.” She checked her wristwatch. “He ought to be here soon.”
“I don’t think I’ll need him to stay.”
“The doctor thought it would be a good idea until you’ve mastered the scooter. At least one night.” She pointed at his cast. “Because you can’t use your wrist. That’s going to make things lots harder than you think, he said.”
Buck was about to insist more strenuously that he didn’t need anybody to look after him. Instead, he paused, considering the situation. Actually, it might be nice to have Charity around. He was laid up for weeks. He might as well enjoy the time off in the company of a pretty woman. Besides, she intrigued him. “Small-town girl makes good” and all that. Not to mention how standoffish she had been toward him. She presented something of a challenge, and that might make the coming weeks of idleness less tedious and boring.
“All right,” he said, shrugging in a show of surrender. “I give up. If the doctor thinks I need help, I’ll listen to him. I don’t want to make the injuries any worse than they are now.”
He grinned and Charity, as though sensing his thoughts, eyed him warily. He schooled his features to innocence.
Oh yeah, this was going to be fun.
Chapter 3
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, CHARITY STOOD ON THE front stoop, sipping her first cup of coffee, while Cocoa sniffed in the flowerbeds.
She hadn’t slept well. She’d lain awake for several hours, heard every small creak and groan of the older home. And once she had fallen asleep, unpleasant dreams had caused more tossing and turning. Coming home always did that to her. She didn’t want to dwell on why.
The closing of a car door drew her attention to her neighbor’s house. She watched Tom Butler climb behind the wheel of a sedan, but he didn’t look her way as he started the engine. Perhaps just as well, considering she was still in her pajamas on this brisk morning.
“Come on, Cocoa. Inside.”
In the kitchen, she drank the last of the coffee in her mug. She didn’t need to remind herself that she had to make significant progress on her book before she did her neighborly duty. The deadline was always in the forefront of her thoughts.
Why did he have to go and break bones in that stupid fall? Why did I have to get roped into taking care of him?
Guilt immediately stabbed her. Buck hadn’t broken those bones by himself. It had taken help from her and Cocoa to accomplish it.
If only—
She cut the thought off in an instant. Those were two very dangerous words. Thinking if only was as dangerous as wondering what if. The first meant she was dwelling in the past and revisiting all of her mistakes. The second—although important in her job as a writer—meant she was worrying about the future. Both were a waste of emotions and energy. Both were something she had done far too much of over the years.
Help me, Lord, not to do that.
She sighed. Her belief in answered prayer was still a fragile thing. She’d turned her back on faith in God while in college and had done her best to ignore any suggestion—from her parents or her sister or anyone else—that she needed Jesus in her life. Up until about a year ago. That was when, in a moment of despair, she’d taken a few steps back in God’s direction. In the months since, He’d restored her faith, not in one amazing moment, but in a thousand little ways.
Another lengthy restoration project. Isn’t it, Lord?
She set the empty mug beside the coffee
maker and headed for the stairs, certain she would feel better once she was showered and dressed. And she was right. The spray of water washed away the remnants of her bad dreams and, more important, those shadowy memories that plagued her the most in Kings Meadow.
Sadly, the shower didn’t do a thing for her creativity. She sat down at her desk, fingers on the keyboard, waiting for a flow of ideas. They didn’t come.
“The muse has left the building.” She groaned, letting her chin fall to her chest.
She had a secret fear: that she would never write anything as good as the Lancer series that had launched her writing career. Or could she even call it a career? Perhaps all she had in her was that single plotline told over the course of three books. Her only three books.
When she’d written her novels, she hadn’t thought about trying to sell them to a publisher, as crazy as that sounded. She’d been wrapped up in the joy of storytelling, and that had been enough. At first. But then, with Terri nudging her—her sister was always nudging her about something—Charity had queried some agents. Before she’d known it, she had literary representation, followed soon by a publishing contract.
Everything seemed so perfect then.
It wasn’t as if she’d written the next Hunger Games. Her series wasn’t that popular. But it was popular enough. She’d been able to quit her day job and to buy a new car and her adorable old house on the river. She’d bought herself a stylish new wardrobe too. One that said, “Confident. Self-assured. Going places.” Things she’d never thought would be true of her. She’d begun to dream new dreams for the future. Perhaps even a future that included love and marriage.
That’s what she’d thought . . . for a little while.
Man plans and God laughs. So said a Yiddish proverb. It felt true to Charity.
Late the previous year, her publishing house had changed hands and direction. They would no longer be publishing young adult books, they’d told her. Despite the success of the Lancer series, they wanted Charity’s next contracted novel to be for adults. A romance for adults. Romance? What did she know about romance? She’d spent a lot of years purposefully avoiding it.
She hadn’t yet wrapped her head around the idea of writing a romantic novel when she’d learned the publisher had laid off her beloved editor, the one person she’d trusted more than anyone else in the business. How could she write an entirely different kind of book without her editor? It was unfair, unreasonable.
And then the other shoe had dropped—right on her head, it felt like. With no warning, her agent had closed his agency. Although he’d given Charity a few recommendations, she hadn’t found another agent who seemed a good match, leaving her without representation or guidance up to now.
Cut adrift. She sighed.
The house phone rang, and Charity was glad for the interruption. “Hello?”
“Hey, Pipsqueak.”
She smiled at the sound of her sister’s voice. “Hey, Toot-sweet.”
“How’s it going? Are you writing already?”
“A little. But I’ve been distracted since getting here.”
“By what?”
She hesitated a moment, then launched into the story about Buck, from the time she’d seen him in the parking lot through the accident and right up until she’d seen Tom Butler leaving Buck’s house this morning.
“Poor Buck,” Terri said when Charity finally fell silent. “Not the kind of luck he needs. He’s a good guy. Mom and Dad think the world of him. I’m glad you’re helping out. Only fair. Your dog. Your fault.”
As if she needed that reminder.
Terri took pity on her and changed the subject. They chatted for a short while about their parents, about Rick’s job, and finally about Terri’s family’s vacation plans for later in the summer. Then Terri sighed. “I’m gonna have to run, sis. Frankie needs help studying for her finals. I just hope she never finds out she’s smarter than her mom or I’m doomed.”
Charity laughed. “Maybe her aunt will tell her.”
“Don’t you dare. But you can tell Buck I hope his recovery is swift and complete.”
“Sure. I’ll do it.”
“And, Pipsqueak? Maybe you need to forget about that book for a little while and try to enjoy Kings Meadow again. You need to remember all the reasons it was so great to grow up there.”
And just like that, Charity’s mood darkened. Enjoy Kings Meadow. She didn’t think that would ever be possible, but she could never tell her family why. It was her secret. She meant to take it to her grave.
“I love you, sis,” Terri said. “Take care.”
“You too.” Charity waited until the line went silent before dropping the handset into its cradle. It was quite a few moments until she was able to shake herself free of memories and move on about her day.
BUCK WOULDN’T ADMIT IT TO ANOTHER SOUL, BUT he could see why the doctor thought he should have someone around every now and again. If he only had a broken ankle, the scooter would have made life a breeze. Or, for that matter, he would have been fine with crutches. Amazing how a little thing like a broken wrist could make everything else so complicated. Tom had offered to fix breakfast before he left, but Buck hadn’t been hungry then. Now he was half starved but unable to get a casserole out of the refrigerator or even the tin off the top of a can of peaches. Frustration boiled up inside of him, and that was when he heard the knock at the front door.
“Come in!” he shouted, sounding as grumpy as he felt.
The door opened enough to let a head peek through. “Buck?”
“It’s okay, Charity. It’s safe to enter.”
She looked toward the kitchen as she pushed the door open wide and stepped in. “Are you all right?”
“Not really. I’m hungry. This”—he held up his right arm—“is a royal pain in the neck.”
She had the audacity to grin, although the expression didn’t hang around her face for long.
He couldn’t make up his mind if he wanted to kick her out or try to laugh with her. Both, he decided. Equally.
“I should have checked on you earlier,” she said, walking into the kitchen. “I assumed you’d had breakfast already. What would you like to eat?”
“Cold cereal will be fine.”
“Cardboard nutrition.” She pointed at him. “You need a healthy diet to speed your recovery.”
She sure was cute, wagging that finger in his direction. His bad mood began to dissipate.
“How about an omelet? With diced ham, cheese, and some sautéed mushrooms. I’ve got all the fixings in your fridge. I made sure of that yesterday.”
“Sure,” he answered. “An omelet will be fine.”
“Great. I’ll have it ready in no time.” She motioned for him to move.
It was his turn to chuckle. “Bossy, aren’t you?”
“Sorry. I’m used to being in charge. You know, because I live alone.”
“I hear you.” Holding on to the handlebar of the scooter with his left hand, he rolled across the small kitchen to the table. Trying not to look completely uncoordinated, he shifted off the scooter and plopped onto a chair.
With swift efficiency, Charity removed food items from the refrigerator. Under his direction, she found the chopping board, mixing bowl, utensils, and the skillet. Buck felt proud of himself for having everything she needed. The truth was he wasn’t a great cook. He liked to barbecue, but he didn’t spend much time in the kitchen.
“What made you decide to buy this place?” Charity asked as she began beating the eggs in the bowl.
“The twenty acres that went with it.”
She glanced over at him, a question in her eyes.
“I don’t need much when it comes to a house.” He shrugged. “This one’s big enough. A bedroom for me and one to spare should I ever have a guest. It’s in decent shape for a house built in the forties. The last owner put on a new roof about eight years ago. There’s a good stable for my horses and a couple of other outbuildings. There’s even a small ins
ulated workshop that I plan to use in the off-season.”
“Use for what?” She returned her attention to the breakfast preparations.
Buck liked the sway of her hair against the back of her pink T-shirt. He’d always been a sucker for blondes with long, straight hair. Had she worn her hair that way in high school? He didn’t think so.
She glanced at him again.
Oh. Yeah. Her question. “I make custom saddles. It’s not my main source of income, but I enjoy it. I guess you could call it a hobby.”
“Custom saddles aren’t cheap.”
“No.” He shrugged again. “Guess you’re right. It’s more than a hobby. Helped get me the down payment on this place.”
Charity stopped asking questions at that point. Soon the sounds, followed by the delicious odors, of food cooking in a hot skillet filled the kitchen. Again, Buck was content to watch her as she worked. It was easy to see she enjoyed what she was doing. He wouldn’t have been surprised to hear her humming, the way her mother did when the Andersons had him over for dinner.
It wasn’t long before she set a plate of the promised omelet on the table before him. “Orange juice? Or coffee?” she asked.
“OJ. Thanks.”
He half expected her to start washing dishes right away, but instead, she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat opposite him at the table. It pleased him—perhaps more than it should—that today she didn’t seem to want to get away from him as quickly as possible.
He took his first bite of the omelet. Closed his eyes and moaned in pleasure. “Wow. Lots better than cereal.”
She smiled, then sipped her coffee as he polished off the eggs in short order.
“Guess I proved how hungry I was.” He set down the fork and leaned back in his chair before draining the glass of orange juice. “Bet you learned to cook like that from your mom.”
She nodded in silence.
“Your folks’ve had me over for supper a few times since I moved in. Taking pity on the bachelor next door, I think. Anyway, your mom’s a magician in the kitchen.”
The Kings Meadow Romance Collection Page 23
