by EMILIE ROSE
Then Pam paused, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Rachel, you can’t take offense when people ask personal questions.”
The change in subject made Rachel’s head spin. “I’m sorry?”
“Today at the office. I heard the snoops made you a little...testy.”
“We were busy. I didn’t have time for gossip.”
“You were busier than we’ve ever been. I saw the appointment book. But try to understand, not much happens in Johnstonville, and you’ve been around the globe. People want to know all about your exotic life. Most of us only dream of seeing anyplace else.”
“I suppose so. Shall we tackle Hope’s things now?”
Not that she wanted to. But it seemed like a lesser evil than having Pam turn this into a conversation about Rachel.
“You bet.” Pam refilled their glasses, then rose, gathered her and Rachel’s dishes, rinsed them and put them into the dishwasher. “Sorry again. Hope would do the same at my house.”
“No problem.” But tonight had taught her one very important lesson. She would have to be careful around Pam. Hope’s friend would likely catch the tiniest slipup.
* * *
TWO HOURS LATER Pam stood back and parked her hands on her hips. She surveyed the neat boxes and bags of Hope’s belongings piled on the bed. “You should move into this room. That way you won’t have to share a bathroom with Chastity. I love that girl, but she can be messy.”
Rachel recoiled at the idea of sleeping in the bed her sister might have shared with Matt. “I can’t do that.”
“Too soon? I’m sorry. Even though you were far away and we never saw you, she was your sister. You must have been close.”
She and Hope never shared the usual things sisters shared, like makeup tips or secrets. Sure, they’d slept in the same tent or whatever rough accommodations they had on missionary postings, but with the decade age gap, sleeping space was about all they’d had in common. And then Hope had left the traveling behind to go to college in the States. She’d only occasionally returned to work with their parents during summer vacations.
Pam’s lips pursed in sympathy. She draped an arm around Rachel’s shoulders. “I shouldn’t have suggested it.”
She must have taken Rachel’s silence for grief. Was it grief? How did she feel about losing her only sibling? She didn’t know. She was still kind of...numb. But her feelings—or lack of them—were not something she’d pick apart with company.
She eased free by picking up a bag of clothing and carrying it to the dining room, calling over her shoulder, “It’s okay. Thanks for your concern and your help.”
“You and Chastity will be fine,” Pam said, joining her and depositing more in the donate pile. “It’ll just take time. Parenting a teenage girl is a challenge anytime. But being thrown in at the deep end...well, I don’t envy you.”
Best to stick with the truth. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“That’s the right attitude.” Pam scanned the stacks. “You’re okay with donating this to the church thrift shop?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll come back with my minivan over the weekend and help you get it there.”
“Great.”
Pam made no move to leave. Instead she stood with her head tilted, observing Rachel. “FYI, when I came home from college and heard about the pranks you’d pulled...I was jealous. You were so darn imaginative. I wished I’d thought of them.”
Rachel gaped. “I was horrible.”
“You wanted attention. And my kids have taught me that sometimes negative attention is better than no attention at all. Putting the goat herd in Mr. McGruder’s yard because he refused to mow, even though his grass was taller than his picket fence, was priceless. He still talks about it at the nursing home.”
“I, uh...was never charged with that.”
“Rachel, who else would know how to herd goats except someone who lived in countries where shepherds still did that?”
Rachel kept her lips sealed, but she suspected the guilty flush burning her face said a lot.
“And I know for a fact that you rocked my brother’s world for a while.”
The comment hit like a punch to the solar plexus.
“Much as I love him, Matt has always been such an uptight, rule-following, perfect specimen that Jake and I couldn’t compare to. It was nice to see Matt act like a normal human being and kick it up, have some fun. Thank you for that.”
Rachel fought to conceal her horror. Pam was thanking her for being despicable.
“Matt was a nice guy.”
“He still is, but he’s too serious. Too buried in his job and his Scout troop to have much of a life. All work and no play...kind of like Hope was. So I’m glad they didn’t hook up. But enough about our hyperperfect siblings. Let me round up my drama queen and get out of your hair.”
The Weavers blew out of the house, leaving Rachel with a sinking feeling she’d wronged someone she would very much like to have as a friend. But friendship with any of Matt’s family was impossible.
* * *
“THERE’S JESS,” CHASTITY said before bolting off and leaving Rachel alone on the edge of the ball field.
From the crowded bleachers ahead, dozens of sets of eyes tracked her steps. She hated arriving late to things. The urge to retreat thumped heavily in her chest. But she fought it and strode forward, feigning confidence she didn’t feel. One thing quickly became evident. There were no vacant seats. She was an outsider. Again.
Their tardiness could have been prevented if Chastity hadn’t waited until five minutes before they were due to leave to tell Rachel they were supposed to bring a dish for a potluck picnic with Jessica’s family after the game. The only thing Rachel could concoct with no notice was a fruit salad.
Through the chain-link fence she saw players huddled in the dugout around someone seated on the bench, then the huddle broke and the bench-sitter rose. Matt. Her stomach did a familiar loop-de-loop.
Matt led the team onto the field. A navy T-shirt emblazoned with the church’s name stretched across his broad shoulders, and faded jeans hugged his thighs and butt. She averted her gaze and caught Carol standing nearby, watching her. Only then did Rachel realize she’d stopped to ogle Matt. Embarrassed, she choked out, “Hello, Carol.”
Matt’s mom smiled and nodded at the glass bowl in Rachel’s hands. “That looks delicious. We’ll put it in our cooler. C’mon. I’ve saved you a seat.”
Two minutes later Rachel found herself sandwiched between Carol and Bill Johnston. To her left the men talked tractors, farming and politics. On her right Carol and her friends discussed recipes. Rachel had nothing to contribute to either conversation.
“Do you cook, Rachel?” one of the women asked.
“Not often.”
Carol patted Rachel’s hand. “Your mother probably didn’t have time to teach you in the places where y’all were stationed.”
“No.”
Another woman leaned forward. “Some of our church members have been on mission trips to third world countries. I can’t imagine living there all the time.”
“It’s different,” Rachel replied. “You learn what real necessities are.”
Shouts from the sidelines snagged Rachel’s attention. Chastity and three other girls cheered, cartwheeled and flipped.
“Has Chastity mentioned cheerleading camp yet?” Carol asked.
“No.”
“She will. The flyer came yesterday. Jessica’s going.”
“When is it?”
“Mid-July.”
“We’ll be in Atlanta by then.”
“That’s a shame. I’d love for Jessica to have a friend at camp.”
A whistle blew, drawing Rachel’s attention back to the field—and Matt. He stood on the p
itcher’s mound. Their eyes met and she couldn’t breathe, then he turned back to the plate. He threw the first pitch. High and outside. Luckily, his catcher caught the ball.
Again, she caught Carol watching her watch Matt and diverted her gaze toward Pam in left field. It was going to be a very long evening. And whatever she did, she could not let Carol know that her son still made Rachel’s pulse race.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MATT WINCED AS yet another ball sailed over his head. Disgusted by his performance, he punched his fist into his glove and kicked the mound. This game couldn’t end soon enough.
They were getting their butts kicked because of him. He couldn’t concentrate with Rachel on the sidelines. But there wasn’t anyone on the roster who could take over for him.
The runner sprinted to first, then rounded second wide-open. Matt carefully jogged over to back up the cutoff throw to the third baseman. He had a second to be proud of Pam’s strong arm as the ball came from the outfield. Tom caught it and dived for the bag. The runner slid. The collision between the runner’s knee and baseman’s skull knocked Tom backward with an ominous thump, followed by a snap. The base runner’s howl rent the air.
As a player, then a coach, Matt recognized the sound of breaking bones. The runner doubled up, his face contorted in agony. But Matt’s primary concern was for his Sunday school teacher, Tom, who lay flat on his back, his legs sprawled unnaturally. He didn’t get up.
Silence descended over the previously rowdy crowd. A flash of movement caught Matt’s peripheral vision. Rachel streaked from the stands. In seconds she was on her knees beside Tom, her knuckle against his breastbone. “Sir, can you hear me? Sir?”
No answer. She pointed a finger at the writhing runner. “Lie still. Do. Not. Move. You hear me?”
At the command in her voice, the guy stopped squirming. Again, she rubbed a knuckle in Tom’s chest and called him once more. Tom twisted to get away from the stimulus, then roused, albeit groggily. When the runner tried to rise, she pressed a hand on his shoulder. “I told you not to move,” she said. “I’m Rachel. I’m a nurse. I’m going to take care of you until the paramedics arrive. But first I need to see to this guy. What’s your name?”
“Lee,” the runner grunted.
“Lee, you’re going to be okay. I know you’re hurting, but just give me a minute.”
Her gaze slammed Matt’s. “Call an ambulance. Tell them two casualties. One probable concussion. One compound fracture. And I need the first-aid kit. Stat.”
He glanced at the men. Tom looked woozy, and his eyes were unfocused. A knot was already rising on his forehead. Then Matt spotted the crimson staining the other guy’s gray sweatpants—pants that were tented out at an odd angle where his shin had been. A nasty break.
“Got it.” He sprinted for the dugout, shouting instructions to his mom to call 911, relaying Rachel’s words because that would be quicker than digging his phone out of his gym bag. Then he grabbed the white metal box and returned to Rachel’s side. He knelt and opened the kit.
“Keep him seated until the ambulance arrives,” she ordered Matt, pointing to Tom. “Clear the crowd,” she said to a bystander. “I need blankets and something stiff to make a splint,” she told another man.
The people she’d singled out hustled to do her bidding. She surveyed the kit, donned gloves, withdrew the scissors and cut the bloody pant leg. Matt had seen a lot of nasty injuries, but torn flesh and jagged bone was gruesome enough to send a couple of onlookers bolting to the fence.
Rachel showed no sign of having problems with the grisly sight. The guy twisted. “Lee, be still. You have a compound fracture. Moving will do more damage. Do you hurt anywhere else?”
Matt couldn’t understand the garbled answer, but Rachel must have, because she nodded. “Can you feel your toes?”
The calm surety in her voice as she continued providing care surprised him. The Rachel he remembered had been excitable, and she’d kept Matt on an adrenaline roller coaster. But this Rachel’s composure never cracked.
Transfixed, Matt watched her in action as she wrapped the wound and splinted the leg with a folding car window sunshade, all the while talking to the victim to keep him calm. Finally, Matt heard an ambulance siren at a distance.
Rachel scanned her surroundings, then pointed at a bystander. “Open the double gates and direct the ambulance back here.”
The guy took off.
“Help,” someone cried from the stands.
Matt spotted a woman in her sixties clutching her chest. Before he could react, Rachel put a hand on the injured man’s shoulder. “You’re going to be okay. Sit tight until the gurney gets here. They’ll give you something for the pain as soon as the ER doc clears it.” She rose and looked at Pam who’d joined them. “Monitor them? Yell if anything changes.”
Pam nodded, and Rachel sprinted toward the stands. Matt couldn’t hear the conversation, but he saw Rachel tending to the woman. Then the ambulance screeched onto the field, stopping only yards away.
Just as the doors opened Rachel was at his side barking medical jargon in a matter-of-fact tone that sucked Matt back in time to the field when he’d been the patient. When bone and ligaments had torn and twisted and his dreams had died. Because he’d been thinking about Rachel.
The paramedics loaded the fracture patient as a second ambulance roared up. Rachel hovered between the bumpers answering questions as Tom and the woman were loaded. Rachel practically vibrated with energy.
Pam stood beside him. “Holy moly, she’s good. Had them triaged before I got there.”
Matt was impressed, too. Rachel had handled three serious casualties as if they were nothing. She spoke to each victim and gave each a thumbs-up before stepping back. The ambulances doors closed and the vehicles pulled away.
Chastity grabbed her elbow. “That was so cool!”
Rachel seemed to snap back to the present, the energy draining from her. “Just doing my job.”
Someone applauded. The rest of the crowd joined in. Rachel’s face turned scarlet. The woman who’d once done everything she could to get attention was clearly uncomfortable with it now. One thing was clear. Rachel was still an adrenaline junky. Now she played with broken bodies instead of guys’ hearts. And he needed to keep his distance from her before she led him down the wrong path again.
But damn, she was impressive.
* * *
SATURDAY MORNING RACHEL congratulated herself on having avoided Matt for two whole days. It hadn’t been easy with Chastity so deeply entrenched in the Johnston family’s activities, but with a little luck and planning Rachel had managed to have other things to do during those “together” times. It wasn’t a lie. She had mounds of paperwork to complete to settle Hope’s estate.
Today Chastity wanted to spend the day at Jessica’s, finishing their report which was due on Monday. After learning from Pam that Matt was at their house helping Brad with something, Rachel had suggested Chastity ride her bicycle the short distance.
She heard a vehicle turn into the driveway and checked her watch. Pam was early to take the donations to the thrift store. Rachel hustled to open the front door. Her welcoming smile collapsed when she spotted Matt’s pickup instead of Pam’s minivan. She hoped Pam had borrowed the truck, but then she recognized the blond head in the driver’s seat, and she had to fight the urge to shut the door and pretend she wasn’t home. Her luck in avoiding him had apparently run out.
Matt climbed from the cab looking like an advertisement for a men’s outdoor magazine in his jeans and white T-shirt that showed off his pecs and biceps. Once again, he’d caught her at less than her best. Anticipating a day of work and sweat, the totality of her beauty regimen had amounted to pulling on her rattiest clothing, brushing her teeth and loosely braiding her hair.
“Where’s Pam?” She hadn’t mean
t to sound ungracious, but Matt’s jacking eyebrows told her she’d done just that.
“Good morning to you, too. Pam’s van has a flat tire. I’ve been deputized to carry your load to the church thrift shop.”
Rachel winced. “I’m sorry you got roped into this. You shouldn’t give up your only day off. I can wait until Pam’s available.”
“The church’s big sale is next weekend. They’ll need time to sort and price your items.”
Stuck. “Then, thanks,” she forced out, hoping her smile didn’t look as artificial as it felt. “Come in.”
And if she had any luck left he’d run out of room in his truck before they emptied the dining room.
Matt followed her too closely for comfort. She felt the heat radiating from his body and smelled his spice and citrus cologne. A weed of desire sprouted in her belly, kicking her into action. She launched into motion, grabbed a box and turned. He blocked her path. They did an awkward left-right-left dance step in the narrow space before he backed out of the way and let her pass. She beelined for the door.
Outside, she gulped a cleansing breath of the late-spring flowers and someone’s freshly mown lawn. It did nothing to slow her jittery pulse.
Why did Matt still trip her triggers? Her time with him might have been sweet and intense, but it was also connected to the most painful period of her life. If anything, his familiar scent should repel her.
He came out behind her, jarring her from her analysis. Eager to get this day behind her, she set her box in the truck bed and returned for another, careful this time to avoid dancing in doorways. Soon they’d managed to empty the dining room, but the truck bed was only half full. Anxiety gripped her stomach at the thought of going to the last place she wanted to be alone with him.
“That’s it?” he asked.
“There’s more in Hope’s bedroom.”
She motioned for him to precede her. He entered the room, paused and looked around. With curiosity? Or familiarity? His neutral expression gave nothing away. But the question nagged her like a hangnail. Had he shared Hope’s bed? Had he stroked her ivory flesh and thought of Rachel’s tawny skin? Had he combed his fingers through her sister’s baby-fine blond hair and recalled Rachel’s thicker, darker locks?
