The bleeding had slowed, but not ceased. Zach opened the apple cider bottle and handed it, along with a cotton swab, to Georgie. Grace hovered within reach of her son, her hands clenched in front of her.
Georgie dabbed the piece of cotton into the liquid, then swirled the cotton swab inside Eli’s nose and waited. Finally, her words rushed out in a burst of excitement and disbelief. “It worked.”
“Happy.” Eli pointed at his nose. “Cookies and dragons.”
The little boy cuddled into Georgie’s lap, his head on her shoulder. Georgie’s arms wrapped around his small waist as if she’d always been content holding toddlers and treating bloody noses.
As if she always rescued the scared and sick. He imagined, with the blend of her knowledge and compassion, she could rescue anyone she chose to, even the lonely.
“One dragon story it is.” Georgie launched into a fantastic tale about Izzy-Belle, her friendly dragon with rainbow wings who liked chocolate and gummy bears. Eli fell asleep minutes into the story. Georgie transferred Eli to Grace’s arms. Her voice was quiet. “I think we wiped him out.”
“I’m going to keep a supply of apple cider vinegar everywhere we go.” Grace adjusted her son without waking him. “What can I do for you, Georgie? How can I thank you?”
“You just did,” Georgie said. “I’m glad it worked.”
“Well, I owe you.” Grace gave her a one-armed hug. “Big-time.”
“It might not work…” Georgie started.
Grace turned away to pick up Eli’s blanket and never caught the end of Georgie’s warning that the apple cider vinegar might not work the next time.
Zach asked, “Anything else we can do for you, Grace?”
“I’m good,” Grace said. “I’ll get him settled in his bed and then hopefully get some work done.”
“Don’t forget to eat.” Zach handed Grace the to-go bag.
Outside on the porch, Zach squinted at the sun reflecting off the snow-covered mountains. “Why aren’t you doing patient care again?”
Georgie stepped off the porch. “I treated a bloody nose. It’s no big deal. Anyone could’ve searched the internet for the apple cider remedy.”
Not just anyone would’ve dared to try it. And with such composure. He followed Georgie to the car.
“I got lucky,” Georgie added. “Like I told Grace, it might not work again. She should really talk to her pediatrician.”
Zach would wager his entire rodeo winnings that Grace would seek out Georgie again for medical advice. Just as the ranch hand, Sean Foster, had tracked down Ethan during breakfast that morning to ask if he should worry or not that his dog, Bruno, hadn’t eaten in almost two days.
Ethan had asked several questions, offered his opinion and told Sean to bring Bruno to see him if Bruno hadn’t eaten by dinner. Relief had rushed over Sean, the same as it had Grace when Georgie offered her help.
Ethan and Georgie were trained professionals in their fields. Knowledgeable, capable and compassionate. Even more, they were trusted. Trust always mattered.
Georgie picked up a second cloth bag from the back seat that held the items she’d obtained from Hilda. “Next stop, Rachel and Ben.”
Zach parked in front of the law offices of Ben and Rachel Blackwell. He opened the office door for Georgie and followed her inside. Georgie’s outstretched hand stopped him from running into her again. He closed the door softly.
Rachel sat behind a modern desk, her face pale. One hand was pressed over her stomach; the other clenched a paper napkin. Her head swayed back and forth. “I can’t.”
“You have to eat something.” Ben traded the deli sandwich on the desk for a soup bowl.
Rachel wrinkled her nose and leaned back.
Ben swept the soup bowl off her desk, caught sight of Georgie and Zach. The soup bowl swayed in his grip. Defeat and concern played across his face.
“I’ll get rid of that.” Zach jumped forward and grabbed the bowl from Ben. He spied a small kitchen, dumped the soup into the sink and returned to Georgie’s side.
“Georgie. Zach. Sorry about this.” Rachel rubbed her forehead and grimaced. “I don’t know if it’s the smell or the look of the food. Or the taste.”
“Or all of the above,” Zach whispered to Georgie.
Georgie nodded and winced.
“You haven’t actually tasted anything.” Ben frowned and touched Rachel’s shoulder.
“I’ve never been this sensitive to food before.” Rachel released her forehead and waved her hand. “I’m really sorry. You both aren’t here to watch our food wars.”
“Actually, I’m here to drop off something that might help your stomach settle.” Georgie stepped closer to the couple. Her words and movements were hesitant, as if she didn’t believe they’d want her help. As if she feared she’d overstepped.
How could Georgie think that offering her help, especially to her family, was an inconvenience? Or an intrusion?
Rachel straightened. “Seriously?”
“You have a cure.” Ben grasped his hands together and gaped as if he’d just heard about a miracle.
“A morning-sickness cure hasn’t been discovered yet.” Georgie shook her head and retreated toward Zach. “But this might help.”
“Anything.” Rachel motioned Georgie closer. “I’ll try anything.”
Ben crossed his arms over his chest. Reservation replaced his earlier enthusiasm. He stood guard over his wife and eyed Georgie.
Zach moved to Georgie’s side, prepared to defend her.
“What is it?” Ben asked.
“It’s honey and other natural ingredients,” Georgie said. “Blended into a hot tea.”
“Please tell me that you have some with you,” Rachel said. Her desperate gaze searched Georgie like a barista looking for the last of the specially grown coffee beans.
“I have the ingredients to make it.” Georgie patted the cloth shopping bag Alice had filled with the items from Hilda Pittman. “I just need to use your kitchen.”
Rachel rose.
Ben touched Rachel’s shoulder and nudged her back into her office chair. “I’ll show Georgie where everything is. You sit and relax.”
“Take these, too.” Rachel pushed a plate of pizza and another of buttered noodles toward Ben. “If you guys haven’t eaten, feel free to have some. It’s the best pizza you’ll ever taste.”
Ben gathered the food and motioned for Georgie and Zach to follow him. Ben dropped everything on a small round table in the remodeled kitchen next to take-out bags from the deli and a pastry shop. “Feel free to eat whatever you want. My wife can’t eat, so I’ve been eating everything for the both of us.”
Zach pointed at the deep-dish pizza with fresh tomatoes and basil. “Are you sure you don’t mind? Because that looks better than anything I’ve had in Chicago.”
“I’ll be eternally grateful if you eat everything on this table.” Ben patted his stomach. “Pregnancy pounds are clearly not reserved for the mothers only and we’re just starting the second trimester.”
“Georgie, what can I get you?” Zach grabbed napkins and paper plates from the counter.
“We have chicken salad croissants. Deli sandwiches. Assorted soups. Nachos, plain and loaded.” Ben pointed to a bakery box. “Or if you prefer pastries, we have a dozen different kinds to choose from. We even have buttered noodles from the ranch.”
“Is there any cuisine you don’t have?” Georgie laughed, set the bag on the counter and unloaded the items from Hilda.
Zach found a cutting board and knife, placed them on the counter. Then washed the peppermint leaves she handed him.
“You can’t have any Indian food but only because we don’t have a good Indian restaurant within twenty miles of here.” Ben dipped a chip in a container of guacamole and eyed Georgie. “You think that will work? Even cert
ain smells make her gag these days.”
“I have a friend who swears by aromatherapy.” Georgie filled a pot with water, set it on the stove to boil and asked Zach to mince the peppermint.
Zach picked up the knife and stepped up to the cutting, pleased he could help Georgie. She was more than capable of handling everything herself. Still, he liked being there for her.
“My friend recommended peppermint. I found a candle at Brewster’s.” Georgie turned to Ben. “It’s in the bag. If it works, I’ll have my friend send her special blended essential oils for Rachel to try.”
Ben gripped the candle and clutched it between his hands. “Please, let it be as simple as lighting a candle and drinking tea.”
“There’s nothing simple about pregnancy.” Georgie added lemon slices and fresh ginger to the boiling water, then reached into the shopping bag again. “Every pregnant mom is different.”
“Speaking of which, I’m going to check on my wife.” Ben brushed the chip crumbs off his dress shirt, washed his hands and headed out to the front offices.
“You should eat, too.” Zach set a plate with half of a deli sandwich and fresh fruit on the counter beside Georgie. “Where did you learn this? The same nurses?”
“Smoothies got me through medical school,” Georgie said. “When I needed to study and couldn’t take the time to stop and make a full meal, I blended a smoothie together. I bought the supplies for Rachel to try one if the tea works. Once her stomach settles, she can sip a smoothie and slowly add other bland foods.”
Zach sniffed the tea and nodded. “Is this an old family recipe?”
“Great-Aunt Pru loved every kind of tea. She even experimented with her own blends. Some were good. Some not so good.” The distance in Georgie’s smile hinted that she’d stepped back into a good memory. “But this tea blend I read about in a health magazine while sitting in my genetics professor’s office.”
“And you remembered it?” Zach asked.
“I have four sisters.” Georgie shrugged, her voice casual. “I figured at some point one of them would get pregnant and might need this tea to feel better.”
“Or you could drink it when you get pregnant.” Zach replaced the lid. He kept his voice as casual and matter-of-fact as hers.
“M-me,” Georgie stammered.
“Yes, you.” Zach bit into his pizza and considered her. “Don’t you want kids one day?”
Georgie picked up the knife, chopped more ginger and avoided looking at Zach. “Maybe.”
Her indecision bothered him. He took another bite of pizza and would’ve blamed his low blood-sugar levels for his reaction. Except he’d already eaten at Brewster’s and at the ranch earlier. “You were really good with Eli. Natural and at ease.” Affectionate and loving.
Georgie dumped the ginger into the pot. Denial scraped into her words. “I didn’t do anything anyone else wouldn’t do.”
Not true. He took another bite of pizza rather than dispute her claim. His mother had offered disregard and indifference as naturally as other mothers offered their children support and reassurance.
You’re dirty and bleeding. Go away.
You’re always scared of something at night. Go away.
You’re always hungry. Go away.
His mother’s accusations had always been followed by those same two words, given in the same dull, detached tone: Go. Away.
Until he’d finally stopped seeking his mom out and learned to take care of himself. He’d been younger than Rosie. Not yet able to read, but more than able to understand. He had to mind his own business and let his mother mind hers.
He bit off another piece of pizza, refusing to let his past ruin his appetite. Living through his childhood had already soured his stomach enough. “Well, you were good with Eli today and Rosie the other night.”
She spun around and stared at him. “And that qualifies me to be a good mother?”
As far as he knew, there were no qualifications to become a mom. Or a parent, for that matter. “Maybe it’s the ability to love someone more than yourself that qualifies you.”
“Once again, we disagree,” she said.
Zach finished his pizza and wiped his hands on a napkin. “You’re going to tell me it takes more than love to be a good parent.”
“Doesn’t it?” she countered.
“Love is the foundation. Without it…” He let his voice trail off.
It wasn’t his place to convince her of love’s power. He hardly trusted love himself.
It wasn’t his place to plead with her to reconsider children and a family. He knew little about a close-knit family—his own had been broken and damaged. He knew only about the kind of family he’d always wanted. The kind he’d always wished for.
It wasn’t his place to offer her anything more than the easygoing fake boyfriend she’d requested. Zach peered inside the boiling pot. “At least you have your first tester with Rachel. Now you’ll know how well it works before you make it for your sisters.”
She frowned at him.
He lowered the lid and studied her. “What did I say now?”
“Nothing.” She opened and closed several cabinets until she found a mug.
“You memorized the recipe for your sisters.” Zach tracked her around the compact kitchen. “So, you planned to make it for them.”
“Of course.”
Zach rubbed his chin. He wasn’t sure if it was the upbeat declaration in her voice that fell flat between them. Or the way her gaze skipped around the room. But he didn’t believe her.
Georgie ladled tea into the mug and stared at the rising steam.
“Looks like everything is ready.” Zach moved beside Georgie. She looked anything but ready. “Want me to bring this out to Rachel?”
“What if the tea doesn’t help?” Her voice was as thin as the steam.
“Then we’ll find something that does help.”
“We?” She lifted her gaze to his face.
“Yes, we. You and me.” Zach picked up the pot of honey from Hilda Pittman and swirled the wooden stick in the tea. “Honey is good for allergies, sore throats and stomach issues.”
“Is that right?” A smile broke through her hesitant tone.
“Yes, it is.” Zach drizzled honey on his finger and tasted it. The sweetness coated his tongue and kept the lightness in his words. “You aren’t the only one who has read countless health magazines while sitting in offices.”
He’d spent more time in medical offices and hospital waiting rooms than he had in his own home, hoping that someone would be able to save his brother. The last we he’d been a part of had been with Cody. He hadn’t been able to help his brother. Why had he told Georgie he’d help her?
Georgie took Zach’s hand as if she sensed his faltering. He stared at their joined hands. He’d been gripping cotton reins and lassos for so long he’d forgotten the power in such a simple connection. Her fingers laced between his, naturally and easily. And quickly the past, the pain, the powerless feelings that had kicked up inside him, settled. Her soft, sure hold tethered him firmly to the present.
“Let’s bring Rachel the tea before it gets cold.” She tugged on his hand, guiding him into the front offices.
And with her hand in his, for the first time in years, he considered something more than a temporary connection.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GEORGIE CURLED HER toes in her fleece socks, covered her yawn and peered into the enclosed sunporch. The sun had yet to rise and only two side-table lamps lit up the comfortable, homey space.
Zach sat in the rocking chair Dorothy had warned them not to use. It’d been broken for more years than Dorothy could remember. Tools were scattered around the rug. Zach’s fingers wrapped around the armrests, his grip stiff and unyielding. His boots sank into the thick rug as if planted. A quiet strength enfolded him, holdin
g him straight in the chair. His chin sank toward his chest. Loneliness splintered his stillness and pulled her fully into the sunporch.
She stopped, holding herself just outside touching distance. “You’re up early.”
“I could say the same about you.” His head lifted, but his gaze remained hooded.
I felt you leave the room. Wanted you… “Occupational hazard. Research requires long hours with early mornings and late nights.” She pointed to the rocking chair. “You fixed it.”
He shrugged. “It was nothing.”
“Anyone could’ve done it.” She repeated her words from yesterday at Grace’s office after she had stopped Eli’s bloody nose. Her heart warmed at his generosity. “With an internet search, how-to video and the right tools.”
“Something like that.” He wiped his hands over his face as if rubbing away a bad dream.
“Why are you out here?” Did you mean it when you referred to us as a we yesterday?
“It’s the most peaceful, beautiful time of the day.”
He looked isolated and alone and far from peaceful. She sat in the cedar porch swing, curled her feet underneath her and watched him. And waited. I want you to mean it. I want to reach for you. For us.
He leaned back against the hand-carved headrest. His gaze remained fixed on the windows, still darkened in the predawn hour. “It wasn’t a two-story house on a cul-de-sac. There was no basketball hoop out front. No sandbox in the backyard.”
Georgie folded her arms over her chest, blocking the chill skimming across her. “This was your childhood home in Cincinnati.”
“It was a two-bedroom ranch on the edge of the city limits.” He set the chair in motion. The slow rocking matched the wryness in his words. “A step above the trailer park. Mom always took pride in that.”
The bleakness on his face plunged that chill deep inside her. Childhood memories should be unable to hurt an adult.
“My brother, Cody, and I always woke up at sunrise.” His chair slowed. His words continued, “Mom was always passed out then. We could eat without the constant accusations. You boys ruined my life. Stole my dreams. Selfish and greedy. Ungrateful.”
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