by Nancy Naigle
She reluctantly extended her hand. He better not be thinking we’re going to get as close as our cars. “I’m Joy, although I’m clearly not spreading much of it today.”
Her response seemed to amuse him. “Relax. It’s a car.” He shrugged out of his sport coat and put it around her shoulders. “Here, you’re shivering.”
She pulled the wool sport coat around her, the smooth, outdoorsy scent of his cologne teasing her. The coat engulfed her. Although the warmth was welcome, it was her nerves, not the weather, that had her shaking tonight.
“Give me a minute.” He walked around to the passenger side of his truck and came back with a flashlight.
Now that he wasn’t wearing his jacket, it was hard to ignore his well-toned biceps and the athletic taper to his slim hips. Probably the best-looking guy in the whole town. And a doctor? Although he hadn’t said he was a doctor, and why would a doctor drive a pickup truck? He’d better not be lying about this being his truck.
“I think I can just pull my truck forward. That shouldn’t do any more damage to your car than you’ve already done.”
“It’s worth a try. How can I help?”
“Stand right there and watch. Let me know if your car starts coming along for the ride when I move my truck forward. Wave your arms if the car moves, okay?”
“Got it.” Joy positioned herself near the driver’s side of his tailgate, relieved when he took a wad of keys out of his pocket and started the truck. At least he hadn’t lied about it being his truck. Christmas carols blared from his speakers. He turned down the music and dropped the truck into gear.
The brake lights dimmed. As he inched forward, there was only a minimum amount of scraping, and then the tailgate cleared her car.
“That’s good!” she yelled, waving her arms.
He got out of the truck, the sound of sleigh bells and a joyous chorus of “Jingle Bells” drifting from the cab as he walked to the back and slammed the tailgate shut. “Mine’s fine. Unfortunately, your car looks even worse from this angle.”
Angling the light beam to the back of her car, they stepped closer.
By her side, he seemed much taller than she’d first noticed. Over six feet tall, for sure. “I think mine’s going to need life support.”
He peered into the backseat of the car. “Nice dress.”
The sequins on her dress danced in the ray of light. “Thank you. I … it doesn’t matter. This looks bad. I’m probably going to wish I didn’t just spend all that money on that dress when I get the estimate to fix this damage.”
He draped his arm around her shoulder. “You should be able to drive it. There’s nothing hitting the tires. A little cosmetic surgery will go a long way.”
“Is that what you do? You’re a plastic surgeon?” He had that overly put-together plastic surgeon look to him, with the drop-dead blue eyes and dark hair. Probably colored contacts. Not many people had eyes that blue.
He smirked. “No. I just rescue women who get into trouble.”
“Like a superhero?”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
Easy for him to laugh. His truck looked fine. “Let me get you my insurance information in case your truck is damaged when you see it in the daylight.”
Ben shook his head. “No. It looks fine.” He took a pad of paper from his pocket and scribbled on it. “Here’s the information for the body guy up the street. Tell him Ben sent you. He’ll take good care of you.”
“Thanks. I’m so sorry about all of this.” She gestured toward his truck. “About the wreck and for yelling at you.”
“Forget about it.” He got back in his truck and waved as he drove off.
Was he that easygoing in every bad situation? She’d been a maniac, and now her embarrassment was nearly as bad as the damage to her car. Sure, her car could be fixed, but the way she’d just acted was leaving her feeling in need of resuscitation. Only her luck it would be Mr. Blue-eyed Superhero who would show up to save her.
Chapter Seven
Joy had forgotten just how dark Crystal Falls could be in the winter. Beyond Main Street, there weren’t many lights along the old twisting roads. There was a time when she’d have sped down the back roads to Ruby’s at high speed without a worry in the world—except during hunting season, when she had to be careful of deer darting out in front of her. But that was a long time ago. She’d been reckless and angry then.
Tonight she carefully negotiated each turn with her bright lights flooding the way.
She drove up to the old farmstead where Ruby lived, and parked in the sandy gravel driveway near the side door. The white-columned porch had always made the house look like a mansion to Joy. The two-story structure wasn’t fancy, though. Just an old cedar shake saltbox colonial, but Uncle George had added the amazing wraparound porch the summer Joy and Mom stayed there.
Joy got out of her car and climbed the porch stairs, her heels clicking against the decking boards. She leaned against one of the fat pillars, hugging it like an old friend, embracing the darkness that hung over the acreage. There were a lot of memories in this old house.
The animals whinnied and called out what sounded like a welcome, but was more likely their high hopes for a meal tonight. If it weren’t for the single light in the barn, it would be pitch-black out there.
Joy stood for a moment longer, enjoying the peace and fresh night air. She went inside, then realized that it hadn’t even crossed her mind to ask for a key. Thinking back, though, she was pretty sure that door had never been locked the whole time she lived there. But then, that was a long time ago.
She ran her hand along the wall and flipped on the lights. Everything looked pretty much the same as it always had, except Uncle George’s old recliner that used to be in front of the fireplace had been replaced by a new floral love seat. She meandered back to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Just like old times, the gold glass pitcher was filled with sweet tea. Joy poured a glass and sat down at the kitchen table.
The caffeine wouldn’t be enough to keep her awake, as tired as she was tonight.
Nothing seemed to have changed here in the last ten years. The kitchen was still painted an outdated green, but it was sparkling clean. She rinsed out her glass and placed it on the counter, then headed back to Ruby’s room. Since she hadn’t taken the time to stop and grab a change of clothes before she left D.C., she’d have to find something to wear to go out and feed the animals. She certainly couldn’t do it in high heels and her favorite pantsuit.
The hall leading back to Ruby’s room was lined with family pictures. Joy’s high school graduation picture still hung in the same place that it had over ten years ago. Pictures of people she’d never met, like her grandmother and grandfather, and pictures from Ruby and Mom’s childhood, which had faded from years of being on display. Some of them she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before.
She lifted a picture of the three of them—Mom, Aunt Ruby, and herself—from a hook. Joy remembered the day the picture had been taken. It had been the fall before Mom told Joy she was sick. It still hurt that Mom had kept it to herself for so long, claiming that she thought there was no reason to worry her. Wasn’t it her right to worry when someone she loved was sick?
They’d spent the afternoon selling pumpkins down at the local Ruritan Club to raise money for the holiday drive, then gone to the little diner on the corner of Main Street. Ruby had asked the waiter to take the picture as a keepsake. Joy couldn’t for the life of her remember the name of the diner now. I wonder if it’s still there.
Joy carried the framed five-by-seven with her to Ruby’s room. She sprawled across the bed on the log-cabin-patterned quilt that had always been on Ruby’s bed, the mattress soft beneath her. She studied the picture, gliding her fingers across the thin glass. Joy had never thought she looked like her mother, but now that she was closer to the age that Mom had been in this photo, she could see the resemblance between them. Joy swept her fingertip across her mother’s smile, demure and serious—a
contrast from her gregarious sister, Ruby.
Joy set the picture on the nightstand. She crossed the room to the tallboy dresser. The heavy top drawer groaned as she slid it open to rummage for something to wear.
Winter hadn’t officially arrived on the calendar, but it was cold out tonight and she still needed to feed the animals. A pair of sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt would do the trick. Thank goodness she and Ruby were about the same size.
She was lucky to find just such an outfit in the dresser drawers. After changing clothes, she slipped on the muck boots she’d seen next to the back door. Picking up the flashlight from the counter, Joy headed to the barn.
The building hadn’t always been a barn. Ruby and Uncle George didn’t need a barn when he was alive. Back then, this building had been Uncle George’s garage and workshop. He’d always been out there, tinkering away on something. Many nights she’d fallen asleep to the sound of his saw humming, the scent of damp pine wafting through the window. That fresh-cut pine lumber from the local mill had always smelled so sweet.
There weren’t any tools in the barn now. Gone were the old workbenches, replaced with four stalls that lined one whole side of the space. Just as Ruby had said, there was a list of chores hanging on a clipboard dangling from a nail next to the door. Not just any clipboard, but one that Ruby had Bedazzled somewhere along the way with the words FEED THE ANIMALS in beads next to a cow with googly eyes.
AM daily. Throw handful of scratch for the chickens.
AM daily. 1 carrot and ¼ cup of rabbit chow for the bunny.
Change water in the chicken coop and bunny cage.
Check water in the pasture.
PM daily. Hay.
PM daily. Pelleted feed for livestock. Bins labeled.
Joy flipped to the second page of yellow ruled paper. There she found a detailed rendering of each of the animals’ pens, their names, the type of food they ate, and their feeding schedules. The third page restated what was written on each of the feed bins.
“Easy enough.” Joy followed the list, one chore at a time.
She fed the bunny, Molly, on the sun porch first to be sure she didn’t forget about her, then the goats, the chickens, the horse, and the donkey. Tommy’s cow kept walking over to the fence.
“Ruby said not to feed you,” Joy said to the cow. “Sorry, buddy.” When Joy reached over the fence and scratched her head, she was rewarded with a supersized lick that soaked her sweatshirt sleeve. “How am I supposed to resist those big brown eyes?” The cow lifted her nose. “I bet Tommy won’t mind if I give you a snack, but just a little one.”
Joy grabbed a scoop of livestock feed and carried it into the pen. “Don’t tell on me.” The cow lumbered along behind her. Just as Joy dumped the food in the feeder, the cow danced with excitement, and that made Joy nervous. She hurried toward the gate; then she stepped right smack-dab in the middle of a big pile of stinky poop. Her heel slipped forward about eight inches, nearly landing her on her behind. She caught herself, but not without a scare. She wrinkled her nose at the gross smell that had risen from the pile.
That’ll teach me not to follow instructions.
She scraped her boot against the dirt, trying to remove some of the stench, then got right back to work. All the water buckets had been refilled except for the chickens’. She couldn’t figure out how to open that red-and-white contraption and finally gave up, filling a bowl she found in the barn instead. That would do until morning.
Now on to the hay. The bales of hay stacked in the barn were much heavier than she’d expected. She reached for the lowest bale, but couldn’t get a grip. How the heck did Ruby move them around?
Joy grabbed a nearby pitchfork and tried stabbing at the end, but the bale didn’t budge. Unwilling to accept defeat, she climbed up to the third tier of bales, sat down, and pushed with her feet to send a bale tumbling to the ground. It bounced, rolled, and finally settled in the middle of the barn, about four feet away.
She climbed down and put her hands under the bright orange strings that secured the square bale and tugged.
A stream of light washed over the barn as a vehicle pulled into the driveway, sending the chickens squawking through their pen. The unexpected visitor had probably spotted the lights on in the barn and, knowing Ruby was in the hospital, was stopping by to check on things.
That’s how neighbors were around here. Always had been.
Joy went about her business, trying to move the hay, but as she yanked, one of the strings gave way and she went reeling. The bale of hay unfolded in front of her like a deck of cards.
Shirley walked right past her and picked up one pad of hay. “It’s easier to handle if you cut the strings while it’s still up on the pile. That’s how Ruby does it.”
“Good to know. Those instructions weren’t on the list. Thanks for calling to let me know that Ruby had hurt herself.”
“Thanks for not outing me.”
“I wouldn’t do that, but I’m sure she suspects it was you. How’ve you been, Shirley?”
“Fine, dear. I’m glad you came. She can suspect all she wants to. We don’t have to tell her. Besides, she was so happy to see you.”
Joy stood and brushed the dirt off her pants. “I can’t believe Ruby does this every single day.”
Shirley pursed her lips and shook her head. “Me either. And some of these critters get fed twice a day. I tell you, that hardheaded aunt of yours is borderline cuckoo when it comes to this place. The animals are more work than a day care full of toddlers, and it’s not cheap to feed this bunch.”
“Yeah, she was worried to death about them, still shouting orders as I left her room tonight.”
“That’s how she is. She ought to be worrying about that broken ankle of hers. Girls our age don’t mend as fast as we used to. Anyway, I wanted to stop by and let you know my grandson will be coming by. He’s going to get all the holiday decorations down and start decorating for Ruby. Her house is the first stop on the Crystal Christmas Cookie Crawl map, so they need to get busy.”
“I’m sure it can wait a day or two.” Or forever. Is decorating for the holiday really that important in the scheme of things? Maybe the focus should just be on getting Ruby well.
Shirley blinked. “You don’t really think she’s coming home tomorrow, do you?”
“She said—”
“That’s Ruby talking crazy. They are not going to let her come home. She’s got screws and rods holding her ankle together. There’s going to be rehab—weeks of it, probably.”
Joy reached for the stall door and steadied herself, then stepped over a bale of straw sitting next to it and dropped to a seated position. “Are you sure?”
“Quite certain. The doctor said as much when he checked in on her after her surgery. She was still woozy from the anesthesia, so maybe she just didn’t remember him saying that. On second thought, we’re talking about Ruby here. At times, she has selective hearing.”
Weeks of rehab? This couldn’t be happening at a worse time. Joy had critical projects wrapping up soon, and one screwup could ruin her chance for that promotion. She hated being away from the office with so much on the line, but Ruby was all the family she had.
“She’ll get more details tomorrow.” Shirley’s voice had softened. “I’ll let y’all work that out, but if a tall dark stranger shows up, don’t shoot him. He’s just the help.”
Joy had to laugh. She could easily picture Aunt Ruby aiming a shotgun at an intruder. She stood and walked over to Shirley. “I’m quite capable. I don’t need any help. You can tell your grandson I have things completely under control.”
“Oh, Joy. There’s so much to do. I don’t really think you know what you’re getting yourself into, and my grandson—”
“Probably has better things to do,” Joy said, completing her sentence for her. “I promise I’ll let you know if I run into any trouble. How about that?”
Shirley hugged Joy. “Yes, you are a lot like your aunt.”
&nb
sp; “Thank you.”
“That wasn’t exactly a compliment. I meant you’re hardheaded when you set your mind to something.”
“One of my finer traits.” Joy picked up an armful of hay, and she and Shirley both walked over to the fence. Shirley threw hers over to the goats. Joy followed her lead and threw some over near the donkey too.
“Get some rest.” Shirley waved as she headed for her car. “Oh, and you know about Molly?”
“Yes. Got it covered. Molly in the morning.”
“Right,” said Shirley.
Joy turned off the light in the barn and shoved her hands in the pockets of Ruby’s hoodie. Shirley backed out of the driveway, and Joy watched until the red taillights disappeared around the curve in the road.
She’d worked up a sweat doing the chores, and was tempted to shrug out of the sweatshirt jacket, but the temperature outside was way too cool for just the T-shirt she had on under it.
She turned off the lights and flipped on the flashlight. Lighting a narrow walkway toward the house, she breathed in the fresh air once she sat on the stoop.
The stench of the poop on her boot wafted up, nearly gagging her. She kicked off the boot and tossed it to the far side of the porch. This day had run the gamut from glamorous to god-awful in a hurry.
She pulled her feet underneath her and relaxed into the quiet. Not a still quiet, but a country quiet. Soft whimpers and thumps from the livestock played in tempo with the rustle of the bare tree limbs in the breeze.
Joy closed her eyes and wished on a star. She’d forgotten how much she loved looking up at the starry night sky. She’d prayed and made a million wishes and promises on those stars. You just couldn’t get this view in the city.
Remembering her dress in the back of her car, she went over to rescue it. She carefully held the long dress bag in the air and took it inside. She twisted the lock behind her. Ruby might feel safe without locking up, but D.C. had made Joy a little less trusting. She carried the dress upstairs to the room she’d always stayed in as a little girl when she and Mom lived here. She hung the dress over the molding that framed the door in the hallway.