by Mia Ross
Her own situation wasn’t quite as rosy. Having spent the past couple weeks away from Boston, it had become more apparent that going back there might not be the best strategy to ensure her own happiness. Not to mention the fact that no matter what angle she came at it from, the solution to her career problem proved to be as elusive as ever.
While she didn’t say anything more, Daphne was clearly not buying Holly’s determined cheerfulness. Worry marred the face that had long ago been deemed one of the most beautiful in the world. Even without makeup to smooth the lines that had begun appearing, Daphne was one of the most striking women Holly had ever seen. It was her eyes, she suddenly realized. Violet blue and snapping with intelligence, they were trained on her now. Judging by her expression, they didn’t approve of what they were seeing.
She wouldn’t stand up to that kind of scrutiny for long, Holly knew. As if it sensed that she needed rescuing, the dignified grandfather clock that reigned over the upstairs hallway chimed eight times. “It’s time for your medication. Why don’t we get you settled in your room so you’re comfortable when the muscle relaxers kick in?”
“All right,” she agreed in a meek voice that was totally unlike her. It clued Holly into the fact that she was more than ready for some relief from the pain that still tended to catch up to her this time of day. While she helped Daphne stand, the woman’s frailty struck her hard. Daphne had always been strong and independent, savoring the grand adventure that her life in the movies had given her.
Now, she needed Holly’s help simply to stand. When their eyes met, she saw the fear in Daphne’s eyes. It was sobering, to say the least, and she immediately panicked. “I should get your wheelchair.”
“No, the doctor told me to walk as much as possible.”
“I think you left your walker in the kitchen when we were making cookies earlier.”
The consummate Southern lady let out a decidedly rude snort and straightened to her usual regal bearing. “Walkers are for old people.”
That was the spirit she’d always admired, and Holly couldn’t keep back a smile. “All right, but there’s a new threshold between the tile and carpet, so keep a hand on my shoulder in case you trip.”
It wasn’t more than a few yards, but she held her breath until Daphne was safely in her queen-size bed. Once the pillows were set up behind her, she cocked her head with a little smirk. “See? No problems here.”
Shaking her head, Holly handed off the medication and a glass of water. “You’re determined to get an award for World’s Worst Patient, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely.” After taking the medicine, she added, “But cheer up, Peaches. Once I’m on my feet again, you can get back to your own life.”
Holly wasn’t sure how to respond to that, since she really didn’t have anything to go back to. She busied herself adjusting the blinds so the next morning’s sunlight wouldn’t wake her fractious patient too early. When she was satisfied, she picked up Daphne’s cell phone and ticked her own number to make it first in the list. “I found an alert app online this morning and downloaded it to your phone. Hit my number and then this siren icon—” she demonstrated the impossible-to-miss alarm “—and even if I’m asleep, I’ll know you need me.”
“What?” Daphne teased, a playful glint in her eyes. “No bell?”
Despite the roller coaster of emotions she’d been riding, Holly couldn’t help laughing. The welcome feeling dispelled some of her tension, reminding her of why she loved this woman so much. “This is the twenty-first century, so no. Are you set for now?”
As the strong relaxers began to take effect, Daphne closed her eyes and snuggled down into her bed with a contented sigh. “Mmm-hmm.”
Holly waited until her breathing grew regular, then crept from the parlor and closed the door behind her. She took care of the dishes, then started in on the large stack of ironing. She hoped that if she focused on the mindless task, her tangled emotions would free up and she could work through her tangle of thoughts in a calm, grown-up way.
“Is something burning?”
Sam’s unexpected question jerked her back to reality, and Holly was horrified to see wisps of smoke curling up from the iron. Pulling it away, she groaned at the burn on the pale pink silk. “Wonderful. I don’t suppose there’s any place around here that sells Chanel clothes?”
“Sorry.” Leaning in, he murmured, “The good news is, I saw at least two more like it in her closet upstairs.”
“Are you blind? They’re peach and almond. This—” she waved the ruined blouse at him “—is blush.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry. To me, they look pretty much the same.”
“Pretty much the same isn’t good enough,” she informed him tartly. “Maybe I can order one online and get it here before she notices.”
“Why not just tell her? She’ll understand.”
Tired and exasperated far beyond her normal endurance, Holly folded her arms and glared up at him for all she was worth. “Did you come in here to aggravate me or did you want something?”
“I wanted to warn you not to use the kitchen steps. I tore ’em out and won’t have the new ones done until sometime tomorrow.”
His news did nothing for her already sour mood. “I’m grocery shopping tomorrow.”
“The front steps are fine.”
“So I have to drag all that stuff through the entire house to put it away? If you’d asked me, I could have told you to wait one more day.”
He heaved a tired sigh. “I could build some temporary ones, but I’d just have to rip them out later on. If you want direct access to the kitchen, it’s probably better for you to use the ramp.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Look, Princess,” he snarled, “I’ve had a long day, too, and I’ve still got more to do.”
His nasty comeback set her teeth on edge, and any other day she’d have backed down with an apology. Today was way beyond the usual, though, and after holding her emotions in check all day long, she finally gave in to her temper. “Did you call me ‘Princess’?”
“If the glass slipper fits, you might as well cram it on.”
Holly’s phone sang with Daphne’s signature ringtone, which struck her as odd since the alert was easier to use. Struggling to regain control of herself, she paused their argument with a raised finger while she answered it. “Yes?”
“Put me on speaker, please.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
That was the diva tone, the one a smart person never messed with. “Okay, go ahead.”
“What on earth are you two arguing about out there? The Drummonds across the way can probably hear you.”
Holly traded a guilty look with Sam. He shrugged, motioning for her to answer however she wanted. He could have ratted her out, blaming the noise on her being a demanding shrew, but he didn’t. He was giving her the chance to explain it her way, she realized, rather than taking the opportunity to make it all her fault. Which, in retrospect, it kind of was.
“Sam’s working on the kitchen steps,” she began, staring at him while she spoke. She noticed that his hair had taken on a sandy color, with lingering streaks of blond, probably from being outside so much lately. Usually, she picked up on things like that right away, but even though she saw him every day, the difference had escaped her until this evening.
“And?” Daphne prompted.
“And he offered to build some temporary ones before he leaves,” Holly continued quickly, feeling foolish about losing her train of thought. “But it’s late, and he’s done so much already, I think he should go home.”
Those blue eyes warmed to some color even a top-end designer couldn’t properly describe, and she felt herself smiling back. Their childish battle forgotten, she mouthed, “Sorry.”
<
br /> He rewarded her with a grin that would have buckled the knees of any woman over twenty and still breathing. It was a good thing she knew better, or she’d have been in major trouble spending so much time with the handsome contractor.
“I agree,” Daphne announced in an authoritative tone that allowed no room for discussion. “Sam, you’re a dear, but we’ll be just fine without those extra stairs. You go home and get some rest. That’s an order.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Apparently satisfied, she ended the connection, and the kitchen echoed with quiet.
“Tell you what,” he said in a hushed voice. “I’ll head home and knock together some steps, then bring ’em back and bolt ’em onto the porch so she doesn’t hear me banging away out there. Shouldn’t take more than a half hour, but they’ll be safe to use.”
“How do you plan to do all that in the dark?”
“Well, now, around here we’ve got these newfangled things called lights,” he replied in a decent Southern-style drawl. “Maybe you’ve heard of ’em.”
In spite of her grumpy self, Holly felt a smile quivering at the corner of her mouth and firmly pressed it down. “Are you making fun of the way I talk?”
“I like the way you talk,” he assured her in his usual New Englander voice. “It’s smooth and sweet, so it reminds me of maple syrup.”
“It does?” She’d never heard it described that way, and she had to admit she didn’t hate it. When he nodded, she teased, “That’s good, right?”
“Seeing as I love maple syrup, it’s very good.”
After their earlier spitting match, she couldn’t imagine why he was being so incredibly nice to her. But his forgive-and-forget approach worked for her, and she gave in to a little smile. “Thank you.”
“No problem. Just keep Daphne in her room so she doesn’t see me, or we’ll both be in trouble.”
Adding a wink, he strolled toward the kitchen.
“Sam?” He turned back, and she gave him a grateful smile. “I’m sorry I bit your head off. I know it’s not an excuse, but it’s been a really long day.”
“I kinda figured that. Don’t worry about it.”
Flashing her an encouraging smile, he headed out the side door and down the ramp. She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve his understanding, but she was really glad he’d chosen to cut her some slack. She definitely needed it.
* * *
“This baseball committee’s really not my kinda thing,” Sam muttered as he and Holly walked toward the bakery.
“I know, and if you hate it, you don’t have to come again.”
“Promise?”
She laughed, and after a moment, he joined her. He kept reminding himself that he knew all the people who’d volunteered to run the Liberty Creek Youth Baseball and Softball League. The trouble was, they knew him, too, and he wasn’t at all sure what kind of reception to expect from them.
“You’re donating the land for our fields,” Holly commented, as if she’d somehow read his hesitant thoughts. “Without you, there wouldn’t be a meeting because there’d be no baseball this summer. Just remember that.”
She had a point, and he felt himself relaxing in response to her pep talk. “Okay.”
It was seven thirty, and the sign in the window read Closed, but he pulled out the original brass key and unlocked the door. The scent of fresh coffee and baked goods met them in the entryway, and he chuckled. “I told Gran not to fuss.”
“I’m glad she did,” Holly replied, clearly relieved. “Snacks always make a meeting go better.”
Her comment was laced with unmistakable anxiety, which surprised him. She’d struck him as the competent, take-charge sort of person, so the glimpse of vulnerability was something new. Putting aside his own misgivings, he said, “You sound nervous.”
“So do you.” It could have been a shot, but her smile eased the bluntness with understanding. “I know this isn’t easy for you, but I promise it’ll be fine.”
He couldn’t shake the feeling that he should have been the one propping her up instead of the other way around. Then his grandfather’s voice floated into his memory, and he smiled back. “Granddad used to say that courage was doing something even when it scared you to death.”
That got him the reaction he was after, and her smile deepened to show a single dimple in her left cheek. “I’d say we’re both pretty brave.”
“Yeah, we are.”
Gazing down at this extraordinary woman, he could feel the warmth of her drawing him closer. She represented everything he’d given up hoping for, and judging by the affection sparkling in her eyes, he knew he could have it if he just reached out and took it. He wanted nothing more than to gather her into his arms for a kiss, and he needed every ounce of his strength to keep the distance he’d committed to when they first met.
“Sam, are you okay?”
“Sure,” he replied, taking a healthy step back before turning away from her. Shaken by the strength of his emotional response to her, he cast around for something constructive to do. “I’ll set up a couple tables and some chairs while you get the food.”
“All right.”
Fortunately for him, she’d grown accustomed to his step forward, step back approach to everyday situations, and she seemed to be adding this one to the list. The simple task of arranging the meeting space kept him well occupied, and by the time other people began arriving, he felt more like his usual self.
Whether that was a good or bad thing, he couldn’t really say.
Hal Rogers was the first one to greet him. “Good to see you, Sam. I’ve got some open time this week if you’d like to stop by for a trim.”
The kindly grandfather had buzzed his hair before he headed off to boot camp and for years had refused to charge Sam for his visits to the barbershop. Running a hand through his shaggy hair, he couldn’t help chuckling. “Guess I’m overdue.”
“How does tomorrow at nine sound?”
“That’ll work, but you have to let me pay you this time. Just like I’m any other customer.”
Hal studied him for a long moment, as if he was trying to decide something. Finally, he gave in with a nod. “All right, then.”
They shook to seal the deal, and Sam got the impression that something important had just happened to him. Then he realized that it was the first time someone who’d known him all his life had treated him as if he was a regular person, not a wounded soldier. The change might seem small to others, but to Sam it meant everything.
By eight o’clock, there were a dozen baseball parents—and a couple of grandparents—gathered around the tables, chatting and enjoying the refreshments Gran had left for them. When everyone seemed to be more or less settled, Holly stood up and waited for the conversations to die down.
“Thank you all so much for coming tonight,” she began, sending a welcoming smile around the small crowd. “I don’t want to keep you too long, so let’s get started.”
Organized as always, she handed out agendas and sheets for taking down people’s contact information. “I like email and texting, but if you prefer hard copy and phone calls, please add that to your other info. Now that we have a location for our fields, we can get things in gear. This first season will be shorter than usual, but if we all pull together, I’m sure we can give our kids a fabulous season of baseball and softball. Now—” she spread her hands out in an open gesture “—let’s hear your ideas.”
There was no shortage of those, and Sam marveled at how she acknowledged each person in turn, jotting notes and encouraging quieter folks to speak up. They talked through the logistics of prepping the fields, advertising the new opportunity around the area and making sure they had the right liability insurance. She tagged the simpler suggestions for immediate attention and tabled more complicated ones—like electronic sc
oreboards—for future seasons. He was no expert, but Sam thought there were enough items on the list to carry the league for years to come.
After an hour of pretty furious brainstorming, Holly gathered the stack of papers and tapped them on the table efficiently. “This is a great start, everyone. Would anyone like to type these up and get them distributed in the next day or two?”
A young mother timidly raised her hand, and Holly rewarded her with the job and a brilliant smile. “You’re a brave woman, Brenda. Thanks so much.”
“It’ll give me something to do while the baby’s napping.”
“Yeah, I remember those days,” Holly responded with a laugh. “Enjoy them while they last.”
The shyness left Brenda’s delicate face, and the discussion rapidly shifted to children and how fast they grew up. While Sam couldn’t contribute anything, he didn’t mind just listening for a while. Being sociable wasn’t his style, but he found that he enjoyed being part of the friendly group that had decided baseball was important enough to forfeit some of their time.
And then, someone addressed him by name.
“Sam, it’s so generous of you to donate the land we needed,” the woman sitting across from him said. “How can we ever thank you?”
Panicked by the direct assault, he stiffened reflexively while his mind began spiraling, as if it was flailing for something to latch onto. Beneath the table, he felt a warm hand gently squeeze his, encouraging him to answer. Glancing at Holly, he saw that she was still writing on her notepad, even though she’d discreetly made the bracing gesture to bolster his confidence.
Grasping her hand gently, he tapped into her remarkable strength and did his best to smile. “Knowing the kids’ll have fun out there this summer is thanks enough for me.”
“Can I talk you into coaching the catchers?” her husband asked. “As I recall, you were quite the backstop in high school.”
The innocent reference to his own baseball days came perilously close to mentioning Nate, and Sam took a deep breath to make sure his voice came out in a normal tone. “You were an All-State infielder yourself, Gary, so I’m sure you can handle any of the positions. But if you want an extra hand now and then, just let me know.”