by Jo Ann Brown
She swallowed and tried to pull away. He glanced up then, his dark gray eyes studying her face so intently she felt a surge of heat in her already-flushed cheeks.
“How did you do this?” he asked as he dried the cut and then applied salve.
“I bumped into the china cabinet. Maybe I hit a rough edge.”
“Maybe,” he said. He opened the bandage and placed it over the wound. “It’s pretty deep.”
“I’ve had worse.”
His hand slid from her arm and he moved, putting distance between them. His scent—country air, pine and something Oriental—drifted away as he backed against the opposite counter. She inhaled. Oh, and sandalwood.
No, she didn’t want to notice his scent. Or his eyes. She didn’t have time to notice him, to notice that she was female, still young and still willing to be attracted to a man like him.
“So this wasn’t the first time he’s been here?” he asked, his gaze intent, serious.
“No, it wasn’t. He typically comes during the day. He likes to show up as I’m leaving Duke’s.” She’d started waitressing at Duke’s No Bar and Grill last year, just to make ends meet. Between her tips and her grandfather’s Social Security, they were making it.
Someday she’d finish her degree. She was taking classes online, and next year she would be finished and licensed to teach. Until then she did what she could. Breezy Martin, Jake Martin’s wife, watched Jamie the few hours a day that she worked. She did her best to keep her daughter in an environment with few other children. It was important that Jamie stay healthy.
“You could get a restraining order,” he suggested, still leaning against the counter. His arms were crossed over his chest.
“I don’t want to do that. He was Andy’s brother. Our marriage ended, but that doesn’t mean I’m angry or that I want to cause problems.”
“He’s causing you problems.” He brushed a hand through his unruly hair, the light brown color streaked with blond from the sun.
“He’s causing himself problems. He’s an addict. My getting a restraining order won’t cure him of that. His parents would use it against me. I took one son and I’d be taking the other.”
“Took their son? You didn’t take Andy.” He glanced away. “I did.”
“He volunteered for service in Afghanistan because he wanted to get away from me. If not for our divorce, he would still be here.”
He opened his mouth to speak but then shook his head. “You’re wrong.”
She shrugged, unsure of what to say to that. She guessed she knew she was wrong. But right or wrong didn’t change anything. Andy was gone. Jamie would never know her father. A family had lost their son.
“Neither of us can go back,” she finally said. Because she thought they both wrestled with the past. Why else had he been driving by at this hour?
“No,” he agreed. “We can’t.”
They stood there for several long minutes, the only sound the ticking of the clock and the hum of the refrigerator. He cleared his throat and moved away from the counter.
“I have to go. Will you be okay?”
“Of course I’ll be okay.”
Wasn’t she always?
As she walked with him to the front door, she thought about the ten-year-old girl who had lost both parents and had been sent to live with a grandfather she barely knew. On the drive to Houston he’d repeatedly glanced at her and asked if she was okay. Each time she’d nodded to assure him. But each time he refocused on the road she would shut her eyes tight to hide the tears.
After a while she had been okay. They’d moved from Houston to this house. She’d learned to be a farm girl from Braswell, wearing whatever her grandfather thought she needed. Usually jeans, scruffy farm boots and T-shirts.
She could look back now and realize that in time she’d been able to deal and she’d been happy.
Life wasn’t perfect. God hadn’t promised perfection. He’d promised to be with her, to give her strength and peace. She knew there were mountains looming in her near future. She also knew they would get through the tough times. They would survive.
She had to. There was no choice.
Daron stood on the front porch, tall and powerful, a man most women would want to lean on. Just moments ago, she’d been that woman, leaning into his strong arms.
Momentary weakness, she assured herself. For that very reason she managed an easy smile and thanked him for his help. The dismissal seemed to take him by surprise, but he recovered. He touched two fingers to his brow in a relaxed salute, stepped down from the porch and headed down the road to his truck. She watched him leave, then stepped back inside and locked the door.
This time when she leaned against it, closing her eyes as a wave of exhaustion rolled over her, she knew he wouldn’t be coming back.
Copyright © 2016 by Brenda Minton
ISBN-13: 9781488018022
An Amish Reunion
Copyright © 2016 by Jo Ann Ferguson
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