Samantha felt Nick’s gaze on her, but she stared at her dinner plate, trying her best not to remember the night he spoke of.
“So,” a male voice said, “what do you think of the seminar so far?”
She glanced to her right, and her pulse hiccupped.
The stranger smiled, as if he’d sensed her reaction. He was tall and broad shouldered. Even in a suit, there was only one word to describe him: rugged. She could almost smell the fresh outdoors on him, and it had nothing to do with his choice of soap or cologne. She usually avoided the type. She was more of an indoor girl.
He cocked an eyebrow, as if to repeat his question.
“It’s good,” she answered.
“I’m not sure I understand much of it.”
She looked at the half-filled paper cup in her hand.
He persisted. “My accountant twisted my arm to come. It’s not really my thing.”
“What is your thing?” The question was asked before she could help herself.
“Sailing. Kayaking. Biking. Deep sea fishing. Rock climbing.” He ended with a small shrug.
See. She’d known it. Not her type at all.
“Teaching,” he added.
Her gaze snapped to him. “You’re a teacher?”
He laughed. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
“I’m sorry.” She felt her cheeks grow warm. “What do you teach?”
“I’m a professor at OSU. Fisheries and Wildlife.”
A professor? Maybe he was her type after all.
He put out his hand. “Nick Chastain.”
“Samantha.” She took it—and felt that silly hiccup in her chest again. “Samantha Winters.”
Samantha took a slow, deep breath and forced her attention back to the present.
Nick was still speaking. “We struck up a friendship after that night.”
“Ah. I see,” Derek replied into the silence that followed.
A friendship. Yes, their relationship had begun as friendship—despite them having what seemed so little in common. They hadn’t liked the same music. They hadn’t liked the same kinds of books or movies. He was an outdoorsman, as she’d first suspected, while she liked her creature comforts. He wanted adventure. She wanted safety and security.
Still, despite their many differences, she’d found herself irresistibly drawn to him. He was sexy, like one of the major stars from the Golden Age of Hollywood. A man’s man. He was interesting, even exciting. And—she reminded herself now—he was reckless, frustrating, and sometimes selfish. Which were just a few reasons why, despite how much she’d cared for him back then, their relationship hadn’t lasted.
Were those the reasons, Sam?
She gave herself a mental shake as she drew in another deep breath. They’d broken up, and it had been for the best for them both. All she’d regretted was the way their relationship had ended.
She leveled her shoulders and glanced up from her plate. While her thoughts had drifted for the second time, the conversation had moved on. Just as well. She resolved she would enjoy the rest of the evening.
Nick sensed the moment when Samantha determined not to let his presence spoil the family dinner. Good. He didn’t want to be a problem. Just the opposite. He wanted to mend things. He wanted to ask for her forgiveness—both for things he remembered and things he could only suspect through the fog. He wanted them to be friends. It was the most he could want, but he wanted that much.
“Nick,” Brooklyn said, “Derek told me you’ve been looking for a church to attend.”
“Yes, I have. I was a member of a dynamic congregation in Wyoming. That’s where I lived before coming to Idaho. The church had lots of different ways to minister in the community, and I’d like to find something similar here.”
Across the table, he saw Samantha’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. Was she surprised to learn he’d been living in Wyoming? Or was she surprised to know he’d become a church member? Perhaps both.
“Have you visited Thunder Creek Christian Fellowship?”
He looked at Brooklyn. “Not yet. I’ve been to a few churches in Nampa and Caldwell. Lots of good preaching, but no place has clicked with me yet. You know, that feeling when you know you’ve found a home.”
“Well, you should come this direction next Sunday. Derek is one of the leaders in the men’s ministries. We’d love to see you there.”
Nick smiled at Brooklyn, then Derek. “Sure. I’ll think about it. It’s not much farther to drive into Thunder Creek than it is to go into Caldwell.”
“Service starts at ten o’clock,” Brooklyn added.
He wondered if Samantha would be at their church on Sunday, but he kept himself from looking her way. He wouldn’t want to discourage her from attending, and he was afraid any interest on his part might do that.
The conversation moved on, and Nick was satisfied to eat the delicious food and listen as the others talked about family members and mutual friends and acquaintances in Thunder Creek. He learned how long Derek and Brooklyn had been married—a little over a year and a half—and about Derek’s adopting Alycia last year and how Derek had also come to adopt the petite and somewhat prissy papillon named Miss Trouble who was currently, as they could witness through the dining room windows, playing what looked like a game of keep-the-ball-away-from-Boomer in the backyard. It was the most pleasant evening Nick could remember having in a long, long while.
The meal of boneless chicken cutlets with a cherry tomato salsa, roasted sweet potato wedges, and peas with pearl onions—all organic, thanks to Derek’s farm—was followed by a dessert of chocolate-raspberry tarts.
“This is amazing,” Samantha said after her first bite.
Nick nodded in agreement, but his mouth was full, so all he could manage was an “Mmm.”
Leaning toward Samantha, as if in confidence, Alycia said, “Mom tries out all of her new recipes on me and Dad before they serve the same thing at the inn. They don’t all taste this good.”
Samantha laughed, her head tipped slightly back, her eyes narrowed, a hand over her mouth.
Nick loved the sound of her laughter. He always had, although he’d forgotten how much until right then.
A short while later, all the dessert plates empty, Brooklyn said, “Alycia, will you clear the table for me please?”
“Sure, Mom.”
Brooklyn stood. “You all go into the living room. I’ll bring the coffee. Decaf all right for everybody?”
She was answered by a chorus of yeses.
Before leaving the dining room, Nick walked to the window to check on Boomer. Miss Trouble had dropped the ball and was now bathing Boomer with her tongue. The expression on the border collie’s face made Nick grin.
“Patient, isn’t he?” Derek said as he stepped to Nick’s side.
“Yeah, he is. I got lucky when I found Boomer at the shelter.”
“Pets make a home, as far as I’m concerned. Brooklyn would agree now, but she didn’t always think so. She didn’t grow up around animals the way I did.”
Nick looked at Derek. “Gotta confess, I would’ve guessed Miss Trouble to be your wife’s or your daughter’s dog. Never would’ve figured she was yours first. Not even for a rescue.”
Derek laughed as he dropped his hand onto Nick’s shoulder. “We never know what or who God will bring into our lives. Do we?”
“I guess not.” Nick pictured Samantha, the way she’d looked the night they met, back at the beginning before he’d ruined it all. Then he tried to shove the image away. If God had brought her back into his life, it was so he could apologize for the things he’d said in anger. Nothing more than that.
Chapter 4
Given that hospitals and doctors didn’t operate on Ruth Johnson’s personal schedule, her return home happened midday rather than first thing in the morning, which she would have preferred. The later release meant she had no choice but to roll her way, on her newly rented knee scooter, through Sips and Scentimentals, the only e
ntrance to the house without steps. The customers applauded when they saw her. It felt both good and embarrassing at the same time.
Samantha stepped around Ruth and opened the door to her home’s kitchen, then moved aside to let Ruth go first. Before she made it that far, Camila planted a kiss on her cheek and said, “I’ll be in to see you later.”
It had been only three days since she’d stood in this kitchen—on both feet—and prepared herself a breakfast of one scrambled egg and a slice of buttered toast. She’d eaten that meal without the slightest notion of what would happen within a few hours, and it felt as if she’d been gone for a year.
“Do you want to go to your bedroom, Gran,” Samantha asked, “or would you rather sit in your recliner or on the sofa and watch TV?”
“My bedroom, I think. The pain pills are making me a bit woozy.” She didn’t wait for her granddaughter, but pushed off with her good foot and sent the scooter rolling toward the hallway, thankful that her bedroom was on the main floor of the house.
Samantha caught up with her. “I picked up some other things at the medical supply place yesterday, along with the scooter. A raised toilet seat with arms to make it easier for you to get up and down and a chair for the shower.”
The words made Ruth feel old and decrepit. Which she most certainly was not, despite a few signs to the contrary.
“Keeping your cast dry when you shower will be the trickiest part, the nurse told me, but we can put your leg in a garbage bag and tape it closed above your knee, then let that leg stay mostly outside the stall.”
“Sounds like I’ll be a lot of bother.”
“Gran, you are not a bother.”
At her bedside Ruth maneuvered into position and lowered herself onto the edge of the mattress. She looked to her left and her right and sighed. She might not be old and decrepit, but she was no spring chicken either. “I think I’m going to need your help today, dear.”
Samantha was beside her in a snap, lifting her legs, easing her into position on the bed. Her granddaughter slid several pillows beneath Ruth’s cast, getting her leg up above her chest as the nurse had instructed. A few more pillows were placed to support her head and back.
“How’s that, Gran?”
“Perfect.” She patted the back of Samantha’s hand where it rested on the sheet beside her hip.
“I’ll bring a bottle of water to keep by your bedside. It’s important you stay hydrated.”
Ruth closed her eyes. “Yes. But I think I’ll rest for a bit.” She was asleep before Samantha left the side of the bed.
Nick stared into his refrigerator. He was hungry, but nothing appealed to him. Or maybe it was eating another meal alone that didn’t appeal to him. He blamed the previous night’s dinner at the Johnson home for that. He’d enjoyed sitting with a family around the table. The laughter. The warmth. The camaraderie. Even the awkwardness of being with Samantha hadn’t diminished his enjoyment. Or maybe being near her had increased it.
The thought didn’t surprise him as much as he’d expected. More than once during the early months of his recovery he’d allowed himself to imagine being with Samantha again. Not in a romantic sense, of course. Romance wasn’t something he could handle now. Maybe not ever. But still . . .
He gave his head a slow shake as he closed the refrigerator door, deciding he would take a quick shower and then drive into Thunder Creek. He’d seen the diner on Main Street and had already been told the food there was good. He’d also been told about Sips and Scentimentals, the beverage and gift shop that belonged to Ruth Johnson. But they didn’t serve dinner there. Just pastries to go with the coffees and teas. He would have to give that shop a try one morning on his way to Derek’s farm. Or perhaps on a Saturday when he could linger awhile.
Half an hour later, Nick was back in his pickup and driving west.
The very first time he’d driven through Thunder Creek on the way to the Johnson farm to write up an estimate, he’d liked the look of the town. The streets lay in a perfect grid. There were larger Victorian-style homes closer to the center of town and smaller 1950s bungalows in neighborhoods farther out. Brick buildings lined Main Street, and there was a large town park with tall, mature trees and the creek that gave the town its name running through the center of it. Although Nick had lived most of his adult life in large cities, he’d begun to realize he was, at his core, a small-town boy.
There were only a few vehicles in the diner’s parking lot, leaving plenty of open spaces. Nick pulled into one and cut the engine. That was another thing he liked about small towns. The silence that often prevailed. Not complete silence, of course. But nothing like a city where traffic clogged streets and freeways twenty-four seven.
He got out of his truck and went into the diner. A waitress in a white blouse and black skirt escorted him to a booth and left him to look over the menu. It didn’t take him long to decide what he wanted. Laying down the laminated menu, he looked around the diner. The L-shaped room had plenty of booths and a smaller number of tables and chairs. The current customers ranged in age from their teens to perhaps their seventies. Just about everybody wore jeans, although there was one man in bibbed overalls.
“Have you decided?” the waitress asked when she returned.
He glanced at her name tag. “Yes, Lucca, I have. I’ll take the chicken fried steak. Gravy on the side. And a green salad with Thousand Island dressing.”
“And to drink?”
“Water’s fine. Thanks.”
“All right. Have it out to you in a jiffy.” Lucca turned away and saw some new customers. “Be right with you,” she called out.
Nick looked in the same direction. Not so much out of curiosity as reflex.
“Hey, Nick.” Derek grinned at him.
Nick nodded a greeting.
“Mind if we join you?” Beside Derek was a sheriff’s deputy.
“Not at all.” Nick motioned to the other side of the booth. “Please.”
The two men slid onto the bench seat, and Derek introduced his friend. “This is Hank McLean. We worked together when I was with the department.”
“You used to be a deputy?”
“Yeah. Was full time for a while. Then part time after I started organic gardening on a larger scale. I resigned last fall so I could focus on the farm and help Brooklyn with the bed-and-breakfast.”
The waitress returned with hard plastic tumblers of ice water. Neither Derek nor Hank needed to look at the menu. They ordered their meals, and Lucca grinned, not bothering to write anything down. Nick guessed the two men were creatures of habit when it came to their choices at the Moonlight Diner.
Derek confirmed it. “Hank and I have been eating here one evening a week for four or five years now. We know what we like.”
“I hear you might join our men’s group at church,” Hank said, reaching for his water glass.
Nick nodded but didn’t commit. “Derek invited me last night.”
“You’ll be glad if you do. Great group of men. We’ve all grown a lot in our faith over the years. Iron sharpening iron.”
Nick figured he could use some more sharpening. His faith had been lukewarm for many years. It had taken the many months of recovery after the accident to get himself back on track, to put Christ first in his life again. Or maybe he’d never put Christ first until then. All he knew was that he wanted to continue to grow and deepen his faith. He wanted to be the kind of man others looked up to. Like Derek Johnson.
“Tell me again when the next meeting is,” Nick said, his mind made up, “and I’ll make it a point to be there.”
Samantha was washing the last dinner dish when Camila knocked on the door, then stepped into the kitchen. “I’ve closed up for the night,” the woman said, wearing her usual smile. “How goes the battle in here?”
“Good, I think.” Samantha put the dish in the drainer. “Gran managed to eat a little. She’s not showing much of an appetite yet.”
“That’s normal these first few days after
surgery. Just make sure she keeps drinking plenty of water.” Camila raised an eyebrow. “How about you? Did you eat?”
“Yes. I promise I did.”
“Good.” The older woman gave a firm nod. “If you’re going to be the caregiver, you’ve got to keep up your strength. Won’t do to have you give out.”
“I won’t. I’m stronger than I look.”
“That may be, but I think we need a plan. Let’s make sure you get out of the house for two or three hours every day. Ruth’s got more friends than she can shake a stick at. We’ll organize and take turns staying with her while you’re out. The gals in our Bible study are working on meals to bring over that can go in the freezer, and then you can just pop them in the microwave and serve. You won’t need to be cooking all the time you’re here.”
Samantha laughed. “I’m beginning to wonder if I’m needed at all.”
“Sam, your grandmother needs you more than even she knows. Don’t you doubt it for a minute.”
Samantha went over and gave her a tight embrace. “Camila Diaz, I love you almost as much as Gran does.”
“I love you, too, niña.” Camila squeezed her back, then stepped away. “Need anything before I go home?”
“No, thanks. I’m going to relax for the rest of the evening. Watch a little TV. Read a book. Catch up on e-mail.” She ended with a shrug.
“All right. See you in the morning.”
“See you.”
Camila slipped back through the doorway, closing the door behind her.
Samantha left the kitchen, going first to her grandmother’s bedroom. Gran was sound asleep, so Samantha quietly turned and walked to the living room.
The decor of the house had changed quite a bit since she’d lived there after college graduation. The walls had received a fresh coat of paint, and Gran hadn’t held back on the use of color. The rooms were like Joseph’s famous coat—all different. The sofa and chairs were new, except for Pappy’s favorite recliner. Gran would never part with it. Samantha knew that without being told.
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