She felt a sting of sadness, remembering her grandfather seated in that chair. It had been six years since Walter Johnson, MD, had passed away, but the missing hadn’t eased inside her at all. There was something comforting in knowing a beloved grandparent was only a phone call away. For advice. For wisdom. For love and unconditional acceptance. She still had that with Gran, thank heaven, but she wished she could still have it with Pappy too. Her grandfather had been a special man and had adored his wife to his dying breath.
“I want that,” she whispered. “I want to be loved by a man the way Pappy loved Gran.”
And just like that, she thought of Nick Chastain . . .
Samantha opened her front door to find Nick on the apartment landing, his face reddened from a day in the sun and wind. “You should have been there, Sam,” he said without greeting. His eyes sparked with excitement. “It was amazing.”
“I can tell.” She took a step back, widening the opening so he could enter.
He did so, repeating, “You should have been there.”
“I’ve told you, I’m not into spectator sports much.”
“You wouldn’t have to be a spectator. I could teach you to windsurf.”
A shudder moved through her, and memories of her dad threatened to intrude. “No, thanks.”
“If it’s the cold water you don’t like, a wetsuit would help with that.”
“It’s not the cold water.”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re not a strong swimmer because we wear jackets.”
“I can swim just fine, Nick.”
Frustration momentarily flashed in his eyes. “Then what are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid.” It was a bald-faced lie. She was afraid. She was petrified. Not only of participating but of watching, of seeing some horrid accident happen right before her eyes. Yet she couldn’t bear for him to know that about her. She didn’t want this brave, exciting man who made her pulse quicken and her blood run hot to know she was terrified to her core.
And besides, there was one thing she was more afraid of than his recklessness. She was afraid that if he knew how she really felt about his attraction to all manner of dangerous activities, he wouldn’t want to be with her any longer. That he would realize how wrong she was for him. That he would see their differences were too immense to overcome.
That he would never learn to love her the way she’d come to love him.
“Sam.” His voice was low as he took a step toward her. “You’d have fun if you’d come with me.”
She took him by the hand and drew him toward the sofa. “Ask me again next summer when the weather is warm and dry. Maybe I’ll think differently by then.” She tasted that lie on her tongue, same as she’d tasted the first.
His gaze locked on her mouth, he didn’t guess the truth. Instead, he drew her into his embrace and kissed her.
Don’t let me lose him. Don’t let him get hurt. And please, don’t let him break my heart.
Samantha sucked in a quick breath, driving away the memory. It served no good purpose to dwell in the past. She’d moved on with her life. She’d survived that unwanted broken heart.
And Nick? How had he changed, beyond his unusual change in careers? She didn’t understand that and wished to know the reason why—even if it would be better to leave things as they were.
Chapter 5
Samantha hadn’t lived in Thunder Creek when she was little, and she’d been only four when her dad’s job transferred the family away from Idaho. But the summer she’d stayed with Gran after college had been among the best months of her life. She’d loved the slower pace. She’d loved the friendliness of people, acquaintances and strangers alike.
Stepping into the narthex of Thunder Creek Christian Fellowship on her first full Sunday in town was like coming home. Even those who’d talked with Samantha when they’d visited Gran during the week welcomed her as if they hadn’t seen her in a decade. She was still standing there, talking with others, when Derek and his family entered through the front doors.
“Hey, cuz.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek.
That was just one of the things she appreciated about Derek. Like Gran and Pappy, her oldest cousin never had been afraid to show his affection. Samantha wasn’t as demonstrative. She kept her feelings trapped inside so much of the time. Her mom was the same way. Why, she wondered, hadn’t that expressive trait come down through her branch of the family?
“Sit with us,” Brooklyn said, stepping to her other side.
“Sure.”
Alycia told her parents she would see them later and hurried to join her friends in the youth group.
“How’s Gran?” Derek asked once Alycia was out of sight.
“Still pretty groggy from the pain meds. But she’s becoming an expert with that scooter. She doesn’t even call for me when she gets out of bed now.” Samantha smiled. “And she practically kicked me out of the house this morning. Wouldn’t hear of me staying home from church. Her friend Sandra is with her, just in case. Says she’ll come over every Sunday if needed.”
They walked together into the sanctuary and straight to the second pew from the front on the right. It might as well have had a placard on it that read “The Johnson Family Pew.” No one else ever sat there as far as Samantha knew. Not even in Gran’s absence.
When the hour-and-a-half service was over, Samantha received several invitations to Sunday dinner before she made it out of the sanctuary. Of course she declined them all, saying, “I need to get home to Gran, but thanks. Maybe another time.” As welcome as the invitations made her feel, they also felt overwhelming, and she was glad for the excuse not to accept any.
She was about to say good-bye to Derek and Brooklyn when Nick stepped into her line of sight. She felt an unexpected flutter in her chest as he approached.
“Nick,” Derek said. “I didn’t know you were here. You could have sat with us.”
“I was running on the late side, so I slipped into the back pew. But I’m glad I came. Good sermon.” Nick’s gaze shifted to Samantha. “Morning, Sam.” His smile was brief but seemed genuine, although not as confident as the ones in her memories.
“Morning.”
Brooklyn took hold of her husband’s arm. “Derek, come say hi to Mrs. Peterson. Excuse us, Sam. Nick.” She drew Derek away before he could say anything.
Samantha felt a second flutter of nerves as her gaze returned to Nick.
He cleared his throat. “I was wondering. Do you suppose we could get together some time to talk? There are some things I . . . some things I need to tell you.”
Curiosity overcame her nerves. Hadn’t she wanted to know more about what brought him to Idaho, to know what he’d been doing the past couple of years and why he’d never responded to her attempts to contact him? Perhaps this was her chance to have better closure on their relationship, because despite telling herself that she’d moved on, she obviously— based on her reactions—hadn’t. “Sure. If you want.”
“Could we have lunch today?”
“Today?”
His eyes pleaded with her, and the uncertainty she saw there seemed so unlike him that it unsettled her. Nick’s rock-solid self-confidence had both impressed and frustrated her when they’d dated.
“I need to get home to Gran.” True. But she never had been able to resist those chocolate-brown eyes of his. “You could join me there if you want. We have a freezer full of individual meals that the women of Thunder Creek prepared.”
Nick’s expression relaxed. “Sounds good. How do I find the house?”
“It’s one block east of here, down Sharp Street.” She pointed in that direction. “You can’t miss it. It’s the house with the Sips and Scentimentals shop attached. You’ll see the sign.”
“Right. I know it. I just forgot it was your grandmother’s place.”
Forgetting anything was also unlike Nick. He had the sharpest mind of any man she’d ever known. It was like a steel trap. He knew every detail of every
movie he’d watched, every article or book he’d read, every news report he’d heard. Then again, he was new to the area and Derek’s was the first installation he’d done in Thunder Creek, according to her cousin. Perhaps it wasn’t that strange.
Nick motioned with his head toward the exit. “I’ll drive home and take care of Boomer, then come back to town. Won’t take me longer than twenty, twenty-five minutes tops.”
This was good. This was really good. A chance to talk with Samantha. To tell her he was sorry he’d been such a . . . a bonehead. Or whatever noun would best describe his behavior two years ago. There were bound to be a rather large number of choice descriptions he deserved. Even if he couldn’t always remember why.
He drove home and let Boomer out to chase his ball a half dozen times. Then, with a few pats and several apologies, he put the border collie into the kennel again and drove back to town. It was easy enough to find Ruth Johnson’s home. Sips and Scentimentals, the attached shop on the west side of the house, was closed on Sundays, so Nick felt free to park in the lot before walking around to the front. He didn’t have to wait long after ringing the bell before Samantha opened the door.
Her smile was tentative. “That didn’t take you long.” She widened the opening all the way. “Come on in.”
“Thanks.” He moved into the living room and stopped, not sure if he should sit.
“Let’s go into the kitchen,” she said, answering his unspoken question.
“Will your grandmother join us?”
“No. She’s had her lunch already.”
“Would it be all right if I said hello to her? I didn’t get to—” He broke off, not wanting to remind her of how their encounter at the hospital had gone down.
She understood anyway. “You didn’t get to say hello to her last Sunday after running into me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Come on. I imagine she’s still awake.” She bypassed the stairs and led the way to a room at the end of the hall on the main floor. At the open doorway she put up a hand so he would know to wait while she looked in. “Gran, do you mind some company? You have a guest.”
“I would love company,” came the woman’s voice. “Bring them in.”
Samantha gave a nod to Nick.
“Thanks.” He moved past her, taking several steps into the room. “Hello, Mrs. Johnson. Do you remember—?”
“Nick Chastain.” Smiling, she held out a hand toward him. He went to the bedside and took it. “Oh, it’s good to see you, young man. I wanted to thank you. Not just for the lovely flowers you brought me while I was in the hospital, but for all you did for me the day of the accident.”
“Thanks aren’t necessary, ma’am.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Heavens. That sounds stuffy. Call me Ruth.”
“All right.”
“Sit down and tell me about yourself. We met under rather unusual circumstances, after all.”
He obeyed about sitting, but wasn’t sure what to tell her. Not with Samantha standing somewhere behind him. He gave a shrug. “Nothing very interesting about me. I’ve been in Idaho about two months or so. I came here from Wyoming to manage an irrigation company located in Caldwell, and I was doing some work on Derek’s land when I saw you fall from the horse.” He stopped and shrugged a second time.
“And? I want details, young man.”
Despite his discomfort, he grinned. “I’m single, never married, and I live with a border collie named Boomer. My parents have been married for almost forty years, and I’ve got three brothers, two older and one younger.” Again he wondered what Samantha would want him to say about the months they were a couple in Oregon. Unsure, he played it safe and said nothing. “That’s about it.”
“No. There is something else. You prayed for me while we waited for the ambulance.”
“You heard me?”
“I heard you.” She reached for his hand again, and when he complied, she gave it a light squeeze. “God bless you, Nick. Your prayers made a great difference.” She squeezed his hand one more time before releasing it. “Samantha tells me she invited you to have lunch so I won’t keep you sitting here any longer.” She looked beyond Nick’s shoulder. “You two enjoy yourselves. I’m going to take a nap.” And with that, she closed her eyes.
He stood, waited a few moments, then turned away from the woman on the bed. Samantha gave him another of those nods, her expression revealing nothing, before leading the way out of the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen.
Nick had felt good about coming here, about talking to Samantha, clearing the air, and seeking her forgiveness, but all of a sudden he felt awkward, unsure how or when to begin. Samantha took care of that for him.
“You didn’t tell Gran we knew each other before this.”
“I didn’t know if you’d want me to tell her.”
“Why not? Derek and Brooklyn know. At least a little bit.”
Nick ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, his thoughts growing fuzzy. Stress did that to him. Or was it that he felt stress because his thoughts grew fuzzy?
Samantha turned toward the cupboard and took out two plates and two glasses and set them on the counter.
“Sam?”
“What?”
“Could we sit down and talk first? I need you to listen. And to be patient with me while I say what I came here to say.”
Albeit reluctantly, she did as he’d asked.
He took a deep breath and released it before sitting on the chair opposite her. “First, Sam, I need to tell you I’m sorry for the way things ended between us. As I recall, we were both angry and said things that hurt the other. I don’t remember what was said exactly, but I want to ask for your forgiveness for my part in the argument and for my words, both intentional and otherwise.”
“My forgiveness,” she repeated softly. There was a lengthy silence before she added, “You weren’t so eager to forgive me when I apologized.”
He frowned, not understanding.
“My e-mails.” Frustration laced the words. “I asked you to forgive me in my e-mails. And in the phone messages I left.”
“I don’t . . . I don’t remember any e-mails or phone messages.” He drew another deep breath.
The look in her eyes called him a liar.
“When was that, Sam? When did you try to contact me?”
“I don’t know.” She looked angry now rather than frustrated. Angry and hurt.
His memory might be poor at times, but he remembered that hurt expression. “Please. Help me out here. When was it?”
“I don’t remember exactly. A few weeks after we broke up.”
Nick nodded. “I’m sorry, Sam. I don’t know what happened to your messages. Honest. But there is a reason for it.”
“It must be a doozy.”
“It is, I guess. If you’re right about when, then I was in the hospital. Maybe I was still in a coma. I can’t say for sure. But that’s my guess.”
A hospital? Samantha’s anger turned to stunned confusion. A coma?
“Do you remember that kayaking trip you and I fought about before I went?” Nick continued.
“Of course I do.”
“Well, you were right. I got hurt. I about cracked my head open on a boulder, among other injuries.” He hesitated, as if considering whether or not to detail what those injuries had been. “It was bad enough that they weren’t sure I was going to pull through.”
“Nick,” she whispered, cold seeping throughout her body.
“I was a long time in a hospital in Colorado and then months in rehab. After I was released, I went to Wyoming to stay with my parents. It was a long recovery.” He shrugged, as if to deny the seriousness of his words.
She stood and went to the window, not sure what to do with the tumble of new emotions swirling in her chest. She couldn’t even define them. Anger? Self-pity? Selfrighteousness? The need to say, “I told you so”?
Another impression intruded. Perhaps Nick’s accident expla
ined why he was no longer teaching. Getting a position at Oregon State had been his goal long before she’d known him. He’d loved teaching every bit as much as he’d loved the thrill of white-water rafting the roughest rivers or fishing for sharks in the ocean or sky diving or any other dangerous sport he could think of. His injuries must have been extensive for him to give it up. Sadness swept over her.
Behind her, she heard a chair slide against the floor and turned to see Nick standing.
“I’m sorry, Sam. Lunch probably wasn’t a great idea. I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry for whatever I said that hurt you, especially that last time we were together. My memory isn’t perfect—about a lot of things—but I remember enough to know I could be a class-A jerk. You deserved better than I gave in those months we were together, and I’m sorry.”
She shook her head, even though she agreed with him, at least in part. He’d been stubborn and independent and opinionated. He’d been an adrenaline junkie. But there had been so much about Nick that she’d been crazy about too. His humor. His warmth. The way a certain look in his eyes had made her insides melt like butter.
“I’d like us to be friends.” He took a step back from the table.
Her heart skittered, realizing he was about to leave. Not that she could blame him. Her continued silence must have made it appear she wasn’t interested in his apology.
“If you think that’s possible,” he added. “For us to be friends.”
“Yes.” The word came out, barely more than a whisper. Louder, she said, “Yes, I’d like us to be friends too.”
He took another step back. “We’ll do lunch another time. If you want to.”
As his gaze held hers for a few moments more, something old and familiar coiled inside of her. A tug of attraction. A wanting. A missing. The sensations surprised her. Even more surprising, something in his eyes told her he might feel the same.
Then he gave her a fleeting smile, turned, and walked out of the kitchen, leaving her wondering if she’d seen anything in his eyes at all.
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