"I suppose."
"There's more to the story, isn't there?"
She taped up the box, stood, and piled it on top of the others. She headed for the counter, and then came back empty-handed. "Are we done?"
He counted the boxes stacked by the door, included the one he was working on, and nodded. "We did it." He finished, set his box with the others, then helped her gather the remainder of the packaging items and threw them in his pickup.
"I'll have to figure out the bill." She slid into the cab of his truck, and he paused outside the door. "Shall I mail it to you?"
He narrowed his eyes. Mail it? As if they'd never see each other again? "No. I'll pay it now. As soon as I get the crates built, we can package the canoe molds. Then maybe you can help me package all the smaller boxes among the canoes."
"Sure. That'd be great."
He closed her door, circled the truck, and climbed in. His stomach growled, and he checked the clock on his dashboard. Wow, the time had slipped away, and he'd hardly noticed. Too engrossed in the enigma named Jo.
"Shall we get lunch?" he asked.
"Um, I've been gone from the store longer than I usually am. I think I'd better get back and check on things."
"You need to eat."
"I'll send out for something. It'll be fine."
"Oh. Okay." He started the pickup and turned to her. "I'm sorry. This was the worst first date ever."
She giggled. "No, the worst first date ever was when you ran out on me the other day."
He joined her laugh. "I really did have an emergency."
"I know."
He should have told her the truth right then. But he realized now how he'd miscalculated. It had never occurred to him that this online match would be someone he'd come to care about. Now that he had, he'd ruin it when he told her about his daughter, because even if she wasn't the kind of woman to run at the thought of a child—and he knew already that Jo wasn't—what would she think of his having been dishonest?
He'd blown it. As soon as he told her, she'd never trust him again. He opened his mouth to confess, then chickened out. "How about lunch tomorrow?"
"Oh." Her smile faded. "I have an appointment tomorrow. I'll be gone much of the day."
"Maybe Monday?"
She narrowed her eyes. Seemed poised to say something, then didn't. She turned back to the window. "I don't know. Maybe."
Maybe. Seemed that was as much of a commitment as he was going to get.
8
Jo yawned as the road came and went beneath her sedan. The hours spent at the hospital being manhandled by doctors and nurses reminded her again of her intense vulnerability. Most of the folks she'd met outside the cancer ward hadn't learned that lesson—that life was fleeting, that people were one decision, one diagnosis, one disaster away from death. But between her cancer and her father's car accident, Jo didn't take her life for granted.
Stupid morbid thought. It was the hospital that did it, and now the waiting. She had these tests often enough that she should be used to them. But she had a feeling, just a stupid feeling, that something bad was going to happen.
Wasn't that how it worked? Something bad always followed something good. Congratulations, you've saved the money for your dream tour of Europe. Oops, looks like leukemia's going to squash that dream.
Congratulations, your treatment is finished. Oops, there's an officer at the door. And just like that, your father's gone.
So why wouldn't meeting a great guy lead to more bad news?
No, Lord. She couldn't take any more. Tears prickled behind her eyes. She forced them back. She wouldn't cry until she knew what she was crying about. She sure didn't need to get emotional while she was driving. No need for her mother to face another policeman at the door.
Jo would find out the results of her tests sometime next week. Could the nurse have been more specific? Would they call on Monday or wait until Friday to tell her what the rest of her life would look like?
She growled, the sound barely there over the hum of the tires on the asphalt. She hated being melodramatic. She flipped on the radio, tried to find something worth listening to and found a litany of commercials. She switched to the AM station. The political arguing elevated her already high blood pressure. She flipped again, paused on Sinatra's voice—"Come Fly with Me."
The music settled in her heart, filled her eyes with tears. All she'd ever wanted was to fly away. To get out of Ross, to see the world. The closest she got were the packages that she mailed. At least they got to fly.
She flipped the radio off and tried to figure out the only real mystery in her life that didn't revolve around her health. Carter James.
He'd invited her to lunch today, but her doctor's appointment had kept her from saying yes. So why not Saturday lunch or dinner? Even Friday night would have worked, if he'd asked. But instead, what had he suggested? Lunch on Monday.
Fine. He didn't want to waste a weekend night on her. That's probably all it was, not that there was anything particularly fun to do in Ross on the weekends. She'd never been the type to frequent bars. By the time she'd turned twenty-one, she'd been too sick to try alcohol. Maybe Carter was a drinker. Maybe even now he was preparing to hit the little honky-tonk in the next town, do some two-stepping, drink a beer or two. She had no idea, really. Did people still two-step?
Maybe, but he didn't seem the type, and if that was his plan, then why the dating site? Guy with his looks could have his pick of the women at those kinds of places. No, Carter had seemed like, like...
A family man.
The thought had her stomach bouncing off the asphalt beneath her feet.
A family man. That was probably what he was. Married with kids.
No, surely not. Surely a married man wouldn't join a dating site, certainly he wouldn't date somebody in his own town.
What had he said? His parents lived in Ross. Maybe he didn't. Maybe he worked in Ross and lived in another town, and maybe he was craving a little fun on the side.
She was being ridiculous. Except if he wasn't married, then why not ask to see Jo over the weekend? Wasn't that when most people dated?
Not that she'd know. She hadn't had a boyfriend since seventh grade.
With her stupid short hair, she figured she appeared more like the boy she'd dated back then than the girl she used to be. No wonder Carter didn't want to spend a Saturday night with her.
Maybe he had a trip planned. But if so, why hadn't he mentioned it? She'd asked about his business trips on Thursday during their afternoon together. He'd told her his favorite places, and his least favorite ones. Why wouldn't he mention an upcoming trip?
The day before, when they'd been walking toward his shop, his expression had shifted. And she'd had the distinct impression he'd been lying about something.
She'd be very careful with Carter James. He was hiding something, and she'd had enough surprises in her life to know she didn't like them.
But who was she to judge? She hid her own secrets. Guarding her heart made perfect sense, but who would protect Carter from her and the possibly cancerous blood that pulsed through her veins? The cancer wasn't contagious, but the hopelessness that came along with it surely was.
She rubbed her temples. Why had she ever started down this road? If she had half a brain, she'd avoid Carter from now on. But she wasn't kidding anybody. If he asked her out again, she'd go in a heartbeat. Her life was empty enough to take some risks. She'd just have to tread very carefully.
9
Carter hung up with his mother and entered the Coffee Bar. Mom was cooking spaghetti tonight, so he'd offered to pick up some cookies for dessert. Least he could do after they'd watched Sara and fed them both all week long.
The line was long and snaked among the few tables in the little coffee shop. As usual, the place smelled of coffee and baked goods and made his mouth water. Maybe tomorrow he'd bring Sara here for breakfast. She loved doughnuts.
He inched forward in line, looking at the go
odies in the glass case.
"What do you hear from Joe? What'd the doctor say?"
The voice came from a table on his left, against the wall. Two women sat across from each other, a mug in front of each. Carter felt sorry for poor Joe. Last thing he'd want was two women discussing his medical condition in a crowded coffee shop.
The other woman sighed. "She didn't tell me much."
She? Carter looked at the woman speaking. Older, deep south accent, pretty white hair.
Hadn't Jo said her mother was from Louisiana?
Jo'd had an appointment today. He hadn't realized it was with a doctor.
He should have moved across the room or something, but he was trapped in the line.
Great excuse, right?
"Don't you usually go with her?" the other woman asked.
"Used to, but she won't let me anymore. I'm sure it helps her feel... I don't know. Independent, I guess. As if there's something wrong with needing somebody." The woman sighed. "Not that they'll know anything. It always takes days to get the results."
"Must be difficult to wait."
"You have no idea."
The line moved forward, and Carter moved with it, straining to hear the rest of the ladies' conversation.
Barely, he heard, "She's meeting me here in a few minutes. We're going to dinner."
"Probably helps to keep busy."
Line moved again.
"Sir, can I help you?"
Carter gave the girl behind the counter his order, then waited on the far side of the room. Had the woman been talking about his Jo? If so, it was likely he'd finally solved a lot of the mystery surrounding the woman.
Order in hand, he headed outside. He should go straight to his car and head for his parents' house. So why did he linger on the sidewalk?
As if he didn't know.
About two minutes later, a light blue Hyundai parked in front of the store next door. Jo stepped out, and any hope he'd had that the women inside were talking about a different Jo slipped away.
"Hey," he said when she spotted him.
She smiled, though she seemed tired. Pale. Or was he imagining that because of the conversation he shouldn't have heard?
"What are you doing here?"
He lifted the sack. "Picking up some goodies for my family."
Her smile faded.
"My mom invited me for spaghetti," he explained.
"I see."
Silence settled. He stepped toward her, cleared his throat. "How was your appointment?"
"Fine."
He licked his lips, feeling like an idiot. But he had to ask. Suddenly, the idea that this beautiful, sad woman could be sick twisted his gut and left no room for spaghetti or cookies or anything but fear.
"I have a confession," he said.
She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.
"Nothing bad. Nothing too bad, I think." He wanted her to lower her defenses, but she stood stiller than the monument in the town park. "I was in the coffee shop, and I overheard some women talking. I was in line. I wasn't trying to overhear."
She tilted her head to the side. "Okay."
"Maybe it had nothing to do with you, but a woman said something about medical tests and mentioned your name. So I wanted to make sure..."
Jo's head rolled forward. She rubbed the back of her neck, then met his eyes. "I'm fine."
"Right. None of my business." He waited for her to say something, but she didn't. "I was worried, that's all."
"I thought maybe you were out of town this weekend."
"What?" he said. "No. Why?"
"No reason."
"Oh." He should invite her to dinner, right now. Introduce her to Sara and his parents. Maybe then she'd confide in him. Maybe, if she didn't run away, maybe something else, something bigger could happen, something he was afraid to think about. He steeled his courage. "Would you like to join me for dinner? My parents..." Sara. He had to tell her about Sara. "My family would love to meet you."
Jo shook her head, but her anger slid off her face, replaced by a beautiful smile. "I'd love to, but my mom's expecting me."
"Oh." He knew that. He'd heard the woman say it. "Maybe another time, then. And I'd love to know... Your mother didn't say much inside, but if you ever want to talk about it."
She sighed, gazed toward the coffee shop, then down the street.
A little surge of hope had him speaking. "We could take a walk. I have a few minutes."
She nodded and started walking. He fell in step beside her, his paper sack dangling from his left hand. He grabbed hers with his right, wondering if she'd pull away. She didn't.
He waited, hoped she'd share what the appointment was about, but he didn't push. It was her news, and if she didn't want to tell him, that was okay. It was nice to walk beside her, hand-in-hand. He loved how her fingers fit there, warm and snug. He loved that she didn't pull away, even though maybe it was forward to touch her. He'd always been like that—touchy-feely, Heather'd said. She'd hated that about him.
Maybe she'd hated everything about him. Except he made her look good at parties.
Jo brushed her short hair away from her face, then laughed. "That's an old habit I can't seem to break, brushing my hair back."
"I like your hair. It suits you."
She glanced at him. "Really?"
"Yeah. Not a lot of women look good like that. Audrey Hepburn made it look good. And there's Halle Berry. And you."
She giggled. "Right. Audrey and Halle and me."
"I'm serious. You're quite stunning, you know."
"Do you always drink before you go to the coffee shop?"
It was his turn to laugh. "You really don't believe me, do you?"
She shook her head, kept walking. The woman was clueless. He hadn't been able to get her image out of his mind for more than a few minutes at a time since their lunch on Tuesday. And it wasn't only her looks. It was everything. Her face, her hair, her smile, her heart. That sadness he wanted more and more to kiss away. What was it about this woman? With a stomach-twisting jolt, he remembered her mother's words in the coffee shop.
"Are you sick?"
Crap. Had he just blurted that out? What an idiot.
Her step stuttered as if she'd tripped over an invisible line. Maybe they had, and he'd crossed it. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."
He blew out a long breath. It was a wonder he'd ever had a second date. Again, he'd chalk that up to the face God had given him, not to any charm on his part. He doubted he'd get another chance with this woman. He should write a book—Dating Secrets for Men Who Want to Be Alone.
"Cancer," she said.
He froze. That twisted stomach climbed to his throat, and he swallowed it back. He turned to face her. So many things flitted through his mind, he wasn't sure where to start. What to say. All he came up with was, "Oh, no."
"I'm sorry. I should explain. I had cancer. Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. Childhood leukemia, though I was twenty when I was diagnosed. That was eight years ago."
"Eight years." He had no idea what to say here. Knew nothing about leukemia. Or just enough for the thought to have him swallowing again.
She saved him from trying to fill the silence. "The survival rate is really high, though it's higher for kids who get it younger. But if you have to get cancer…" She faltered. No good way to end that sentence. "You asked me why I live here," she continued, "why I never traveled. I'd planned to. After high school, I worked for UPS full time to save the money. I took classes online, earned my associate's degree, and worked my tail off. I was going to tour Europe for a summer with some friends. Then I'd planned to go to Youth with a Mission in Hawaii. I thought I'd go to exotic places, tell people about Christ." She paused. "Maybe you think that's stupid."
"I can't think of a higher calling than to tell the world about Jesus."
She smiled. They hadn't talked about faith, and the thought that she shared his had his heart pumping. As did the coming "but" that had waylaid her
plans.
"Go on," he said.
"I'd been sick for a few days, but I wasn't about to let anything delay my trip. I took a lot of ibuprofen, kissed my parents goodbye, and went to the airport. I was at the gate, pretending I felt fine. I was alone, because my friends were meeting me in Dallas. They'd spent those years in college while I'd saved money. It helps to have wealthy parents.
"Anyway, all alone, I sat at the gate, sick but determined." She took a deep breath. "I passed out. They called an ambulance. I was taken to the hospital and diagnosed."
"Thank God you didn't get on the plane."
"Right." She agreed, but her expression didn't seem to. "I had chemotherapy for three years. Then, because of some unfortunate tests, I had to undergo more chemo two years ago. It was more preventative than anything." She ran her free hand through her hair.
"Lost your hair?"
"Yeah. Both times. It's back, but it looks so bad while it's growing out, and it was so depressing when it fell out the second time. So I've kept it short until I know."
Until she knew what? That she was finished with the cancer? That she was going to survive? She tugged on his hand, and they resumed their walk.
"Was the chemotherapy awful?"
"All of it was. The worst thing was getting to know the other patients. And watching them come—and go."
Carter heard the hitch in her voice. "Not all of them went home, I guess."
"No. A lot didn't. I was very lucky."
The word floated between them. Lucky. To have survived cancer? He was the lucky one, because he'd never faced it. He imagined his sweet, darling daughter, imagined what it would be like to know she was sick. To lose those curls. To lose her joy for life. To face death at such a young age. They'd had their tragedies, but cancer—that was worse than anything they'd faced so far.
"Are you in remission then?"
"Last tests, they said I was NED. No evidence detected. I've been that way for a while. When I'm NED, for five years—" She waved the thought aside. "They'll never say I'm cured or cancer-free, because they can't be sure. But the survival rate is much higher if I can get to five years."
Matched Online: Anthology Bks 1-4 (Contemporary Romance) Page 10