From This Day Forward (Heartland Homecoming)

by Irene Hannon

  Funny. In the old days, when Cara had always left a plate of something delicious for him to heat up after he returned home, he hadn’t appreciated the blessing of the good food she’d lovingly prepared. But he’d had plenty of time to regret his lack of gratitude after they parted. Dinner was often a tasteless frozen entrée. Or worse, the indistinguishable meat and fish deep-fried by Gus, whose idea of flavoring was adding some cornmeal to his breading.

  Closing the door behind him, Sam followed his nose to the kitchen door. In a rapid survey, he took in the unfamiliar pots, pans and bowls strewn about the counter. But it was Cara he focused on. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, a sturdy apron tied around her slender waist, she was occupied at the stove, a slight frown of concentration on her brow. She’d pulled back her curls with a barrette, revealing her delicate profile, and he drank in the sight of her. She looked good in his kitchen, he decided, propping a shoulder against the door frame as a tender smile teased the corners of his mouth.

  “Looks like you’ve been busy.”

  Her hand jerked and she swung toward him, panic contorting her features. Sam straightened instantly, berating himself for his insensitivity. He should have warned her of his approach. “I’m sorry, Cara. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Struggling to calm her racing pulse, Cara checked the clock on the wall by the table. Five-thirty. When Sam had said he finished work earlier now, she’d assumed he meant around seven o’clock. She’d expected to be done eating and cleaning up long before then.

  “I—I didn’t think you’d be home so soon.” A tremor ran through her voice, and she cleared her throat, trying to erase the evidence of her fright.

  “I close the office at five, unless there’s an emergency. Look, I don’t want to disturb you. I’ll just grab a soda and let you finish up and enjoy your meal. I’ve got plenty of work to do in my study.”

  Her expression troubled, Cara watched as Sam extracted a can from the fridge, eyeing the white sack in his hand. It was clear he’d stopped somewhere for takeout. Since whatever he had in there smelled fried, she figured he’d paid a visit to Gus’s.

  “I didn’t intend to oust you from your kitchen.”

  “This was always more your turf than mine, anyway. Where did you get all this stuff, by the way?” He waved a hand toward the stainless-steel pans, utensils, cutting board, and several things he couldn’t identify.

  “A shop in Rolla. Marge told me about it.”

  His eyebrows rose in surprise. She’d gone to Rolla. Alone. That seemed like a positive sign. Then again, considering his sparse kitchen, perhaps her trip had been more of an emergency run. But he decided not to comment, focusing instead on her reference to the local B and B owner.

  “You met Marge?”

  “Actually, she met me.” A grin tugged at Cara’s lips. “I found her at the door first thing this morning, cinnamon rolls in hand. Later, when I realized that your kitchen was…uh…a bit underequipped, I called the inn and asked her if she knew where I might buy a few things. I didn’t realize she was the president of the chamber of commerce. She’s a wealth of information.”

  “She is that.” A matching grin softened Sam’s mouth. “Leave me the bills for all this. I’ll reimburse you. My kitchen needed furnishing anyway.”

  Shaking her head, she turned back to the stove. “Consider it a hostess gift. Or, in this case, a host gift. It’s the least I can do. You may find them useful after I’m gone. And I’ll make sure I’m not in your way tomorrow night.”

  He considered saying, You’re not in my way now, Cara, then thought better of it. He had to be patient. Wait until she settled in, until she began to realize he had changed, before he launched his campaign to win her back. If he pushed too soon, she’d leave.

  And he refused to even consider the “after I’m gone” part of her comment.

  Two days later, the drone of a lawn mower somehow managed to penetrate the thick brick walls of Sam’s air-conditioned house. The sound nudged Cara awake, reminding her of lazy summer days growing up in the suburbs of Cincinnati. The hum of a lawn mower had always been a pleasing sound to her. After living in apartments and condos for most her adult life, it had been years since she’d awakened to that comforting hum.

  A peek at her watch confirmed that she’d slept later than usual. It was already eight forty-five. At this rate, she’d soon erase any lingering effects of sleep deprivation. In the three nights she’d spent in Sam’s house, she figured she’d slept almost thirty hours. A piece of good news that she’d passed on to Liz when her friend had called yesterday, peppering her with questions.

  “So how’s it going with Sam?” Liz had asked at last, after they got past the nuts and bolts of Cara’s trip and arrival. “Is it as awkward as you thought?”

  “In some ways. We’re like polite acquaintances, sort of tiptoeing around each other. But he’s been good about giving me my space. The worst time is the evenings. I figured he’d be working late, but he gets home at a normal hour now. The first night, he got us Chinese. The second night, he disappeared with his take-out dinner to his study. Tonight, I ate early and went to my room so he wouldn’t feel like he was a prisoner in his own house. We’re still kind of playing it by ear.”

  “You’ll work things out. And you sound much better already. I knew this was a good idea.”

  Refreshed from yet another sound night’s sleep, Cara couldn’t argue with her friend’s conclusion. Swinging her feet to the plush carpet, she stood, stretched and wandered over to the window, lifting the shade a fraction to check the weather.

  But the clear blue sky wasn’t what she noticed when she glanced outside. Instead, her attention was riveted on the figure pushing the lawn mower at the back of the yard.

  It was Sam.

  Stunned, Cara could only stare. Sam had never, ever, shown any interest in yard work or manual labor. That was one of the reasons they’d bought a condo. The other was convenience. While Cara would have preferred a house in the suburbs, Sam had pointed out that the city location was more practical in light of their odd hours. She hadn’t been able to argue with his logic.

  Those considerations weren’t important in Oak Hill, of course. It was no problem to have a house and yet live minutes from the business district. And condos no doubt were in short supply. That would explain why Sam had ended up with a house. But it didn’t explain why he was cutting the grass. He could afford to hire someone to take care of unpleasant tasks like that if he wanted to. Which meant he hadn’t wanted to. But why?

  She had no idea.

  And the answer to her next question was also elusive.

  Why was he home in the middle of the week?

  Bewildered, Cara dressed and combed her hair, then added a touch of lipstick. Why she bothered with that, she wasn’t sure. And she refused to consider the one obvious explanation—that Sam’s presence led to her sudden decision to make herself a bit more presentable.

  Wandering into the kitchen, Cara tried to focus on her English muffin and ignore the sight of Sam moving back and forth across the lawn. But her gaze kept wandering to the large window by the table until he disappeared around the side of the house.

  She was sipping her second cup of coffee when the sound of a key being inserted into the back door alerted her to his imminent appearance. A few moments later he stepped into the house.

  Surprise—and an emotion she was tempted to classify as pleasure—flashed across his face when he saw her at the table. “Good morning. Late breakfast?”

  “I just got up.”

  He looked at her over his shoulder as he retrieved a mug and poured himself a cup of coffee. “I thought I heard you moving around about seven-thirty.”

  “I got up for a few minutes. But that comfortable bed called me back.”

  “Then I woke you.”

  “It was time I got up. And there aren’t many more pleasant sounds to wake up to than a lawn mower.”

  He grinned. “Not many people would agree with that.
My neighbors included.”

  “Too bad. Dad used to cut the grass on Saturday morning, and the sound always takes me back to a simpler time when things were predictable and ordinary and routine.” Clearing her throat, Cara wrapped her fingers around her mug and stared into her coffee. Too personal. Too revealing. Change the subject. “Anyway, he always enjoyed doing it. But I didn’t think you did.”

  “Things change, Cara. It feels good to be out in the sunshine. And I’ve discovered I like the smell of new-mown grass.”

  Unsure how to respond, Cara switched subjects. “I’m surprised you’re home in the middle of the week.”

  Leaning back against the counter, he crossed one ankle over the other and took a sip of his coffee. “Isn’t Wednesday the standard day off for doctors?”

  “Yes. For most doctors. Not for you.” Cara couldn’t remember Sam taking a weekend or holiday off in years, let alone a Wednesday.

  “I figured it was about time I got with the program.”

  Stymied once more, Cara remained silent.

  “Besides, I don’t always take the whole day off. If I have a patient at the medical center in Rolla, I visit them. And I volunteer for a few hours in the afternoon at a free rural clinic. You’re welcome to come along if you’re getting cabin fever. It’s a pleasant drive, and there’s a great antique store nearby. Not to mention a small park with benches. It would be a nice spot for reading.”

  Surprised by the offer, Cara started to decline—then hesitated. “Will you be back by dark?”

  Taking another sip of coffee, Sam studied Cara. The sudden worry in her eyes told him that she was far from being over her fear of staying alone in the dark. She might be sleeping better, but she had a long way to go before she put the trauma behind her. “Yes. I’m always back by five. Some days a lot sooner.”

  Relief eased the tension in her features. “I think I’ll stay here. I might read a bit, or weed that neglected perennial garden on the side of the house.”

  “I’m sure the plants would thank you. Since I’m new at this yard thing, I have difficulty distinguishing between weeds and flowers. I’d do more harm than good trying to make it look presentable.” Pushing away from the counter, Sam drained his mug, rinsed it and placed it in the dishwasher. “I’m going to shower, then I’ll head out.”

  Three minutes after he disappeared down the hall, Cara heard the shower being turned on, followed by the sound of splashing water. The noise spoke of familiarity, of lives shared, reminding her of moments when she’d risen on tiptoe to steal a kiss as Sam emerged from the steamy bathroom, his hair damp, his eyelashes spiky with moisture.

  Abruptly, she stood and switched on the radio, cranking up the volume. But even when she’d turned it as high as she dared, she couldn’t quite eliminate the sound of running water—or the unexpected yearning it evoked.

  Eight hours later, when Sam pulled into his driveway after a trip to Rolla and an unexpectedly busy day at the clinic, he noted that Cara had followed through on her plans to weed the side garden, unearthing a startling display of color in the process. Yellow day lilies turned sunny faces to the sky, bright pink peonies waved a greeting in the gentle breeze and purple flowers he couldn’t identify peeked through heart-shaped foliage.

  As he studied her handiwork, Sam recalled a discussion early in their marriage, when they were deciding where to live. Cara had preferred a house in the suburbs, with trees and gardens and a porch swing. Turned off by the prospect of annoying maintenance problems and an inconvenient commute, he’d quashed the idea. She hadn’t pushed, and he’d all but forgotten about it.

  Now, as he stared at the lovingly tended garden, he was faced with yet another example of his selfishness. So often in their marriage Cara had bowed to his wishes when he’d brushed hers aside. Not out of weakness, but love.

  He couldn’t remember one occasion when he’d done the same for her.

  Gripping the wheel, Sam bowed his head, resting his forehead on his hands. And found himself turning in desperation once again to the God he’d also brushed aside.

  Lord, I used to think I could handle things on my own. That I was invincible. I don’t anymore. The past couple of years have been a wake-up call. I know I don’t have the right to ask for Your help after being a stranger for such a long time, but I have a feeling that You sent Cara back into my life to give me one last chance to mend our marriage. If that’s true, please…please help me undo the damage I’ve caused.

  Easing his foot off the brake, Sam continued toward the detached garage. As he approached the house after retrieving his mail, he took care to alert Cara of his arrival by being noisier that necessary. He also called out to her from the living room.

  When there was no response, he headed for the kitchen, which was once again filled with savory aromas. Cara wasn’t there but he did notice something important.

  There were two places set at the table.

  Before he had a chance to process the significance of that she stepped into the hall from her bedroom.

  “I thought I heard you come in.” Her color was higher than usual, and she hesitated at the end of the corridor.

  “The house smells good.” He nodded toward the table from the kitchen doorway. “Expecting company?” There was no sense pretending he hadn’t seen the two place settings.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she shifted her weight. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I…I cook anyway. It doesn’t make sense not to prepare enough for two. Taking care of our own meals sounded okay in theory, but it seems kind of silly in practice. Unless you’d rather leave things as they are.”

  “No.” His response was so quick that she gave him a startled look. Struggling to contain his delight, he modulated his voice. “You’re right. This is more logical. And I won’t lie. Giving up Gus’s is no great sacrifice.”

  A smile whispered at her lips. “Then dinner’s ready whenever you are.”

  “Give me five minutes.”

  She waited at the end of the hall until he entered his bedroom, moving only after he stepped inside. It was clear that she wanted to keep her distance. In a physical sense, at least. But the door had just been cracked at another level, moving him closer to his goal.

  And even if it was a tiny step, at least it was in the right direction.

  Chapter Six

  By Sunday, Cara was starting to go stir-crazy. Sam’s house was a fine refuge, but in the past few days she’d read three books and cooked enough food to feed them both for the next week. Recalling Marge’s invitation to attend church services, Cara was suddenly tempted to accept. Though she read her Bible every day, she missed worshipping with a faith community each week. There was something uplifting and energizing about joining with other believers in prayer and song.

  The church Marge had mentioned was only a short distance away. A much shorter trip than her foray to Rolla for cooking supplies. Then again, that had been an emergency run, as far as Cara was concerned. She hadn’t been tempted to do any further exploring. Until today.

  As if to beckon her, a bell began to toll for the ten o’clock service. Why not give it a try? She could slip in the back, then slip out again if she became uncomfortable. What did she have to lose?

  The decision made, Cara cleared her breakfast dishes off the table and headed for her room to change into clothing more appropriate for Sunday services than shorts and a T-shirt. Sam had gone to visit a hospitalized patient in Rolla, and chances were she’d be back before he was. But she’d leave a note in case he returned first.

  A nervous flutter in her stomach as she pulled on a pair of black slacks reminded Cara that her plan was risky. The few times she’d ventured out in Philadelphia she’d had to battle panic attacks whenever anyone got too close. She’d battled them in the airport en route to Oak Hill, too, as the crowd pressed in on her from all sides. And people would be close in church, as well. Shoulder to shoulder in the pews. But she had to venture out alone sooner or later, and what could be safer than the
house of God?

  Fifteen minutes later, however, Cara’s confidence wavered as she pulled into the parking lot beside the small white church, staring through the windshield at the tall steeple that soared toward the cloudless blue sky. Already her heart was beginning to pound, and a tremor shook her hands as a wave of fear swept over her. This was a mistake. She needed to get back to Sam’s house, where she felt safe.

  As she fumbled to put the car into Reverse, a sudden tap on her window startled her, and she jerked her head that direction. A smiling Marge stood on the other side, dressed in white slacks topped by a tie-dyed top that looked like a throwback to the 1970s.

  Fighting to control her panic, Cara considered her options. If she ignored the innkeeper and left, tales of such odd—and rude—behavior would spread around town, raising questions and speculations that could put Sam in an awkward position. Not a good choice. Better to explain to Marge that she wasn’t feeling well, and imply that she might see her next Sunday. That should work.

  Lowering her window, Cara opened her mouth to speak. But Marge beat her to it.

  “I’m so glad you came today, Cara. I’ve been wondering how you’ve been doing. Now that you’re settled in, I hope we’ll see more of you around town. And this is a good place to start. I know everyone in the congregation and I can introduce you at the coffee hour after services. We’ll sit together, since you’re by yourself. Too bad you couldn’t get Dr. Martin to come with you. I’ve been working on him, but he’s a stubborn man. Maybe if we team up we’ll have better luck. Come along, now. We don’t want to be late. The first hymn is always real rousing. Gets things off to a great start.”

  Before Cara could protest, Marge pulled open the car door and waited with an expectant expression.