by Irene Hannon
His gaze held hers, and Cara suspected he wanted to say more. But she wasn’t yet ready to deal with Sam’s feelings about their relationship.
Forcing herself to look away, she picked up her fork and resumed eating, praying Sam would drop the subject for tonight. Relief coursed through her when he turned back to his food.
“Dinner is great, Cara.”
“Thanks. It’s one of the items on the menu I gave to Marge.”
For the remainder of the meal, they engaged in small talk. Yet there was nothing small about the decision Cara faced. Each day that she stayed in Oak Hill brought her closer to dealing with Sam’s obvious wish to make amends and with her own growing feelings. Closer to dealing with the whole forgiveness and trust issue that Marge’s story had mirrored.
Of course, she could always return to Philadelphia sooner than planned. She’d intended to stay another couple of weeks, but her trip had already accomplished much of its purpose. The trauma from the shooting was receding more each day. If she hadn’t agreed to help Marge with the restaurant, she could return now.
Cara tried to feel annoyed by the obligation. But in the end, she couldn’t fool herself. She was glad she had an excuse to stay.
As for why she felt that way—she didn’t want to deal with that yet, though.
Chapter Eleven
“Your eye should be fine, Charlie, but it was a close call. Where were your safety goggles?” Sam reached for a sterile pad and began cleaning the gouge below the construction worker’s eyebrow. Already the puffy skin around it was black-and-blue.
The man shifted in his seat on the examining table and stared at the wall in front of him as Sam worked. “I forgot to wear them.”
“You can’t afford to be careless with a jackhammer. If that chip of rock had been half an inch lower, you could have lost your sight in this eye.”
“Yeah. I guess I got lucky.”
Sam didn’t have much patience with people who took risks with their bodies, and he almost issued another, sharper reprimand. Except some inflection in the man’s tone stopped him. Sarcasm, mixed with despair.
Thinking back to his conversation with Cara a few days before, Sam wondered if this was one of those occasions when he was supposed to dig a little deeper. Uncertain, he decided to follow his gut.
After cleaning and treating the wound, he sat on the stool beside the counter and drew the man’s chart toward him. But instead of jotting his usual notes, he laid his pen aside and looked up at the construction worker.
“How’s everything else going, Charlie?”
Surprise flickered in the man’s eyes, and his response was tentative. “Okay.”
Not a good start, Sam concluded. But Cara had told him he might have to press a bit. And she hadn’t said it would be easy. He flicked a quick glance at the man’s personal data on the chart.
“How’s Susan?”
“Busy. Her Web design business is really taking off. She loves it.”
“Glad to hear it.” Nothing wrong from his wife’s end, as far as Sam could tell. He tried again. “And how are the kids?”
“Joel’s getting ready to go to college. Megan’s…she’s okay, I guess.” A shadow of distress darkened the man’s features for a brief instant.
Bingo.
“Has she been having some problems?” Sam kept his tone conversational.
“I’m not sure.” Charlie drew an unsteady breath and looked down at his work-roughened hands. “She’s been hanging around with some kids I don’t like. And at sixteen, peer pressure is tough to fight.”
“That’s true. This group of kids she’s involved with…what is it you don’t like about them?”
The man shrugged. “There are rumors that some of them are into drugs.”
“Do you think Megan is using?” He recalled seeing the taciturn teen a couple of months ago for cold symptoms. Maybe the runny nose had been indicative of a far more serious problem, he mused.
“I don’t know.” Worry etched the man’s features. “Susan and I have talked to her until we’re blue in the face, but we can’t seem to get through. She won’t go see the counselor at school, and she says she’s clean. But I just don’t know…”
After a moment’s consideration, Sam spoke. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you have her come see me? She hasn’t had a physical since I’ve been here, and I should have some baseline information on record if I’m going to treat her. You can use that as an excuse to get her in here. I’ll talk with her, see what I can find out.”
The tightness in the man’s features eased. “That would be great. I’ll let Susan know, and one of us will call to make an appointment for Megan tomorrow.”
“Good. In the meantime, take care of that eye. And remember the goggles.”
The man gave a sheepish nod. “I will. I guess my mind’s been on other things.” He held out his hand and gave Sam’s a firm shake. “Thanks again, Doctor. I appreciate your taking the time to talk with me.”
As the man exited and Sam turned back to the counter to complete his notes, he realized that Cara had once again given him good advice. Had he not pushed a bit, he’d have attributed the accident to carelessness. Instead, worry had distracted Charlie, clouding his judgment. Their conversation had not only relieved his patient’s mind, it may have uncovered another problem that needed to be addressed.
All thanks to Cara.
An unaccustomed feeling of optimism put a spring in Sam’s step as he left the exam room. It was almost as if he’d turned a corner in his practice, started down a new—and better—path.
And he knew that he could thank Cara for that, too.
Hands on her hips, Cara surveyed the dining room at the Oak Hill Inn. The tables were draped with white linen and set with silver and crystal. Fresh flowers graced the center of each, and small votive candles awaited the touch of a match, ready to illuminate the room with a warm, romantic glow. Enticing aromas wafted from the kitchen, hinting at the gourmet fare that the opening-night, sell-out crowd would enjoy.
“Pretty amazing, isn’t it?”
At Marge’s comment, Cara turned. “I can’t believe we managed to pull this off in such a short time. But the credit for that goes to you.” The innkeeper had handled all the logistics, including rounding up servers and kitchen help, while Cara focused on the food.
“Not at all. It was a team effort. I told you people in this area were hungry for upscale dining. Pardon the pun.” The woman gave a hearty laugh, and Cara chuckled in reply. “We’re sold out for the next two weekends, too. I’m deferring people after that, until I line up a permanent chef.”
“How’s the search going?”
“I have a couple of prospects. No one with your credentials, though. It’s too bad you can’t stay a bit longer.”
“I wish I could. But I’m getting pressure from my boss in Philly.” He’d called a week ago, pressing her for a return date and hinting that while he understood her need for a leave to recover from the shooting, he couldn’t hold her job forever. Cara had promised to return in early August.
She knew she should be grateful he’d given her this much time off. But she couldn’t seem to dredge up much enthusiasm about going back to the job she’d once loved. Working here, in an environment where she had total control over menu, presentation and ambience, had been such fun that she didn’t relish bowing to the dictates of the often tyrannical executive chef at the restaurant in Philadelphia.
But she couldn’t find an excuse to stay. The memories of the shooting had receded, and she was getting out on a frequent basis now. She continued to stay close to Sam’s house at night, but she was confident that she’d be okay going home from the inn alone when the restaurant closed for the evening. She was less sure how she’d feel about wandering around at night in the city, but she couldn’t hide in Oak Hill forever. She’d just have to deal with any lingering phobias when she returned.
The front door of the inn opened, admitting the first diners, and Marge grin
ned at Cara. “Here we go!”
For the next two hours, Cara didn’t have a second to think about anything but food. With the help of a trained cook they’d been lucky to lure from an eatery in a nearby town, Cara went into high gear in the kitchen. She reviewed every plate before it went out, tweaking the presentation in between directing the servers, who were college students from Rolla.
It was a blur of activity, and by the time dessert was served, she began to feel the effects of the fast pace. She was always tired after her shift in Philadelphia, too. But at least there, the whole dining experience didn’t rest on her shoulders. Yet the sense of exhilaration and satisfaction here far surpassed anything she’d ever experienced in previous jobs.
“They’re raving about everything, Cara.” Marge stuck her head in the kitchen. “And they’re asking for you.”
With a quick, efficient movement, Cara finished shaving some chocolate onto the last serving of mousse and handed it to the waiting server. After wiping her hands on a towel, she followed Marge into the dining room.
As she entered and scanned the crowd, she was greeted by a spontaneous round of applause, led by Marge. Since she’d looked over the reservation list earlier, she already knew that the locals had turned out in force as a show of support. The sheriff was there with his daughter in tow, as was Reverend Andrews and his wife. A number of the ladies who had worked on the Fourth of July booth had booked the large table in the library. Even portly Gus had come to sample the competition’s fare, leaving the diner in someone else’s hands for the night.
Sam had come, too, as promised, and his warm smile brought a flush to her cheeks.
When the applause died down and the expectant faces remained fixed on her, Cara realized that she was supposed to say something. Unaccustomed to being in the spotlight, she kept her comments brief. “I’d…um…like to thank everyone for coming. Marge and I are very grateful for your support, and we invite you to return—often. Enjoy your dessert.”
An hour later, after the kitchen had been restored to order, the last diner had departed and the staff had headed home, Cara flexed her shoulders as Marge bustled in.
“I’d say our grand opening was a resounding success,” the innkeeper declared with a grin.
Smiling, Cara zipped open her purse. “It did go well, didn’t it?”
“Now there’s an understatement if ever I heard one. I predict that the phone will be ringing off the hook all week with people clamoring to make reservations. Too bad I have to put them off until I line up a new chef.” The woman tilted her head and studied Cara. “Is there anything I can do to convince you to stay on?”
It was the first time Marge had proposed a permanent arrangement, though she’d hinted at it often enough.
With regret, Cara shook her head. “I have a good job waiting for me back home. And my life is there. This was never intended to be anything more than a brief…getaway.”
“Too bad. You fit in well in Oak Hill. And Dr. Martin sure seems glad to have you around.” She gave Cara an appraising look. “Remember when I told you that he could use a little lightening up? And that the folks here would like him to chat more, the way old Doc Adams did? Well, since you’ve been in town, I’ve been hearing positive things about the changes in him. That he’s talking to his patients now, letting them know he cares about more than just the ache or pain he’s treating that day. I have to believe you had a lot to do with that. You’re good for him, you know.”
A shadow of remembered pain darkened Cara’s eyes for an instant. “There’s a lot of history between us, Marge. This was a pleasant interlude, but it’s much more difficult to sustain harmony long term.”
“It does take work, that’s a fact. My Stan used to say that the best marriages are like a polished theatrical presentation. What the world sees looks easy, but the actors have spent hours and hours rehearsing behind the scenes, getting their timing down so they can roll with the punches when things don’t go quite the way they expected once they’re onstage. He was right, God rest his soul.”
Digging into her purse for her keys, Cara dipped her chin, unsure how to respond. Especially now that she knew a bit of the history of Marge’s marriage. She admired the woman’s ability to forgive the wrongs and focus on the good things.
“Well, now, enough philosophy for tonight.” Marge smiled, picking up the slack in the conversation. “This was a grand evening. We should celebrate.”
“I’d love to, but I’m beat.” Cara snagged her keys and checked her watch. It was only eleven, but she’d been at the restaurant since one, and the days leading up to the opening had been long and hectic. “Besides, we have to repeat this tomorrow night. It’s off to bed for me.”
“I suppose I should do the same, considering I have to be up at the crack of dawn to cook breakfast for my guests. By the way, Dr. Martin’s waiting for you out front.”
“Sam’s still here?” Cara gave the innkeeper a startled look.
“Mmm-hmm.” Marge gestured toward the foyer. “He said he wanted to follow you home. As if he has to worry about your safety in Oak Hill.”
It was clear from her skeptical tone that the woman didn’t buy his explanation, seeing it instead as an excuse to be with his estranged wife. And Cara didn’t enlighten her about her problem with darkness, either. She’d managed to avoid going out at night alone ever since arriving in Oak Hill. Tonight would have been her first solo venture. She’d felt sure she could handle it, but in truth she wasn’t sorry Sam had waited. It had taken all of her energy to get through the opening. It was a relief not to have to tackle the challenge of darkness until tomorrow.
Instead of addressing Marge’s comment, she smiled and redirected the conversation. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”
“I’ll be here.” Marge turned toward the door leading to the foyer. “Shall I send Dr. Martin back?”
“Yes, thanks.”
Marge disappeared through the door, and less than a minute later Sam stepped through. Once again, his smile warmed her—as did his words.
“That was a fabulous dinner, Cara.”
A flush of pleasure washed over her. “Thank you. But you didn’t have to wait for me.”
“I thought you might like some company on the way home. It’s pretty late.”
He didn’t mention her fear, but she saw the unspoken message in his eyes, along with caring and empathy. She hadn’t had a panic attack since the night of the garlic episode, and she’d hate to mar the exhilaration of this evening’s success with another such incident.
“I appreciate your consideration. After all the excitement of the past few days, it’s nice not to have to deal with any more stress tonight.”
“Are you parked in back?”
At her nod, he stepped past her and opened the rear door, waiting until she passed through before following. After she locked up, he fell into step beside her, his hand resting lightly at the small of her back, in a protective gesture that Cara found way too appealing. For a brief second, an almost overwhelming temptation swept over her to lean into the solid strength of his body, as she had often done in the early days of their relationship. But she squelched the impulse. Nevertheless, she missed his touch when they reached her car and he withdrew his hand.
“I’m parked in front. I’ll wait for you at the end of the driveway.”
In silence, she slid into the driver’s seat and locked her door. In the rearview mirror, she watched him stride around the side of the inn and disappear into the darkness.
Once he was out of sight, the blackness around her suddenly became oppressive. Every shadow took on a sinister shape, and she felt the stomach-clenching terror begin to grip her. Her pulse accelerated, and as she tried to insert the key into the ignition she realized that her hand was shaking. A film of moisture broke out on her forehead, and her respiration grew erratic.
So much for thinking she’d conquered her irrational fear of darkness, Cara reflected in dismay as the familiar symptoms of a panic
attack began to intensify.
Forcing herself to take deep, slow breaths, she gritted her teeth, determined not to succumb to the waves of groundless fear that were washing over her. Over and over she repeated the same phrases to herself. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Sam is within calling distance. This is a safe town, and no one is going to hurt me.
Cara wasn’t sure how long she sat there, reciting that mantra in silence. But at a sudden gentle tap on her window, her slowing pulse skyrocketed again and she jerked her head toward the glass.
The dim illumination in the inn’s small parking lot threw the lines of worry on Sam’s face into sharp relief. He motioned for her to unlock her door, and with fumbling fingers she complied. Sam reached for the handle and pulled it open, leaning down.
“Are you okay?”
“Y-yes.” A single-word answer was all she could manage.
“I’ve been waiting for five minutes.”
Had she been struggling to gain control for that long? Somehow she’d lost track of time once the panic had begun to suffocate her.
“I’m sorry. I was…I didn’t expect…this is my first venture out alone at night. I thought I’d be okay. And I would have been. I was getting it under c-control. It just took me a few minutes.”
His gaze shifted to her white-knuckled grip on the wheel. “Let me drive you home.”
“No.” The refusal came out too strong, and too angry, judging by his startled reaction. But she wasn’t angry with Sam; she was upset with herself. Cara took a deep breath and tried again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just that I need to get over this. I’m going home in two weeks. I have to be able to function at night by myself.”
“Panic attacks aren’t that easy to control.”
“Tell me about it.” Tears of frustration caught her by surprise, stinging her eyes, and she blinked them away. “Can we try this again?”