Trouble in Paradise: A Novel

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, and he said that was okay with him.”

  She didn’t know whether to be dismayed or relieved by the news. She’d spent the better part of the afternoon wishing she was with Nat, feeling alone and lonely. But how would she feel once he was nearby?

  “Shayla?” Angie took hold of her hand.

  Distracted, her eyes searching the parking lot for some sign of Nat, she replied, “Hmm?”

  “You’ll let us come to see you sometimes, won’t you? Uncle Nat says we can’t come over to your place again without asking first.”

  That got her attention. She knelt on the blanket. “Of course you can come over. But your uncle is right. You must call first, and an adult must bring you.”

  “Uncle Nat’ll bring us any time we ask,” Cathy piped in. “I know he will because he wants to see you, too.”

  Shayla felt equal parts pleasure and despair. It would be better if she didn’t see him, but she longed to all the same.

  “We can’t go visit until we’re through being grounded.” Angie nudged her twin. “Remember?”

  “Grounded, huh?”

  “Yes.” With wide eyes and pure drama in her voice, Cathy said, “And if he ever catches us near that old bull or the highway, he says he’ll skin us alive and tan our hides on the side of the barn.”

  Shayla laughed. “Is that what he told you?”

  “That’s exactly what I told them.”

  Her heart caught as she glanced over her shoulder.

  “And as you can see,” Nat continued, “it scared ’em plumb to death. For about fifteen seconds.”

  The twins giggled. Apparently, conditions between the three of them had improved.

  Nat rounded the blanket, then sat beside Angie. “How’s your head?”

  “Fine.”

  “Doesn’t hurt?” He touched the edge of the bandage.

  “Nope.”

  He looked up, meeting Shayla’s gaze. “She’s played pretty hard this afternoon. Guess it didn’t harm her any.”

  “Kids are resilient.”

  “I’m glad you decided to come.” He gave her one of those slow smiles.

  Pleasure rushed through her, pooling in the pit of her stomach. “So am I.”

  For several heartbeats, they stared into each other’s eyes. Then Nat looked away, returning his attention to the twins.

  “Either of you think you’ll need your sweaters after it gets dark?” he asked. “If so, we’d better get them before the fireworks begin.”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “No way. It’s not cold.”

  He’ll make a wonderful father someday.

  She suddenly wished she’d stayed at the cabin. Things were clearer to her there. She knew what she wanted and where she was going.

  Nat didn’t watch the fireworks that night. His gaze remained locked on Shayla.

  She lay on her back, her arms serving as a pillow beneath her head. The twins lay on either side of her, mirroring her position. With each successive explosion of light and color, they oohed and aahed. Shayla saw all sorts of images in the glittering night sky, and she soon had the two girls playing with her.

  “Look, there’s an elephant!”

  “There’s a snake!”

  “I see a mountain. See? Do you see it, too?”

  But no matter what imaginary animal or scene the three of them discovered, no matter how many times they encouraged him to look up, Nat had eyes only for Shayla.

  He watched her turn to the right and whisper something in Angie’s ear. The little girl laughed, then nodded.

  “What?” Cathy asked as she sat up, not wanting to be left out.

  Shayla crooked an index finger, indicating for Cathy to lean down. Then she whispered in her ear. Cathy grinned and nodded before lying back down.

  Nat wondered what the secret was, but he didn’t ask. Shayla was a natural with kids. It was easy to see why her siblings took her for granted.

  A succession of bright fireworks lit up the sky. Shayla clapped her hands.

  Resist me all you want, Shayla Vincent. I’m not ready to give up yet.

  CHAPTER 14

  Shayla cracked one eye open, saw the light of day streaming through the bedroom curtains, and muttered, “Did anyone get the license number of that semi?” Then she rolled onto her other side and covered her head with the blanket.

  What a horrible night!

  She’d been tortured by dreams. Strange, disjointed dreams of flying horses and charging bulls, puppies and calves and colts, crying children and tall dark-haired cowboys bathed in the light of fireworks. She remembered running, as if being chased, but never knowing who or what pursued her.

  Strangest of all, she’d dreamed she was in the huge kitchen at Paradise, preparing Thanksgiving dinner—roast turkey, baked yams, peas with pearl onions, hand-mashed potatoes with gravy, and several kinds of pie. She’d looked like a 1950s housewife, complete with a shirtwaist dress, petticoats, and a string of pearls around her neck.

  Whatever had she eaten to cause such dreams?

  Worse yet, she’d dreamed her computer was missing, her entire manuscript lost. She groaned as she tossed off the blanket. She wouldn’t know a moment’s peace until she went to the living room and made certain everything was where it was supposed to be.

  She yanked on her bathrobe, slid her feet into her house slippers, and opened her bedroom door. The wonderful aroma of coffee met her. Anne was up. Was it that late in the morning?

  “Hey, sleepyhead,” her sister greeted as Shayla shuffled down the hall.

  Before she answered, she glanced toward her desk, verifying her computer had not been stolen while she slept. That confirmed, she mumbled, “Morning,” and made a beeline for the kitchen and a cup of java.

  Anne grinned. “I was beginning to wonder about you.”

  “What time is it?” She filled a large mug with coffee.

  “Almost nine.”

  "Nine? ” Shayla turned toward the clock on the wall.

  Her sister laughed. “That’s what I thought. You never sleep this late.”

  “I had a rough night.”

  Thankfully Anne didn’t inquire what had made it so. “Ty is driving me down to Boise. He’s got the day off. We plan to do some shopping at the mall and who knows what else. Maybe see a show at the movie complex they’ve got there. Twenty-one theaters. Lots of choices. Want to come along?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Didn’t think you would. Just as well anyway. I’ve got a bad crush on this cowboy, and I don’t need a big sister acting as chaperone when I want to be alone with him. If you know what I mean, and I think you do.”

  Shayla looked at Anne over the top of her mug as she took a sip of coffee. Yes, she knew what her sister meant.

  Anne laughed again. “Don’t worry. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  “Sure you will.” As she turned away, she whispered, “Everybody’s on their best behavior when they’re twenty-one.”

  “I heard that,” Anne called in a singsong voice as she ran up the stairs.

  An hour later, with her sister off to Boise with Ty and her morning devotions completed, Shayla sat at the computer, clad in one of her baggy T-shirts and a loose-fitting pair of shorts, her coffee mug close at hand. She worked furiously, trying to immerse herself in her story, determined to think of nothing else.

  Especially not of Nat.

  Except she did think of him. Because the hero of her novel, Chet Morrison, was a dead ringer for Nat O’Connell. So every time she typed Chet’s name, it was Nat whom she pictured in her mind.

  All of a sudden, she wondered who would cook Thanksgiving dinner for Nat, Cathy and Angie, come the fourth Thursday in November.

  “Oh, brother. It’s the middle of summer. This has got to stop.”

  She tried to concentrate on her book again…and failed.

  Ty had the day off. So what were Nat and the twins doing? Maybe they’d gone to the lake a
gain. Maybe they’d gone for a horseback ride.

  “What happened to my riding lessons?”

  Her eyes widened. She couldn’t believe she’d said that.

  “This is ridiculous. I’ve completely lost my mind.”

  She pressed Save, then closed out of her program, done writing for the day.

  Calling herself every name for a fool, she grabbed her purse, went out to the car, and drove to Paradise Ranch.

  If Nat was lucky, he would die before noon.

  He lay on the cool tile of the bathroom floor, too weak to crawl to his bed, too sick to go far from the toilet. He didn’t know if it was something he’d eaten or the stomach flu. Whatever it was, he hoped it was over soon. Death didn’t seem a bad option at the moment.

  Through the heating vent, he heard Cathy and Angie talking to each other. He wondered where they were, what they were doing, if they were okay.

  He should call someone. The girls were too young to look out for themselves for a whole day. And if he did die—which seemed a real possibility—someone would have to look after them until their parents could get back to the States.

  He didn’t know how long it was before he heard an uncertain voice from nearby.

  “Uncle Nat?”

  He started to open his eyes, then thought better of it the minute the room began to spin.

  “Would you like some chicken soup? That’s what Mommy gives us when we’re sick.”

  He moaned in answer. The very idea of food made him want to upchuck again.

  They must have understood, for they left.

  He should have told them to call Shayla. Why hadn’t he thought of it before it was too late? Who knew what they might do while he lay there, unable to move? What if they toppled something else over on top of themselves? What if this time the injury was more serious than what happened last week?

  The phone. He needed to reach the bedside phone.

  Squeezing his eyes tight against the weaving and swirling, he struggled to rise. He managed to get to his feet while gripping the open shower door.

  He made it a distance of about four feet. Then the floor seemed to disappear from beneath him. He felt himself tumbling, falling, pitching toward some dark, bottomless pit.

  “Nat!”

  Shayla tried to reach him in time to break his fall. She wasn’t fast enough. He hit the floor with a frightening thud.

  She turned toward the twins, feigning a calm she didn’t feel. “Girls, I need a large glass of ice water. Do you think you can get it for me? There’s ice and water in the refrigerator door, and those large plastic glasses in the cupboard next to the sink. Like the ones you had for the picnic yesterday. Can you do that for me?”

  “Sure. We can get it.”

  “Is Uncle Nat gonna be okay?”

  “Yes. Now go on, and be careful getting that glass out of the cupboard. One of you hold the step stool while the other climbs to get the glass.”

  “Okay.”

  She waited until they were out of sight, then returned to Nat’s side. He was pale as a sheet. Her palm on his forehead confirmed her suspicions. He burned with a fever.

  “Nat? It’s Shayla. Nat, can you hear me?”

  His eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t open them.

  “Nat, try to look at me. Wake up and look at me.”

  He seemed to be coming around.

  She stood and went into the bathroom. She held a washcloth under cold running water, then wrung it out before returning to kneel next to him.

  “Nat, look at me.” She placed the folded cloth on his forehead. “Come on. Wake up.”

  Finally he opened his eyes. They were glazed, glassy, unfocused.

  “Can you see me?”

  “Sort of.” His voice was hoarse and nearly inaudible.

  “The twins said you’ve been in here forever.”

  He groaned. “Not all that long…I don’t think. Just since…early this morning.”

  “Can we get you onto the bed?”

  “I don’t know.” He moistened his fever-chapped lips with the tip of his tongue. “Let’s find out.”

  She scooted across the floor to position herself at his head. Then she placed her knees against his shoulders and leaned forward, sliding her hands beneath him. “I’ll lift you. Don’t try to hurry. Just get your bearings. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  They seemed to be doing fine. At least until it was time to help him stand. Then Shayla wondered if her plan was such a good one. He was heavier than he looked. But somehow they managed to keep him upright long enough to reach the bed, a thankfully short distance from where he’d fallen.

  The girls returned a moment after Nat’s head hit the pillow, his eyes closed again, a clammy sweat beading his forehead.

  “Here’s the water,” Cathy said, holding the glass toward Shayla. “We put in lots of ice.”

  “Thanks.” She took it from the girl, then leaned over the bed. “Cathy and Angie brought you some cold water. Can you take a sip?”

  “I think I’d rather just…lie here…for a while. Nice and still.”

  “Okay. I’ll be back in a little bit to check on you.” She straightened. “Come on, girls. Let’s let your uncle get some rest, shall we?”

  “Are you sure he’s gonna be okay?” Angie asked as they left the bedroom and descended the stairs.

  “I’m sure.” She wasn’t sure at all. She planned to call the doctor as soon as she had the girls fed.

  From the condition of the kitchen, it was obvious the twins had fixed their own breakfast that morning. Dry cereal was scattered on the floor, and the milk carton sat on the counter next to the refrigerator, tiny white puddles pooling nearby.

  “Help me tidy up,” she told them, “and then I’ll make some grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch.”

  “Good. I’m hungry.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Me, three.” Shayla forced a smile she didn’t feel. “Cathy, you get a dishcloth and wipe off the table. Angie, you grab the broom and sweep up the cereal. I’ll clean the counter and stovetop.”

  It didn’t take them long to put things right. The twins were more help than she expected them to be. Within fifteen minutes, Shayla had the girls seated at the kitchen table, eating their sandwiches. Then she slipped away to use the phone in Nat’s office. The doctor’s receptionist put her right through to Dr. Dobbins, and Shayla explained to him what she had found when she arrived at Paradise.

  “I’ll be out that way later this afternoon,” Dr. Dobbins told her. “But I wouldn’t worry. Give him aspirin for the fever and plenty of fluids so he doesn’t get dehydrated.”

  “I will.”

  “I should be there about two. Three o’clock at the latest.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Dobbins. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem. And don’t worry, Miss Vincent.”

  After placing the receiver in its cradle, Shayla returned to the kitchen. The twins were polishing off the last of their grilled cheese sandwiches. She joined them at the table and took a bite of her own sandwich, now cold and soggy, but she scarcely noticed. She was too deep in thought.

  Nat had said he couldn’t get along without her. Seems it was true. Did she mind all. that much? Not really. He wasn’t imposing upon her. He wasn’t even well enough to ask for anything.

  She frowned. It was her own fault, she realized, the way her siblings had taken advantage of her. But that didn’t mean she should expect Nat to do the same, and it didn’t mean she wanted to live her life alone, either. Having healthy boundaries didn’t mean closing out the entire world. Writing for the Lord didn’t mean she couldn’t have…

  Couldn’t have what?

  Father-God, I’m confused. I don’t know what I want or what I’m supposed to want. Help me, please.

  Shayla straightened in her chair, lifting her gaze toward the girls seated across from her. “My sister told me Ty and Mick have the day off, so it’s up to us to get the chores done.” Not that she knew th
e first thing about ranch chores.

  The twins looked at her in expectation.

  “I guess the first thing we’d better do is check on the animals. Have you helped your uncle in the barn?”

  They shook their heads.

  She’d hoped for a different answer.

  “Well, we’d better see what we can do.” She took one more bite, then rose from her chair. “Come on.”

  Shayla led the way out of the house. The first thing she heard was barking. When the kennels came into view, the dogs went wild, whining and jumping in excitement.

  “You poor things,” Shayla crooned. “Closed up for so long. Good Coira. Good Bonny. Good Belle.” As she spoke, she opened the gates to each pen and let them out.

  Cathy and Angie joined Shayla in petting the dogs and reassuring them.

  “Let’s find the dog food, shall we? They must be starved by now.” She patted Belle’s head again. “Good thing your puppies are all in new homes. Huh, giri?”

  After finding where the dog food was stored, Shayla filled the dogs’ water and food dishes, then went into the barn. She hadn’t been worried about messing up when it came to feeding the dogs, but the livestock were another matter. She was relieved to find only one stall occupied. Better yet, the horse in it was the ever-gentle Pumpkin.

  Water, she told herself. Water was the first priority.

  She found a pump with a hose attached outside the south door of the barn. The other end of the hose had a spray nozzle so she assumed it was safe to raise the lever on the pump.

  So far, so good.

  Speaking softly to Pumpkin, she opened the gate and went in. It took only a moment to refill the reservoir in the comer. The mare nickered, as if in appreciation.

  “You’re hungry, too. Aren’t you, Pumpkin?”

  Another nicker, accompanied by a bob of the head.

  By this time, Cathy and Angie had climbed up on the side of the stall and were observing from above the top rail.

  “Do you have any idea how much hay a horse needs?” She stroked the mare’s muzzle.

  “Nope.”

  “Neither do I. I suppose I’d better ask your uncle. I don’t need a sick horse on my hands.”