Small-Town Bachelor

by Jill Kemerer

  Damaged roofs, pole barns stripped to their frames, rubble-covered sidewalks, furniture strewn through the streets, cars flipped over in yards—everywhere Claire looked there was devastation.

  “Whoa,” she said. “Is it like this all over?”

  Dad slowed to avoid a set of patio cushions. “One side of Main Street is unrecognizable. The twister took out several roofs in the new subdivision and ripped up trees on a warpath to the restaurant, but it curved away from there. That’s what I’m being told, at least.”

  She hoped he was right. Lake Endwell was a small community. Claire biked everywhere, including the quaint downtown, the veterinary clinic, the church and her father’s house. Most of Lake Endwell was within two miles of her home. She drove to volunteer at the zoo, though. The thirty-minute commute gave her time to think.

  They neared her road, a narrow paved lane winding down to the lake. Large sections of newly cut tree trunks had been rolled to the shoulder. Dad’s truck drove over smaller branches and leaves. Claire held her breath. Other than a flipped boat and some minor oddities, there didn’t seem to be any severe damage. She leaned forward.

  Granddad’s huge old cabin rose proudly against the sparkling turquoise lake. Over sixty years old, the cabin with its hunter-green siding, white trim and white wraparound decks still impressed. A spacious, welcoming vacation spot—she never tired of gazing at it from her porch next door. A driveway and lawn separated their properties. What she wouldn’t give to wave to Granddad each morning, the way she had done when he was alive. Even when he became wheelchair bound, he lived in this beautiful home. The family made it completely handicap accessible so he could wake up to his view of the lake every morning. After he died, it became the go-to place for any out-of-town guests.

  Claire’s smaller, butter-yellow cottage came into view. Still standing. She let out the breath she’d been holding. The window boxes Dad had built last year spilled pink and purple petunias, giving it the homey air she adored. He cut the engine, and, muscles protesting, she shot out of her seat. The sun warmed her face as she raced to the back fence, fumbled with the handle and charged into the backyard, stopping short.

  What a mess.

  The winds had wreaked havoc back here. The entire forest seemed to have fallen on her lawn, and her two lounge chairs had disappeared. The patio umbrella dangled upside down against the corner of the fence.

  No signs of the otters. Her heart dropped to her stomach.

  She would not panic.

  They were here. They had to be here.

  She ran to the cellar, hoping, praying. Down the slippery, damp concrete steps, into the cool darkness. She waited for her eyes to adjust. Her gut clenched. Please...

  There. In the corner, Hansel and Gretel slept, all curled around each other. Quietly, she went to them, softly petting each to confirm they were alive. Hansel lifted his head, his nose high in the air, and yawned before tucking back under Gretel’s body. Their distinctive musk brought tears to Claire’s eyes.

  “Well, hello to you too.” She grinned, straightening. “I can see the storm didn’t bother either of you.”

  A loud noise brought her back up the cellar steps. The small pond would need to be cleared of leaves and sticks, but she could safely leave the otters alone. Shading her eyes, she looked up—Dad had already found the ladder, climbed to her roof and was pounding loose shingles back in place.

  “This will only take a minute, Claire. You don’t want these flapping off in the next storm. Why don’t you go in and grab something to eat? Or better yet, go to bed.”

  Her stomach growled. How long had it been since she last ate?

  At the welcome sight of her living room, her sanctuary, her knees almost buckled. She’d sit a minute. Just a minute.

  Unable to fight her sheer lack of energy, she sank into the couch. A million worries raced. Although the wedding made Claire wary, she sympathized with Libby. It would be terrible to come so close only to have a tornado destroy the plans. Claire would bring her some flowers and brownies and let her cry on her shoulder for half the night if need be. She would be there for Libby, the way she always was and always would be.

  And what about Reed? Stuck in the hospital, far away from home. At least he had his parents and Jake.

  She burrowed deeper into the pillow. Reed was going to need a lot of care. The cast, wheelchair...pain.

  A guy like him always got snatched up, but yesterday, Aunt Sally told her he was single. Claire yawned. Single, schmingle. Who cared? She’d thumped the final nail in her romantic-notions coffin long ago. If Justin hadn’t convinced her to give up on men, Dr. Jerk Face had. A Tuesday girl...

  Nope. Wasn’t going there.

  Images from last night danced in her mind—hanging the balloons, the comfortable feeling she always got in Uncle Joe’s Restaurant, Reed coming in dripping wet, the sirens...

  The rest swirled like the storm that held them hostage until she fell asleep.

  * * *

  If Reed had to guess, he’d say his ankle resembled one of the bloated balloons in Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Snoopy, probably. The swelling pressed against the inside of his cast, a painful reminder of his captivity. His foot felt as though it weighed at least seven hundred pounds. When would it stop throbbing?

  “Claire, do you still have those yoga blocks?” Sally, the barely five-foot-tall woman who could command an army general, stepped away from the couch with a throw pillow in hand. She fluffed it twice. Dale, Claire’s dad, was doing who knew what in the bedroom. This was the weirdest Monday morning Reed had spent in...well...ever.

  “Yoga blocks? What are those?” Dale’s voice carried. “We need more hangers. I’ve got three shirts to hang up and no hangers.”

  Claire poked her head in through the open sliding door, where she swept twigs and leaves off the deck. “The blocks are in my closet. Should I get them?”

  “Yes, and grab a bunch of hangers while you’re at it.” Sally wore jeans rolled up at the ankles and a Race for the Cure T-shirt. Flamingo earrings grazed her shoulders.

  “Okay, I’ll be right back.” Claire disappeared.

  “Yoga blocks, Dale,” Sally’s voice echoed as she tucked the pillow behind Reed’s neck. “You remember—those blue foam dealies from last year when Libby convinced her to take Marissa’s class.”

  Reed studied the cottage’s living area. Streams of sunlight flooded the hardwood floors, and the warm lake breeze tickled the edges of the white sheer curtains. If he wasn’t in so much pain, he’d like it here. Well, he’d like it better if the Sheffields weren’t making such a fuss.

  Sally hovered over him. The woman seemed to be everywhere at once. She and Dale were clearly siblings—Reed had never seen two people with so much energy.

  “How are you feeling?” Sally brushed his hair from his forehead. “Do you want a drink? A painkiller?”

  Reed inhaled with a hiss. He wanted to tell her he was fine. He didn’t need yoga blocks—whatever they were. Or tender motherly touches. Or pillows behind his head. But the skyrocketing throbs prevented him from speaking. He shook his head, not even attempting to smile.

  Sally made a clucking noise. “You don’t need to suffer. I’m getting one of those pills.”

  Dale trekked back into the living room. “Marissa... Marissa... Oh, you mean the Schneider girl? She teaches yoga? Huh. They still taking the class?”

  “Nope. Claire hated it.” With a glass in one hand and a prescription bottle in the other, Sally pivoted around the kitchen counter. “Marissa got on some odd hot yoga bandwagon. Claire said it made her too sweaty. And Libby didn’t want to do it without Claire.” She handed Reed a pill and the water, then stood there until he had no choice but to swallow it. She stacked pillows under Reed’s cast for the eighth time, propping his aching foot up. “Reed, you need to wiggle your to
es.”

  He gripped the edge of the cushion. No way he was putting his foot in more agony.

  “Come on, now. Wiggle those toes. Don’t make me call the doctor.”

  “Fine.” Reed concentrated until the big toe moved. A flash of heat spread through his torso, and a bead of sweat dripped down his temple past his ear.

  “Good job!” Sally said. “Keep moving them whenever you think of it. You’ll heal faster.”

  Dale hustled to the kitchen—the living room, kitchen and dining room were one large open space—and rummaged through a drawer. “His suitcase is unpacked. Should I stop at the store? Get some groceries?” Paper in hand, he returned to stand next to Sally and clicked a pen. “Tell me what he needs.”

  “Crackers, soda, things that are easy on the stomach. Doubt he’ll want much to eat today. I’m sure he’ll have more of an appetite tomorrow.”

  Reed ground his teeth together. Why were they talking about him as if he weren’t there?

  “Reed?” Sally leaned over him. “We’re going to the store. What can we get you?”

  His head swam. “My phone and laptop.”

  She laughed. “You don’t need those. You need to rest. I meant, what kind of food do you like—snacks, soda, fruit? We’ll get it for you.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Oh, hush. There’s no stopping us. Help us make up this list, and we’ll get out of your hair for a while so you can sleep.”

  Dale cleared his throat. “I’ll get your phone and your laptop.”

  “He shouldn’t be working.” Sally narrowed her eyes at Dale.

  “The man needs his electronics.” Dale disappeared again.

  Reed’s neck relaxed. Dale had just gone up a notch in his book.

  “Let’s start with produce. Bananas? Apples? Watermelon?” Sally hashed out a grocery list at least fifty items too long, but she kept naming off foods and wouldn’t listen to Reed’s objections.

  Dale dragged the coffee table closer to the couch, plugged in Reed’s laptop and set his phone on the table. “Need any help before we take off?”

  Reed shook his head.

  “Take a nap,” Sally said. “And keep wiggling those toes.”

  She walked to the front door with Dale at her heels. They kept up a steady stream of conversation all the way out. Reed moved his toes once more. Broke out in another sweat at the effort. Then he stared at the vaulted wooden ceiling.

  Trapped.

  In more ways than one.

  The car ride from the hospital to the cottage had been agonizing. Every bump, every turn, every tap on the breaks ignited his leg. The jolting wheelchair ride up the ramp to the cabin had sent him to level nine on the pain scale. And moving him to the couch? He might be stuck in this exact position for two weeks, because he was not going through that torture again.

  “Yoo-hoo.” Claire sailed in through the front door. “I’ve got the blocks.”

  “You just missed them.” Reed twisted his neck to watch her. She wore a white T-shirt with I Love My Zoo in black letters. He pointed at her face. “The bruise under your eye is turning purple.”

  “Yeah, I try to coordinate my injuries with my clothes. Less need for makeup.” She swiped her hand down the air in front of her lavender running shorts. “You like?”

  He did like. And he’d smile but his leg tortured him. The painkillers could not kick in soon enough.

  “I’m not sure what Aunt Sally wants with these.” Claire held a large paper bag with blue foam peeking out and a bundle of hangers. “But I’ve learned not to ask questions. The woman is a master. Hey, does your dad know you were released this morning? I didn’t even think to call him. Should I call him now?”

  “No!” The word came out sharper than he intended. “I mean, no, it’s Monday, right? He’s at work. I’ll call him later.”

  “Yes, it’s Monday.” A quizzical look flashed across her face, but she brightened. “Okay. So I’m sure Jake’s told you the latest wedding drama.”

  Jake hadn’t, but Reed wasn’t ready to admit it. He’d play along. “What’s Libby take on it?”

  Claire plopped into the tan chair kitty-corner from the couch. “Let’s say the idea of a cake-only reception didn’t go well.”

  “Why only cake?” He had no experience with weddings or much of anything besides his job and the parks in the Chicago vicinity. His mountain bike had seen them all. How long would it be until he could ride again?

  “Uncle Joe’s Restaurant is closed indefinitely. Every other hall is booked. The church is too. So their options have dwindled.” She rubbed her arm, concern in her eyes.

  “What are they going to do?”

  “I’m not sure. Libby and I spent so much time getting all the details perfect—it will be hard for her to let go.”

  Reed’s cell phone rang. His boss. “Claire, do you mind if I take this?”

  “Of course not! I’ll finish sweeping the deck and give you some privacy. I’ve got to take off for work in a little bit anyway.”

  Before he answered, Reed admired her as she disappeared outside. The phone rang again.

  Boss. Phone. Right.

  “Reed here.”

  “Hey, how far have you made it?” John’s hearty voice was the healthy dose of normal Reed needed. Fifteen years older than Reed, John Dalton was more a mentor and friend than boss. “You must be in Minnesota by now, or wait, North Dakota.”

  “Change in plans.” Reed winced as he shifted to sit up. “Get this. A tornado roared through town Friday night. No wedding. And no Alaska.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Broken leg. I’m hanging out in Lake Endwell a week or so. Just until I’m out of the wheelchair.”

  “Wheelchair?” John sucked in a throaty breath. “I can’t believe it. Everyone else okay?”

  “Yeah, I heard the town got hit pretty hard, though, so I’m going to do what I can to help organize crews until I get back. You have any leads for this area?”

  “I’ll look into it.” Papers shuffled in the background. “How are things with your dad?”

  “As awkward as usual.”

  “Sorry. For what it’s worth, I give you credit. Maybe you’ll work it out while you’re there.”

  “I doubt it.” Reed flexed his fingers. “You might as well have Cranston send me the monthly reports. Oh, and the forms he told me about. It’ll give me a chance to get familiar with the new position. If I’m stuck on the couch, I want to be doing something.”

  John chuckled. “Always working, aren’t you? I’ll send them, but focus on getting that leg healed. And I’ll call you when I get more info about contractors down there.”

  They said goodbye and hung up. Reed tapped the phone against his chin. Two raps on the glass door had him hitching his chin for Claire to enter.

  “Well, my work is done here.” She grinned and dusted off the front of her shorts. “Anything I can get you before I head to work?”

  “Should you be working today? You’re still pretty beat up.”

  Her cheeks sagged. “My boss expects me there. But I’ll come back over tonight.” She drifted to him, and he found himself holding his breath. What was she doing? She grabbed his cell phone, swiped it and a minute later, set it on the coffee table. “There. I programmed my number. You need anything, text me, okay?”

  “Wait.” He didn’t want her to go. Not yet. “Have you seen the restaurant?”

  “No.” She frowned and sat in the chair. “The dining room survived, but not much else. At least that’s what I’m hearing. I’m not sure I want to see for myself.”

  “I’m glad part of it is still standing.”

  “I am too.” Uncertainty shone in her eyes. “What if it needs to be torn down? I don’t like to think of it in shambles
, but I’ll take shambles over nonexistent.”

  “A good builder wouldn’t tear it down unless it was absolutely necessary.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about.” She twisted her hands together and bit her lower lip. “If I asked for a favor...”

  A favor? What kind of favor? His stomach tightened, but her pleading eyes broke through his defenses. He wanted to help.

  “I know you’re hurt and won’t be here long, but could you help Aunt Sally and Uncle Joe find a good contractor?”

  He exhaled in relief. “If they need help, of course. I’ve worked with disaster relief crews in the past, and red tape can hold up projects for months.”

  “What do you mean by red tape?”

  “Getting the insurance adjusters, builders and business owners to agree on costs and schedules is no easy task.” Pain spread from his ankle again. “Let’s hope there won’t be any problems, and the work will get started right away.”

  Claire stood, rubbing her arm. “But what if there are problems?”

  “I know how to get things moving.”

  Smiling, she grazed his hand with her fingertips. “Thank you. And I insist on helping in any way I can.” She checked her watch. “Oh! I’ve got to go. Get some rest, okay?”

  She glided through the kitchen and let herself out.

  He lay back against the pillows. The thought of working with Claire set off warning alarms, but he dismissed them. He’d be back home in a week. All he had to do was focus on rebuilding the town, and no one would get hurt.

  Chapter Three

  “Really, Claire? I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”

  Claire took a deep breath before turning to Tammy Lathrop—Dr. Tammy—the boss she never seemed to please. The small examination room at the clinic smelled of wet dog, cleaner and dog biscuits, which usually didn’t bother Claire, but today the medley of scents closed in on her. The fact that she should have been home thirty minutes ago didn’t help. Eight hours on her feet every Monday was bad enough—today’s tally would be closer to nine.