Rekindled Romance. Lorraine Beatty
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be busy. You know how Mom felt about being unproductive. If she had any idea how much time I spent looking at your magazines when I was here, she’d have never let me come back.”
“Your mother wanted you to have an education and be able to take care of yourself.”
“And I can, but now everyone’s telling me to stop and stand still.”
Gramma exhaled a sympathetic sigh. “I understand. But this is a new chapter in your life, and you’ll have to find something different to fill your time. Something quieter, slower paced.”
The thought made Shelby’s skin crawl. She didn’t like being inactive. She like planning and deadlines. “I’m not sure I can do that.”
“You don’t really have a choice.” Gramma patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry to go off and leave you on your first day home, but I’m filling in at the hospital this afternoon for a friend. There’s chicken salad in the fridge in case you get hungry. It’s made with all low-fat, healthy ingredients. I’ll be home in a couple of hours if you want to eat together. In the meantime, relax.”
An hour later Shelby tossed her cell phone onto the dining room table and buried her head in her hands. It looked like the other shoe was about to drop at Harmon Publishing. Her boss had called to tell her a meeting had been scheduled for all upper management regarding the sale, but no other information had been given.
The ever-present knot of anxiety in her stomach grew. What would she do if she lost her job? How would she survive? Her mind churned with a frightening list of possible disasters. Her heart rate quickened, and a steady pressure began to build in her chest. She closed her eyes against a wave of fear. Was she having another heart attack or an anxiety attack? The doctor said the symptoms were similar. She’d been oblivious to her first episode, so how did she know if this was serious or not?
“Please, Lord, don’t let this be another one.” She’d experienced these symptoms before—the light-headedness, then a clammy sensation and a strange sense of foreboding. Her first thought had been a brain tumor. When the symptoms persisted, she’d gone to the clinic, but they’d sent her home with instructions to cut back on caffeine and sugar.
A second episode sent her to the hospital, where extensive tests had been run. That’s when Dr. Morgan had delivered his diagnosis and his ultimatum. Time off or face the consequences. She couldn’t afford to ignore this any longer. Not when death was the option.
Inhaling a slow, deep breath, she breathed a sigh of relief when her pulse slowed to normal once again and the tension eased. Frustration and anger quickly took its place, driving her outside onto the wooden porch swing. Her favorite refuge. The gentle back-and-forth movement settled her thoughts. It wasn’t fair. All she’d ever wanted was to work for a magazine. Her whole life since high school had been geared toward her career. She’d studied hard and sacrificed much to achieve her goal. Now it was all being taken away. Why was God doing this to her? Was this her punishment for ignoring Him all this time?
Tears stung the backs of her eyes. She squeezed them shut, unwilling to give in. She never cried. But since her diagnosis she’d started bursting into tears at the drop of a hat. It was infuriating.
“Chester!”
She looked up at the shout to see a small, scruffy gray dog dart up the steps of the porch and stop at her feet. The little dog growled and barked, inching forward then back as he defended his territory.
Shelby chuckled softly. “Oh, hush. I’m not going to hurt you.” Slowly she opened her hand, palm up, and inched it toward the dog. “See, it’s okay.”
The dog stopped growling and studied her. He retreated, then cocked his head and slowly moved forward. “There. Nothing to be upset about.” The dog’s tail began to wag furiously and he licked her hand. “Good doggie.” She stroked his small head. It was soft and warm.
“Chester! You’d better get yourself back over here before you get in trouble.”
Shelby looked up as a young girl came toward the house from the driveway. She appeared to be about eleven years old.
“Chester!” She hurried up the steps, placing her hands on her waist when she saw the dog. “You are in big trouble, mister.” She glanced at Shelby. “I’m sorry he barked at you, ma’am.”
“That’s okay. I think we worked it out. He’s a good watchdog. He knew I was a stranger so he was probably trying to protect you.”
The girl shrugged. “I guess.” She studied Shelby intently for a long moment. “Does Mrs. Bower know you’re here?”
Shelby smiled. “Yes. I’m going to be staying here for a while. I’m her granddaughter.”
The girl frowned. “I don’t remember you.”
“I’ve been away a long time. I live in New York City.” Shelby swallowed the regret that had been nagging at her since coming home. “My name is Shelby. And I take it this is Chester?”
“Yeah,” she groaned in disgust and frowned. “I didn’t name him. My brother did. My name is Cassidy.”
Shelby couldn’t help but smile at her grown-up indignation. “Nice to meet you, Cassidy.” Footsteps sounded on the steps, and a little boy joined them. He was out of breath.
“Aw, Chester you are in tra-bull. You can’t come over here.”
Cassidy rolled her eyes. “This is my little brother, Kenny. He’s six.”
Kenny stared at her.
“I’m Shelby. I’m staying here with my grandmother, Mrs. Bower.”
“Oh.” He smiled, displaying two deep dimples at the sides of his mouth. “She makes us sugar cookies.”
“I know. She made them for me when I was little. In fact, she made some for me today. Would you like one?”
Cassidy took hold of Chester’s collar. “Thanks, but we can’t take food from strangers.”
Shelby was momentarily taken aback. Then common sense kicked in and she smiled at the children. “That’s a good rule. You’re right. Maybe after we get to know each other, we can share some cookies.”
Cassidy smiled. Her thickly lashed, dark blue eyes triggered something familiar in the back of Shelby’s mind, but she couldn’t place it.
“We have to take Chester home now.” Cassidy tugged the dog toward the steps. “Our aunt will be wondering where we are.”
“Okay. Nice to have met you. You and Chester are welcome here any time.”
“Thanks. I’ll tell my dad.” Cassidy waved goodbye.
Shelby stood and walked to the edge of the porch, watching the children tugging the little dog back home. She’d wondered who lived next door in the duplicate house. Gramma had told her Mrs. Marshall had passed away several years ago and the house had changed hands a couple of times. Obviously a family lived there now.
As the children neared the porch of their home, an old battered van pulled into the driveway. The sign painted on the side read “Handy Works.” Decals of various tools decorated the side panels, proclaiming some sort of handyman business.
Shelby watched as the children hurried toward the van. The door opened, and a man emerged. Tall and well-built with dark brown hair, the deep blue knit shirt he wore emphasized strong, broad shoulders and muscular arms. Faded, well-worn jeans hugged his long legs like an old friend. Dusty, work-scuffed Western boots completed the masculine picture.
He turned, arms open as the children ran to him. He lifted them off the ground in a tight hug, swinging them back and forth playfully. Shelby smiled. Not only was the man ridiculously attractive, he obviously adored his children. A lethal combination. Cassidy and Kenny began chatting away. She could hear their little voices across the wide, shared driveway. Kenny suddenly pointed toward her, and she smiled, raising her hand. The father