Small-Town Bachelor. Jill Kemerer
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the counter and went to Reed. “What can I get you? Do you need help with anything?”
He blew out a breath and ran his hand through his hair, leaving it more rumpled than before. More tempting. “The chair. Help me into the wheelchair.”
She kneeled, setting his arm around her shoulder as he swung his legs to the side. He hissed.
“I’m sorry.” She touched his hard, muscular biceps. Big mistake. Warmth pooled in her stomach. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” he said through clenched teeth.
It took a few minutes and more exertion than she anticipated, but they succeeded in getting him into the chair. He slowly wheeled down the hall.
“Do you need me to help you?” she called after him.
“No. Got it.”
An acrid smell came from the kitchen. She jogged to the stove. The chicken had taken on a dark brown hue, but the chunks weren’t officially burned...just well done. Very well done. Stirring the rice, she realized she’d forgotten to cover the pan or put it on low, so a crispy layer coated the bottom.
She broke up the chunks, added a bit more water and hoped it would be edible.
Several minutes later she spooned rice and the chicken-and-vegetable mixture onto a plate, then shimmied past the counter to see what was keeping Reed.
“Are you okay?” She stretched her neck to see down the hall. Empty.
“Fine.”
“Need me to help?”
“No.” His voice sounded strained.
Should she stay? Help him? Or set the food on the table and leave?
“Your dinner is on the table,” she called.
“Okay.”
“Want me to stay?”
A clamor came from the hall. Reed wheeled back to her, the paleness in his face replaced by brick red. “You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.”
She hesitated. He didn’t look fine. But she didn’t want to intrude. And as much as her nursing instincts prodded her to monitor him, her feminine instincts hollered to get back home. Stat.
“I’ll eat with you and get you settled.” She pulled another plate out of the cupboard. Reed moved to the end of the table where she’d set his food.
Joining him, she bowed her head, said grace and motioned to his fork. “Go ahead.” She bit down on a too-crunchy piece of broccoli. The flavors in her mouth created an odd mixture of char, salt and teriyaki sauce. She almost spit it out. “This is disgusting. I’m making you a sandwich.”
He’d paled again. But he hadn’t touched his food, so dinner wasn’t to blame.
“Maybe you should lie down.” She bit her lower lip.
Nodding, he pushed himself back to the couch. She helped him get settled. He winced as she set his cast back onto the yoga blocks. “I’ll let you rest.”
“No, wait.” His hand darted out and clasped her wrist, sending awareness up her spine. “Stay.”
How could she refuse an injured man? One with eyes the exact brown of Gretel’s fur? Who’d put his life at risk to protect her? She gulped. One who...needed her?
Her downfall.
There went her good intentions to be nurselike. Detached.
Because being needed was her weakest spot. Always had been. Always would be.
* * *
Reed groaned. Why had he asked Claire to stay? When he was supposed to be focused on anything but her?
He was a needy mess, that was why.
“Of course I’ll stay.” Claire adjusted the pillow behind his neck, then sat in the leather chair. “Tomorrow, I’ll take you out on the deck. The fresh air will do you good.”
Fresh air or a slap in the face. Anything to get him rational again.
He searched for a safe topic to discuss. “What’s it like living here?” There. He’d be reminded of why Lake Endwell was the last place on earth he belonged. No skyscrapers, Wrigley Field, world-class museums—not that he ever went to any—gourmet restaurants or the Chicago Bears.
Claire smiled at him. “Good question. I’m not sure how to answer. It’s home. Dinners with my family right here in this cottage. Aunt Sally and Uncle Joe always cook. It’s barbecues, boat rides, bicycling around town. Ice cream at Tastee Freeze. Fourth of July picnic. A big Christmas tree–lighting ceremony in City Park by the gazebo.”
“Sounds idyllic.”
Her eyes twinkled. “When we were little, Dad took us kids to Cookie’s Diner on Saturday mornings. I always got hot chocolate and toast. I’d spread grape jelly on one slice and strawberry on the other. Cookie’s went out of business, so we all go to Pat’s Diner now. It’s one of the few buildings unaffected by the tornado. Thankfully, the church didn’t get touched either.”
“Do you still get hot chocolate and toast?”
She laughed. Reminded him of little bells. Happiness. “No. Omelets or pancakes for me. With a side of bacon. And coffee. Lots of coffee.”
“My kind of breakfast.” His leg hardly bothered him now. If she would just keep talking... “Tell me about the town. How bad does Main Street look?”
She shook her head, lifting her eyes to the ceiling. “Terrible. I don’t know how to process it. My favorite places are surrounded by piles of bricks and smashed windows. I mean, I got my ears pierced at JoJo’s Jewelry. Mom and Aunt Sally took me, and boy, was I excited! Mom held my hand the whole time. She died giving birth to Libby. It’s hard to have another link to her disappear, you know?”
Yeah. He did know. “My mom died when I was seven.” His links to her were long gone, and his memories weren’t that great to begin with. “How old were you?”
“I was six. You lost your mom too? Mine died of a postpartum hemorrhage. I still miss her. What happened to yours?”
“Car accident.” He’d learned to keep the story simple. It had been bad enough getting badgered by his classmates at school. Everyone whispered about it. The paper had spared no gory detail. Except no one knew the real reason why. Just him and Dad. Kind of.
She leaned over and squeezed his hand. He felt her touch all the way to his heart.
“I was blessed to have a little brother and baby sister to take care of. After the funeral, I promised to be the mom Libby and Sam needed. I tried to help my older brothers too, but the little ones needed me more. Aunt Sally really stepped in for us. She made sure we had the advice Mom would have given. I don’t know what I would have done without her.”
“You were a little kid. No one expected you to be their mother.”
She shrugged. “I know. But I had six wonderful years with Mom. Those two didn’t know her. I wanted to be there for them—for her sake. Did you have family step in and help out after your mom passed?”
He shifted his jaw. Usually, this was the point in the conversation he cracked a joke and changed the subject, but maybe it would be better for Claire to know the truth. Part of it anyway.
“No, they didn’t.” He folded his hands, let them rest on his abdomen. “In fact, after the funeral, Mom’s family acted like I didn’t exist. No more birthday parties or family get-togethers. My grandmother, who I spent a lot of time with as a kid, pretended she didn’t know me one day when we ran into her at the grocery store. We moved to another town a few months later.”
Claire’s mouth dropped open. “What? How could she? You were a little boy. I want to go there and give her a piece of my mind.”
He