The Doctor's Devotion. Cheryl Wyatt
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she’d found the two most important people in her life barely breathing.
Life as she knew it had suddenly crumbled and fallen through fragile fingers.
Today the smell didn’t repel because she equated it with Lem, her lifeline after her parents had died. In those days, Lem talked unceasingly about how heaven was the promise that she’d see her parents again. He told stories of what Jesus had to go through in order to whisper that promise to mankind.
Memories flooded back through a river of time and nearly swept Lauren off her feet. Every coloring page she’d perfected at this table, every dish she’d set and every summer meal she’d eaten. All with Grandpa. He’d become her mom and dad rolled into one.
How could she have abandoned him all these years? Yet hadn’t he encouraged her nursing dream?
She swallowed a hard lump and ran her hands across the country tablecloth. How could one forget a rickety table meant for six, yet set for two, that housed a million happy memories?
“Never get rid of this, Grandpa,” she whispered hoarsely.
Mitch looked up, eyes sharpening. Grandpa paused, and unlike Mitch, his gaze seemed to fade back in years. Perhaps to meet hers at a time and place where their memories mingled and played. Toys. Crafts. Food. Games. Baking. Devotions. Love. Life. Loss. Hard times. Happy times. Tears. Fun. Stories. Laughter. Learning. Faith. Family. A bond no two others shared.
Until Mitch.
And that upended Lauren’s world more than he could know.
Slowly, Lem set a steaming plate of sausage and eggs in front of her. “Still like ’em scrambled best?” Gentle remembrance and solid knowing seeped into Lem’s life-and-loss-wizened eyes. He’d been through everything she had and more.
He knew every tear she’d cried, every boy she’d liked, every stunt she’d tried and every piece of toast she’d ever burned. An unfortunate many.
No one knew her like Grandpa. In fact, no one knew her at all except Grandpa. Not even her Texas friends. Life suddenly felt very lonely. Yet had Mitch come to know her through Grandpa’s gift—the power of story?
Suddenly Grandpa’s vast love for books and storytelling held greater meaning. He loved words so much, he’d used Grandma’s life insurance money to found and fund the local library, something Grandma had always wanted yet never lived to see.
What would become of Lauren if Grandpa died at seventy? Irrational or not, fear welled. Lauren had a tough time quelling it, even as Mitch and Grandpa eyed her with growing concern. Panic pulsed through her. She took deep breaths to calm down.
Didn’t help.
“Yep, still—” For some reason, her throat clogged.
They’d shared so much. She and Grandpa.
No two people possessed the treasure of memories they cherished. Not even Mitch, who studied them gently now.
Yet Mitch and Grandpa had undoubtedly made their own trove of memories. Suddenly and without warning, she wanted in.
Back into Grandpa’s life.
Grandpa shuffled contentedly to the stove to continue his domestic dance of eclectic hospitality. As his comforting and familiar clatter of pans resumed, Lauren sized up her foe.
Mitch stared at her with precision, proving he’d picked up on her envious vibes. Hopefully he’d see her need to resume her rightful place in Grandpa’s heart and life and back off a bit.
If she thought she was determined, it was no match for the titanium will steeling his liquid silver eyes and chiseling stony angles in the jaw he tenaciously jutted.
Instinctually she knew he’d been a rock for Grandpa to lean on in her absence. Who was she to interfere or tear that down?
They needed to find a middle ground. Problem was, his devotion toward Lem made her feel even more irate. At Mitch, yes, but more at herself for letting things like her emotional distance with Grandpa get this way to begin with.
They continued to stare at one another silently but by no means quietly. His breathtaking eyes spoke of loyalty and love as he rose and took a territorial stance next to Lem. Hip reclined against the counter, Mitch’s muscle-thickened arms folded across his broad chest. Not breaking eye contact, he leaned toward Grandpa with undeterred aplomb. Mitch’s massive height and build morphed into a force of protective nature.
He was clearly afraid she’d run off and hurt Grandpa again.
Their challenge-wrapped exchange was protected from Lem only because his back was to them as he whistled over sumptuous chocolate gravy bubbling in the pan. Lem was the only person Lauren knew who served dessert at every meal, including breakfast.
She doubted even Grandpa’s sugary gravy could sweeten Mitch up this moment or erase the resolve on his face. It blared his thoughts. He wasn’t about to lose ground just so she could gain it. He’d not alter his friendship with Lem for anyone. She knew this for certain, because he made no attempt to hide his expressive countenance and protective body language from her. Mitch’s gaze drifted to Grandpa and softened in such a way to pierce her heart with a two-pronged spear of remorse and regret.
If one picture could say a thousand words, Mitch’s face was a photo montage. Tenderness scrolled across masculine planes, and deep care swept into the valleys. Grandpa’s incessant Mitch stories afforded her the ability to ascertain that Mitch’s will to fight for a hold on Lem’s heart stemmed purely from admiration, loyalty and love.
No doubt a by-product of Lem’s reaching into Mitch’s desolate childhood and pulling him, a broken little smudge-faced boy, out of the ashes of poverty and hardship and teaching him how to live and love, work and pray, play and laugh like a man.
So what was her excuse? Why were her feelings so unruly?
She returned her attention to Grandpa. Had he the slightest inkling that he was the invisible rope in this unspoken, territorial tug of warring hearts?
Mitch probably thought she was a flake and that she’d end up hurting Grandpa by leaving and not staying in touch. But he had no right to insert himself into her business. Unfortunately, Grandpa had given Mitch full right to insert himself into Lem’s.
There was nothing she could do about that, but she could do her best to make up for lost time with Grandpa, with or without Mitch. Preferably without. He was a multifaceted distraction, and one she could not afford in any fashion.
Grandpa set a gravy dish of cocoa goodness in the middle of the table. Mitch served them, starting with her. He ladled a heap of chocolate gravy over one of Grandpa’s homemade biscuits she’d torn into quarter-size chunks over her plate.
She tried not to soften at Mitch’s sweet Southern manners. Or notice the way his well-muscled forearm moved with motion that mesmerized. How many broken soldiers had those careful and caring hands mended? How many lonely days had Mitch’s smile and presence brightened for Grandpa, who struggled with loneliness?
Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked vehemently.
She felt Mitch’s militant intentional gaze on her again and remembered she hadn’t brushed her crazy hair. Or finished answering Grandpa’s question of many awkward moments ago.
Self-consciousness flitted through her. “What’d you ask?”
“You never did tell me if you still like your eggs scrambled best,” Grandpa repeated with a spirit of patience.
She patted her head. “Yep. Scrambled like my hair this morning.” She slid a sideways glance at Mitch. Maybe he hadn’t noticed the big red mop.
Oh, he noticed, all right—because he stared right at it.
Mitch cleared his throat. “You have nice hair, Lauren.”
Lauren wasn’t sure Lem, fiddling again at the stove, heard. She also wasn’t sure she liked Mitch being nice, or the