From This Day Forward

Sam knew from Liz that Cara was speaking from personal experience. And he’d been prepared to comfort her if necessary, as she had once comforted him. Instead, he’d been the one plagued by bad dreams while she slept soundly.

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

“I’ll do my best,” he responded.

Half-turning, she hesitated and looked over her shoulder. “Do you want me to get the aspirin for you?”

The trepidation in her eyes, the uncertainty, reminded him of the countless occasions when he’d snarled out an ungrateful response to such an offer. And filled him with gratitude that she’d been willing to risk reaching out once again.

Gentling his voice, he did his best to summon up a smile. “Thank you, but I can manage. You need your sleep. I’ll be okay by morning. Good night.”

Without waiting for a reply, he headed for the bathroom. Once there, he steadied himself on the edge of the sink, filled a glass with water and downed several aspirin in one gulp. Sitting on the edge of the tub, he drew steadying breaths until he felt able to make the trip back to his room.

When he stepped into the hall, the corridor was deserted. Yet glancing toward Cara’s room, he noted that the door was cracked a fraction of an inch. Had she forgotten to close it? Or had she left it that way on purpose, so she could hear if Sam had any further problems?

Sam assumed it was the former. She was tired, and it was the middle of the night, after all. No one thought clearly at this hour.

But for tonight, anyway, he was going to pretend it was the latter. Because if he allowed himself to believe she cared, he suspected that fantasy would do more than anything else to keep further nightmares at bay.

Chapter Five

“Hi. You must be Cara. I’m Marge Sullivan. Welcome to Oak Hill. Glad to see you arrived safe and sound yesterday.”

Juggling a mug of coffee in one hand, Cara stared at the vision standing on the other side of Sam’s front door. Well past middle-age, her gray hair cut in a trendy, spiky style, the woman wore lime-green capri pants and a gauzy, green-and-orange print tunic top nipped in at her stout waist with a gold chain-link belt.

When the unexpected visitor thrust out her hand, Cara was left with no choice but to take it. “Yes, I’m Cara. Thank you for the welcome.”

“Oh, we’re real neighborly around here.” The woman gave Cara’s hand a vigorous pump before releasing it. “I was in to see Dr. Martin last week. Hurt my knee a few years back, and every now and then it decides to cause a little trouble. Guess I’m just getting old.” She paused long enough to let loose with a hearty chuckle. “Anyway, he mentioned you were coming and I thought it might be nice to bring a little welcome gift.” She held out a plastic-wrapped package of what appeared to be homemade cinnamon rolls. “I know I probably shouldn’t be giving food to a chef. But these are our specialty at the Oak Hill Inn. Seemed like the best thing to bring.”

“Thank you. This is very kind.” Cara accepted the rolls, feeling at a loss. During dinner last night, Sam had given her a rundown on the town, as well as some of the residents, and she had a vague recollection of someone named Marge. But she’d been so busy trying to come to grips with the bizarre scenario of dining with her estranged husband in his home that she hadn’t paid much attention. A lapse she now regretted.

“The Oak Hill Inn is…the B and B?”