Small-Town Bachelor

Her chest burned the more she thought about it. No wonder he wasn’t into families. She probably wouldn’t be either if she’d gone through what he had. And it made her wonder about Reed’s dad. Roger hadn’t come over to check on Reed. Aunt Sally said Jake stopped by last night. But not his own father? Strange.

Claire plodded inside to change. Her cooking skills clearly qualified her for the title of Worst Cook in America. At this point, a grilled cheese might be too much to hope for.

The phone rang as she shimmied into her khaki shorts.

“How’s my favorite niece?” Uncle Joe asked, not waiting for her to answer. “Sally got home early and made you and Reed dinner if you want to swing by and pick it up.”

Claire almost purred. “You two are lifesavers. How did you know I dreaded having to deal with dinner?”

“You never want to deal with dinner.” His raspy chuckle made her smile. “And you know your aunt. She lives to feed people. With the restaurant shut down, she’s going crazy. If she’s not cooking, she’s pestering.”

“Well, tell her not to stop,” she said. “I’ll be right there. Don’t let any of my cousins steal my food either. I know how they are.”

Claire slipped into her favorite sparkly black flip-flops, grabbed her purse and drove the mile to Uncle Joe and Aunt Sally’s house. Nestled on a wooded property, the ranch-style home hid behind a grove of evergreens. Claire parked next to her cousin’s beat-up truck and then loped to the front door. With a quick knock, she let herself in, calling, “It’s me.”

“Come on in.” Aunt Sally beamed from behind the kitchen counter. The smell of fried chicken made Claire’s stomach rumble. Aunt Sally pushed a plate of cheese and crackers toward her. “Don’t worry, I didn’t let Braedon touch your takeout containers.”

They had a running joke that Braedon, her twenty-five-year-old cousin who regularly stopped by for dinner, could eat a sumo wrestler under the table. Claire nibbled on a cracker. “Your hair looks fabulous. Have you heard anything about the restaurant? When do you think it will reopen?”

“Thanks, hon.” She fluffed her bangs. “The insurance adjuster hasn’t been out, but he told us to use their contractor. We’ve called the guy and keep getting a machine. I don’t like that we can’t pick our own builder. We need the restaurant up and running. Where will everyone go for Friday fish fry? And now that the weather’s gotten nice, people are looking to eat on the patio by the lake. I don’t know what we’ll do if we can’t get opened again soon.”

Claire hated to think of the restaurant shut down indefinitely, but she hadn’t gotten the nerve up to go back and see the damage for herself. The other night a sound from the television reminded her of the roof tearing off, and it had taken her ten minutes to calm down. “I’m praying.”

“Thanks.” Sally sniffed. “We don’t have it as bad as most of the folks around here. Lois and Herb moved to a hotel twenty minutes away until their house gets fixed, and I don’t know how those Riley sisters are doing it, living with half a roof. Don’t get me started on Miss Gert.”

“Miss Gert? Is Whiskers still missing?” Claire selected another cheese cube. “I thought Dad formed a search party.” Miss Gert was eighty-four, lived in a house so old it could have been built by Christopher Columbus himself and doted on her long-haired, extremely pudgy cat.

“Oh, they found him all right. Eating a dead bird in that ramshackle barn behind her place. But she can’t keep Whiskers inside with her back room damaged. She’ll have a heart attack worrying. I told Dale to get some of the boys together and patch it up for her, but she thinks the noise will hurt poor Whiskers’s ears.”

“Want me to go over and talk to her? Maybe I can take her to the grocery store or something while they do a quick repair job.”

“Would you?” Aunt Sally beamed. “I’d do it myself, but you know she can’t stand me. She aimed that BB gun of hers at my head last time I tried to bring her lunch.”

Claire laughed. “I’ll do my best. And let’s hope the insurance people and builders get things done quickly.”

“Reed’s boss called him while I was there yesterday. No calls have come through from any girls. I’d say he’s definitely girlfriend free.” Sally gave her a knowing look, then handed her the takeout bag. “You’d better get moving if you want to enjoy your meal while it’s hot. Tell Reed hi for us, and let him know I’ll be bringing lunch tomorrow around noon. I like that boy. He’s respectful and cute.”

Claire couldn’t deny it. He was cute.

“Nothing to say, huh?” Sally popped a hand on her hip. “Hey, I may be getting older, but I’m not blind. I’ll gladly bring a handsome guy lunch every day. Yes, I will. And I think you should make the most of this opportunity. A fine man like him hasn’t come through town in years.”

Claire wasn’t touching this conversation with a fly-fishing rod.

“How’s he been with you? Not much of a talker, is he?”

“He talks,” Claire said. “He’s probably in pain and doesn’t want to show it.”

“I’m sure you’re right. With you bringing him dinner, maybe we can convince him to stay.”

Not likely. “I think he’s pretty happy in Chicago.” Claire reached for the handles of the paper bag. She kissed her aunt on the cheek, thanked her and headed back to Granddad’s cottage.

Five minutes later, as she made her way up the ramp, she paused to savor the low sunlight spreading gold over the lake. Her favorite place in the world. God had touched this land, blessed it with beauty. Giving the side door a perfunctory two knocks, she cracked it open.

“Yoo-hoo, Reed? It’s Claire.” She set the bag on the large island and continued to the living room, stopping when she glimpsed him.

Shirtless.

Her mouth dried to ashes. Wow. Reed’s arms flailed over his head, and the T-shirt he wrestled with tangled in his hands and forearms. He muttered something, and she chortled, choking on a laugh as she sped to his side.

“Let me.” She tugged the cotton off him, and then, trying not to gawk at his bare chest—she’d be attempting to erase the image of that six-pack for some time, maybe forever—she straightened the material and stretched it over his neck. She spun on her heel to return to the kitchen. Why was she out of breath?

“When you’re ready, come to the table.” Her words came out higher-pitched than a three-year-old’s.

Reed followed her. His face had reddened—embarrassment or exertion?—but he stopped the wheelchair at the low farmhouse table next to a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Isn’t the view incredible? Another gorgeous day on the lake.” She snatched two plates out of the cupboard, piled silverware and napkins on top and quickly set the table. Then she divvied up the fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn and biscuits before taking a seat next to him. “Want me to say grace?”

“I’ll do it.” Reed folded his hands and said a prayer. When he finished, Claire smiled at him, but the hollowness in his eyes stopped her from digging into the food. “What’s wrong?”

He sent a sharp glance her way. “Nothing.”

“I didn’t cook this.” She backed her palms to her shoulders. “Aunt Sally did.”

That brought the hint of a smile to his unshaven face.

“Is it your leg? The first week is the worst for pain. Have you been taking your meds?” She strolled to the counter and found the orange bottles of various medications he was supposed to be taking.

“I’m fine,” he growled.

“You are not fine.” She held up one of the bottles. “I can see it in your eyes. I’m a trained professional, you know.”

“I’m not an animal.”

She chuckled. “I know. My otters are more playful. You’re grumpier.”

“Your...what?” His crinkled nose and eyebrows reminded her she’d never told him about the rescued babies.

“Otters. I’m caring for twins until the zoo takes them later this summer.”

“Why?”

“Their mom was attacked. Lost the use of her back legs. My friend Lisa runs an animal sanctuary nearby and was able to deliver the twins. They stayed with their mother until they were weaned, but Lisa only keeps injured animals. They’re too tame to be released into the wild, so I made an arrangement with the zoo. I’m housing them until the new exhibit is ready next month.” Finding the prescription ibuprofen, she returned to the table and slid the tablet his way. “Here. You should be a quarter way through the bottle by now. Haven’t you taken any?”

“I don’t need them.” He pushed it away. “Before you start lecturing, though, I have been taking the antibiotics.”

“I’m not lecturing.” Technically, she was lecturing, but she preferred to think of it as reminding. “Now is not the time to play tough guy, Reed. The painkillers will make this easier on you.”

The vein in his temple jumped. He ignored the pill and bit into his drumstick.