Small-Town Bachelor

And what about Reed? Stuck in the hospital, far away from home. At least he had his parents and Jake.

She burrowed deeper into the pillow. Reed was going to need a lot of care. The cast, wheelchair...pain.

A guy like him always got snatched up, but yesterday, Aunt Sally told her he was single. Claire yawned. Single, schmingle. Who cared? She’d thumped the final nail in her romantic-notions coffin long ago. If Justin hadn’t convinced her to give up on men, Dr. Jerk Face had. A Tuesday girl...

Nope. Wasn’t going there.

Images from last night danced in her mind—hanging the balloons, the comfortable feeling she always got in Uncle Joe’s Restaurant, Reed coming in dripping wet, the sirens...

The rest swirled like the storm that held them hostage until she fell asleep.

* * *

If Reed had to guess, he’d say his ankle resembled one of the bloated balloons in Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Snoopy, probably. The swelling pressed against the inside of his cast, a painful reminder of his captivity. His foot felt as though it weighed at least seven hundred pounds. When would it stop throbbing?

“Claire, do you still have those yoga blocks?” Sally, the barely five-foot-tall woman who could command an army general, stepped away from the couch with a throw pillow in hand. She fluffed it twice. Dale, Claire’s dad, was doing who knew what in the bedroom. This was the weirdest Monday morning Reed had spent in...well...ever.

“Yoga blocks? What are those?” Dale’s voice carried. “We need more hangers. I’ve got three shirts to hang up and no hangers.”

Claire poked her head in through the open sliding door, where she swept twigs and leaves off the deck. “The blocks are in my closet. Should I get them?”

“Yes, and grab a bunch of hangers while you’re at it.” Sally wore jeans rolled up at the ankles and a Race for the Cure T-shirt. Flamingo earrings grazed her shoulders.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” Claire disappeared.

“Yoga blocks, Dale,” Sally’s voice echoed as she tucked the pillow behind Reed’s neck. “You remember—those blue foam dealies from last year when Libby convinced her to take Marissa’s class.”

Reed studied the cottage’s living area. Streams of sunlight flooded the hardwood floors, and the warm lake breeze tickled the edges of the white sheer curtains. If he wasn’t in so much pain, he’d like it here. Well, he’d like it better if the Sheffields weren’t making such a fuss.

Sally hovered over him. The woman seemed to be everywhere at once. She and Dale were clearly siblings—Reed had never seen two people with so much energy.

“How are you feeling?” Sally brushed his hair from his forehead. “Do you want a drink? A painkiller?”

Reed inhaled with a hiss. He wanted to tell her he was fine. He didn’t need yoga blocks—whatever they were. Or tender motherly touches. Or pillows behind his head. But the skyrocketing throbs prevented him from speaking. He shook his head, not even attempting to smile.

Sally made a clucking noise. “You don’t need to suffer. I’m getting one of those pills.”

Dale trekked back into the living room. “Marissa... Marissa... Oh, you mean the Schneider girl? She teaches yoga? Huh. They still taking the class?”

“Nope. Claire hated it.” With a glass in one hand and a prescription bottle in the other, Sally pivoted around the kitchen counter. “Marissa got on some odd hot yoga bandwagon. Claire said it made her too sweaty. And Libby didn’t want to do it without Claire.” She handed Reed a pill and the water, then stood there until he had no choice but to swallow it. She stacked pillows under Reed’s cast for the eighth time, propping his aching foot up. “Reed, you need to wiggle your toes.”

He gripped the edge of the cushion. No way he was putting his foot in more agony.

“Come on, now. Wiggle those toes. Don’t make me call the doctor.”

“Fine.” Reed concentrated until the big toe moved. A flash of heat spread through his torso, and a bead of sweat dripped down his temple past his ear.

“Good job!” Sally said. “Keep moving them whenever you think of it. You’ll heal faster.”

Dale hustled to the kitchen—the living room, kitchen and dining room were one large open space—and rummaged through a drawer. “His suitcase is unpacked. Should I stop at the store? Get some groceries?” Paper in hand, he returned to stand next to Sally and clicked a pen. “Tell me what he needs.”

“Crackers, soda, things that are easy on the stomach. Doubt he’ll want much to eat today. I’m sure he’ll have more of an appetite tomorrow.”

Reed ground his teeth together. Why were they talking about him as if he weren’t there?

“Reed?” Sally leaned over him. “We’re going to the store. What can we get you?”

His head swam. “My phone and laptop.”

She laughed. “You don’t need those. You need to rest. I meant, what kind of food do you like—snacks, soda, fruit? We’ll get it for you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Oh, hush. There’s no stopping us. Help us make up this list, and we’ll get out of your hair for a while so you can sleep.”

Dale cleared his throat. “I’ll get your phone and your laptop.”

“He shouldn’t be working.” Sally narrowed her eyes at Dale.

“The man needs his electronics.” Dale disappeared again.

Reed’s neck relaxed. Dale had just gone up a notch in his book.

“Let’s start with produce. Bananas? Apples? Watermelon?” Sally hashed out a grocery list at least fifty items too long, but she kept naming off foods and wouldn’t listen to Reed’s objections.

Dale dragged the coffee table closer to the couch, plugged in Reed’s laptop and set his phone on the table. “Need any help before we take off?”

Reed shook his head.

“Take a nap,” Sally said. “And keep wiggling those toes.”

She walked to the front door with Dale at her heels. They kept up a steady stream of conversation all the way out. Reed moved his toes once more. Broke out in another sweat at the effort. Then he stared at the vaulted wooden ceiling.

Trapped.

In more ways than one.

The car ride from the hospital to the cottage had been agonizing. Every bump, every turn, every tap on the breaks ignited his leg. The jolting wheelchair ride up the ramp to the cabin had sent him to level nine on the pain scale. And moving him to the couch? He might be stuck in this exact position for two weeks, because he was not going through that torture again.

“Yoo-hoo.” Claire sailed in through the front door. “I’ve got the blocks.”

“You just missed them.” Reed twisted his neck to watch her. She wore a white T-shirt with I Love My Zoo in black letters. He pointed at her face. “The bruise under your eye is turning purple.”

“Yeah, I try to coordinate my injuries with my clothes. Less need for makeup.” She swiped her hand down the air in front of her lavender running shorts. “You like?”

He did like. And he’d smile but his leg tortured him. The painkillers could not kick in soon enough.

“I’m not sure what Aunt Sally wants with these.” Claire held a large paper bag with blue foam peeking out and a bundle of hangers. “But I’ve learned not to ask questions. The woman is a master. Hey, does your dad know you were released this morning? I didn’t even think to call him. Should I call him now?”