Two walls down, two to go. In this room.
But there were at least a dozen more waiting.
Matt rotated his shoulders and dipped the roller back into the tray of paint recommended by Vienna and endorsed by Kay. Seashell Magic, per the label on the cans. A fancy name for off-white, as far as he was concerned. But if Vienna said it was a sound choice, who was he to argue?
Not that she’d communicated much with him in the fifteen days since she’d moved in. Heck, he hardly saw her. She was either flitting about rooms taking measurements, heading out with her laptop, or hunkered down in her room after having dinner with her mother.
But she had her finger on the pulse of everything that was happening, and the inn redo was progressing at a remarkable pace. The website would launch this weekend, and Kay was gearing up to field inquiries that came in through the form embedded in the site.
Everything was good.
He ran the roller up and down, following the stroking rhythm he’d developed after Andrew began greenlighting certain walls as ready to paint. It had taken some fast talking on his part to convince the Thompsons to let him add sweat equity to the job, but with the two of them working dawn to dusk and him at loose ends, they’d accepted his logic in the end.
Vienna appeared to be working long hours too, albeit mostly off-site. And bypassing him to deal directly with Kay did make sense. His sister was the owner, after all. He was just the stand-in.
He dipped the roller into the paint again and continued stroking Seashell Magic over the walls, adding a new luminescence to the dull surface.
Truth be told, though, he missed talking with her—despite the fact that most of the information she shared about furniture styles and color palettes and fabrics was like a foreign language.
But keeping their distance was smarter. Less risky. Because even though he wasn’t in the market for romance, and even though it was too soon to get involved with another woman if he had been open to the idea of a new relationship, Vienna would be one huge temptation.
Far better to inhale paint fumes instead of the beguiling scent that lingered in the air around her.
He took another swipe at the wall, reworking a spot that was reluctant to accept the paint, despite all the prep Andrew had done. Or maybe his roller was running dry. He bent down to—
Ding-dong.
He paused.
Huh.
Must be the driveway guy, come early to give him a bid on the pothole repairs. Like two hours early. And with Vienna off-site as usual, and Andrew and Paige in town restocking the meager food supply they kept on hand, he was the doorman.
He set the roller back in the pan, wiped his hands on a damp rag, and jogged down the hall toward the stairs.
When the bell rang again, he picked up his pace. Someone must be anxious to see him.
He clattered down the steps and pulled the door open.
Charley stood on the other side, a 1957 T-Bird parked behind him, his face creased with concern. “I’m glad you’re home, Matt. Can I persuade you to put your vet hat on for a few minutes?”
Frowning, he recalibrated from maintenance mode to medical mindset. “I’m not equipped to handle much here at the inn. What’s up?”
“Have you met Eleanor Cooper?”
“No. I haven’t gotten into town much. This place has been a hard taskmaster.” He swept a hand over the inn.
“Eleanor is one of our longest residents. I stopped by her house with an order of tacos and found her trying to deal with an injury to her cat’s paw. Her housemate is an EMT, but he’s on a twenty-four-hour shift, and her usual vet in Coos Bay is on vacation. Would you mind taking a quick look at Methuselah? I could have run him to an emergency clinic or pet hospital up the coast, but you were closer.”
“Sure. If you want to bring him into the kitchen, I’ll grab my bag.”
“Much appreciated.”
While Charley returned to his car to get the patient, Matt strode toward his room, dug out the vet travel kit he always took with him on trips, and washed his hands. After pulling two clean towels from a shelf in the hall closet, he returned to the kitchen.
A slow parade was filing into the room when he reappeared, led by a woman who appeared to be in her late eighties or nineties, white hair pulled back in a soft bun, features taut as she pushed a walker. Charley took up the rear, a small satchel hooked over his shoulder, a black-and-white striped cat in his arms, one of its front paws wrapped in what appeared to be a dishtowel.
“Matt, meet Eleanor Cooper. Eleanor, this is Dr. Quinn. Kay’s brother.”
The older woman dipped her head in acknowledgment. “Pleased to meet you, Dr. Quinn.”
“Make it Matt. I’m not in town in an official capacity. But I’ll be happy to take a look at your friend here.”
“Where would you like the patient?” Charley edged around Eleanor.
Matt spread a towel on the island. “This will work as a makeshift examining table.”
“A word of warning.” Charley carefully set the cat down. “He can be somewhat temperamental.”
“Crotchety and cranky are more like it, but he’s been a faithful companion for many years.” Eleanor trundled up next to the island and stroked the cat.
“Tell me what happened.” Matt snapped on a pair of latex gloves.
“It was all my fault.” Eleanor continued to caress the tabby, lines of distress etching the corners of her mouth. “I dropped a glass in the kitchen, and before I could clean up the pieces, Methuselah decided to investigate. The next thing I knew, there was blood all over the floor. That’s when Charley arrived. He managed to corral Methuselah, which wasn’t hard. This poor cat has more arthritis than I do. He put pressure on the wound, but we thought it might need stitches.”
“Let’s take a look. Charley, would you mind assisting me?”
“Happy to lend a hand.”
Matt set out his supplies, then opened the other towel and wrapped the cat in it, leaving his head and injured paw exposed. “Since Methuselah and I aren’t acquainted, and he may not appreciate me poking at his sore paw, this will help keep him contained. Charley, I’d like you to hold him at the back of the neck and keep his leg in position. Like this.” Matt demonstrated.
“Got it.” Charley took his place.
“Eleanor, if you want to rest your hand on his hind quarters, he’ll know you’re close by. That would be comforting.” Not so much for Methuselah, but giving the older woman a role might help calm her.
After she did as directed, he examined the pad on the foot Charley had immobilized.
“Is it bad?” Eleanor leaned in, her voice wobbly. “It bled quite a bit.”
“We’ll find out in a minute, but let’s not worry too much yet. The pads have a lot of blood vessels, meaning minor injuries can bleed a fair amount.” He cleaned the cut with gauze and examined it gently as Methuselah mewed, checking for any shards of glass that may have gotten stuck in the wound. “I don’t see any debris in the cut, and it’s not too deep. No call for stitches. All I have to do is treat it with antibiotic cream and bandage it.”
“Thank goodness.” Eleanor heaved a sigh.
Matt took care of the task with practiced efficiency. After applying a nonstick bandage, he secured it with self-adhesive vet wrap and tape. “You’ll want to change the bandage every couple of days and keep the cut clean and dry.”
“Luis will help me with that.”
“He’s her housemate.” Charley scratched behind Methuselah’s ear.
“Wonderful man. I’m blessed that he left Cuba behind and came into my life at a most opportune time.”
“It sounds like there’s a story there.” Matt stripped off his gloves.
“Indeed there is. I’ll tell it to you one day when we don’t have an injured cat to deal with. Can we unwrap him now?” Eleanor plucked at the towel.
“Yes. Do you happen to have an E-collar at home?”
“I do. With a cat his age in the house—not to mention a human of advanced years—I have plenty of medical supplies on hand.”
“Use it for about ten days. To ward off infection, he should also have an antibiotic.”
“We have those too. Charley?” Eleanor motioned to the small satchel her chauffeur had carried in. “I brought everything I had at home for him in case you asked, including any medications that hadn’t expired.”
Charley carried the satchel over to the table and began unpacking it.
“He’s a handsome fellow.” Matt unwrapped the towel from around the cat.
“Yes, he is.” Eleanor patted him. “We have a long history together. He can be ornery, but we understand each other.”
Juggling a handful of pill bottles, Charley joined them. “Will any of these work?”
Matt scanned the labels and selected a bottle. “These will do the trick. Seven days should be sufficient, and there are more than enough in here to cover that.”
“I’m very grateful, Matt.” Eleanor opened her purse. “I don’t know what the usual bill would be for this sort of emergency service, but—”
He stopped her with a touch to the hand. “No charge. This one’s on the house.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I expect to pay for services rendered.”
“I understand how you feel. But someone did me a favor recently, and I’d like to pay it forward. Besides, I was happy to help.” He jotted his cell number on a slip of paper and handed it over. “If anything concerns you about the cut, call me.”
“That’s very kind of you.” She took the paper, the corners of her lips flexing. “And I have a little thank-you in mind.”
“Ah.” Charley’s eyes began to twinkle. “I believe you’re in for a treat. Eleanor’s fudge cake is legendary in these parts.”
“You do like chocolate, don’t you?” Eleanor tucked the slip in her purse.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“A man after my own heart.” Her smile got bigger. “You’ll accept that, won’t you?”
“With pleasure.” Just as the Thompsons had accepted his offer of a room. That gesture didn’t compensate for their reduced-rate bid, but it had soothed his conscience. No doubt the cake would do the same for Eleanor’s.
“Watch for it soon. And thank you again, young man. I’ll sleep easier tonight knowing Methuselah has been treated by your skilled hands.”
Charley repacked the satchel, scooped up a docile Methuselah, and turned toward Eleanor. “Ready to go?”
“Yes. We’ve disrupted Matt’s day too much already. I expect he wants to get back to whatever he was doing before we arrived.” She positioned her walker and trucked toward the foyer.
“To tell you the truth, I was happy for the interruption.” He fell in behind the duo while Methuselah serenaded them with meows. “I volunteered for painting duty, and I’m discovering muscles I forgot I had.”
“On the bright side, physical labor can be healthy for both body and soul.” Charley grinned over his shoulder.
“The paint fumes aren’t all that wonderful for the sinuses, though.”
The taco artist chuckled. “I won’t argue with you on that.”
Matt accompanied them to the car and helped Eleanor in while Charley held Methuselah. Once the older woman was settled, Charley carefully placed the tabby in her lap and closed the door.
“Thank you again for your kindness.” Charley shook his hand. “I know Eleanor is grateful. She’d be lost without that cat.”
“I’m glad it wasn’t anything more serious.” Matt gave the car an admiring perusal. “You have a classic here. Have you had it long?”
“A number of years. Bessie’s fun to drive, and she’s a wonderful conversation starter. I’ve crossed paths with any number of special people thanks to her.” He pulled out his keys. “I should get Eleanor home. Methuselah too. They’ve had more than their share of excitement for one day.”
“I’ll stop by your stand for another round of tacos for the three of us in a day or two.”
“Bev told me Vienna’s staying here too. I’m surprised she’s turning down my tacos.”
“I don’t think she would be if she and Bev weren’t eating dinner together every night.”
“Ah. That makes sense. They have a great deal of catching up to do. Why not feed the crew at lunchtime one day so she can join in?”
“I don’t think switching to lunch would help. She tends to keep herself scarce during the day.”
Charley studied him. “I wonder why she would do that?”
Excellent question. Because it was getting to the point where it almost felt like she was making a concerted effort to avoid him.
“Beats me. But it’s probably better anyway.”
Blast.
He shouldn’t have let that comment slip out. It begged too many questions.
Of course Charley asked the most pertinent one. “Why is that?”
Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he shoved his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans and fumbled for a response that wouldn’t lead to more questions. “There’s constant activity at the house. If too many people are around, we could get in each other’s way.”
Charley offered him a gentle smile. “I’ve talked to many a person living alone who would be more than happy to have someone get in their way and liven up their quiet house. Ask Eleanor about that sometime. But her story had a happy ending, thanks to Luis. All because she was willing to open the door of her house and her heart to let someone new in.” Charley touched the brim of his Ducks cap. “Enjoy the rest of your day. And don’t let the paint fumes get to you.”
He circled the car, slid behind the wheel, and drove away with a wave.
As the dust billowing behind the classic car dissipated, Matt wandered back inside to clean up his makeshift examining room.
Charley was right about the oppressiveness of a quiet, empty house that had once been filled with love and laughter.
And whatever Eleanor’s story, it was wonderful that she’d found someone as a companion.
But it was doubtful she carried the baggage or grief he did. Or that she was as undeserving as he was of joy and contentment and affection. A woman who cared for a geriatric cat and made fudge cakes wasn’t likely to have any skeletons in her closet that would prevent her from opening her house and her heart to someone new.
Like he did.
Quashing the familiar surge of despair that always hollowed out his stomach, he returned to the kitchen and focused on cleanup, putting away all his supplies and wiping down the surfaces with disinfectant.
When the counter was spic and span, he crossed to the table where Charley had unpacked the satchel Eleanor had brought. Halted as his gaze fell on a flat bag resting on one end.
That wasn’t his.
And it hadn’t been there before his unexpected visitors came.
He set his cleaning supplies down and picked it up.
The only one who’d been in this area was Charley. Could this be an item he’d taken out of the satchel and forgotten to put back in?
Matt peeked into the bag. A slim volume was tucked inside.
He withdrew it and read the title.
A Grief Observed, by C. S. Lewis.
That didn’t fit with Charley’s upbeat nature. He didn’t seem like the type who would dwell on grief.
But who else could it belong to?
Matt opened the book. Read the first line.
“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”
He sucked in a breath.
That was exactly how he felt. In one pithy sentence, Lewis had captured an emotion that could only be understood by someone who’d been through the same kind of hell.
Matt flipped the book over and read the back blurb.
No wonder his grasp was spot on. Lewis had written this after the tragic death of his wife.
Book in hand, Matt pushed the cleaning supplies aside, pulled out a chair, and sat. What harm would there be in skimming through the book? Charley would soon realize he’d left it here and call, but until he did, why not see what other thoughts it had to offer?
Matt began to read, turning page after page, until the lock on the front door clicked.
Pulling himself out of the book, he twisted his wrist. Gaped at his watch.
He’d been reading for forty-five minutes?
As the voices of Andrew and Paige carried down the hall, he stood and slid the book back into the bag. Ducked into the innkeeper’s quarters to stow the volume. Waited until their conversation faded away, then quietly returned to the room he’d been painting to avoid any conversation.
He picked up the roller, now stiff with drying paint.
But that was okay.
For in the slim volume Charley had left behind, he’d found refreshment for his parched soul.
And maybe, if he continued to read and absorb it, C. S. Lewis’s words would provide some useful insights as he searched for a way out of the emotional wasteland he’d been living in for the past two long, lonely, agonizing years.