*“You know,” Stevie said as she tacked evergreen swags along the wall in the machine shed, “I don’t know if we would have gotten everything done if Milt hadn’t volunteered.”
“We wouldn’t have gotten as much extra stuff done,” Brant agreed. “Like the dance floor.”
“That was a brilliant idea.” She held a bunch of holly tied with a red bow up to the swag. “Here?”
“Looks good.” Brant went back to unpacking folding chairs that had arrived several days early, which they agreed was much better than several days late. The floor had dried so they were able to use the entire space.
A phone vibrated and Brant patted the pocket of his thick winter coat. “Mine,” he said before answering.
“Hey,” Harp Winslow said. “Just checking in on Bob.”
Brant gave a small laugh. “Bob is fine. Eating, sleeping, having a great time on his vacation.”
“I forgot to mention that he’s pretty good with gate latches, so you might want to keep an eye on him.”
Brant glanced through the open bay door at the gate, which was now tied in two places. “I think he’s secure,” he said. “Are you enjoying the warm weather?”
“I was kind of iffy about this trip, but it’s been great. Brant, there are chickens everywhere.”
“Imagine.”
“Yeah. I think I’m going to save up and come back. Got a bit of a sunburn right off the bat, but got over that, and my grandson is learning to surf.” He gave a satisfied sigh. “Well, I’d better let you go. I’ll be back for the wedding and will tell you all about it then.”
“Looking forward to it.”
“But you might want to take Bob and the sleigh out for one more run, just in case.”
“Ever the optimist,” Brant said with a grin. But after his latest experience with wedding karma, that might not be a bad idea.
He ended the call and turned to Stevie. “Guess we need to keep an eye on Bob. It seems that he’s good with gate latches.”
“Is that a fact?” she asked, taking a few steps closer. She no longer allowed herself to wonder where this thing was headed, or what would happen when the wedding was over, and Brant slipped back into his old habits and she didn’t see him every day.
Like a stubborn teen in the middle of a short-lived holiday romance, she refused to think about tomorrow…but she knew she could only hold out for so long. Eventually the matter would be dealt with; but for now, she was doing what everyone thought she was so good at. She was living in the moment.
A very good moment, she thought to herself as she took hold of the front of his jacket.
“Hey now,” he said softly. “Much as I’d enjoy being distracted, we have to consider the time—”
A loud crash brought them up short. They exchanged a quick glance, then headed out the open bay door, dashing across the driveway to the barn.
“Darn it,” Stevie heard Milt moan before she made it inside.
He was sitting in the middle of the dance floor, cradling his arm to his chest, a ladder lying beside him.
“I hope I didn’t scar the polyurethane,” he muttered.
“Forget the floor,” Brant said gruffly. “Did you hit your head?”
“No.” He moved his arm, then winced. “It’s my hand and wrist that took the brunt of the fall.”
Stevie knelt next to him. “Can I move your sleeve back?”
Milt nodded, then winced again as Stevie gently unbuttoned the sleeve, then pulled up the cuff of his shirt. The older man’s wrist was already half again as big as his other.
“Might be broken,” Stevie said. “Or sprained, but it needs to be taken care of.”
“Maybe I can just ice it for a while.”
“The farm has workman’s comp, and you’re on it because of the tree lot,” Brant said. “You’re going to the clinic to see what the deal is. If it’s broken, you don’t want to mess around because it might affect your RV trip. You’ll want to be healed up for that, right?”
“Right.” Milt allowed Brant to help him to his feet.
“You didn’t make sure both ladder supports were stable before scrambling up that thing, did you?”
“It’s never been a problem before,” the old man grumbled.
Brant rolled his eyes. “Give me a few minutes to get all these heaters turned off and I should turn off the burner under the stew in the house.”
“And pound the lid on the polyurethane,” Milt said with a grimace. “It’s not on tight.”
“I’ll drive him to the hospital,” Stevie said. “You can take care of the heaters and stuff, then follow in your truck.”
“Good plan. I’ll be right behind you.”
*
The hospital doors opened automatically, and Stevie strode into the building as if it didn’t hold more bad memories than any other place on the planet. They’d recently redone the waiting area, so she stopped just inside the door to get her bearings. Milt pointed to the sign that said “admissions,” and they took a stroll across a pretty parquet floor that hadn’t been there when her mother had spent so much time in Holly General.
The floor was new, the walls a different color, and the photographs that had once been mounted on every available bit of wall space had been swapped out for bold paintings of Idaho landscapes. Everything had seemingly changed…except for her reaction.
Even though her heart was beating faster, she felt like the blood had drained from her face and limbs. It was a familiar sensation. One she’d hoped she was over, because taking Milt to the hospital with a hurt wrist wasn’t the same as taking Rob with possible broken ribs and punctured lung, or her mom for her cancer treatments. It was nowhere near as serious, but unfortunately her knee-jerk reaction to the place was.
“Hi, Stevie,” Pauline Crate, one of the food bank volunteers called from the admissions desk. She saw Milt and instantly came out of her cubicle and escorted him to a chair. “Milt, I’d ask if you’d been behaving yourself, but obviously you have not.”
“I’ve seen better days,” he admitted.
“The ladder again?”
He shifted his gaze as she opened the computer file. “I think we have most of what we need from the last time you visited.” She glanced at Stevie. “Not a ladder incident, but there have been more than one. Right, Milt?”
“I take the fifth.”
“You can also take a seat out there. They’ll call you as soon as the doctor is available.” Pauline leaned toward Stevie as Milt ambled to the chairs a few yards away. “Just his wrist?”
“As far as we know. He’s been doing some work for Kara Gilroy’s wedding.”
“There was some confusion about that wedding,” Pauline said with a wink.
“You know how rumors are.” Stevie attempted a smile and hoped it didn’t look as strained as it felt. “I’ll go wait with Milt.”
“What do you think?” he asked, when she sat beside him, pulling up his sleeve to reveal his black and blue joint. “Broken or sprained?”
Stevie wrinkled her forehead, glad to have something to distract her. “Well, with all that swelling, it’s maybe sprained.”
“But the black and blue part makes me think break.”
“Milt Brown?”
Milt got to his feet as his name was called. A tall nurse with a long ponytail strode across the parquet floor, half scowling as she approached. “The ladder again?”
“Don’t tell Becky.”
The nurse rolled her eyes, then smiled at Stevie. “His daughter and I were best friends growing up.”
“Nice.”
“Come on, Milt. Dr. Duncan is on call.”
“I like him,” Milt said to Stevie. “A no-nonsense kind of guy. Doesn’t give me guff about equipment failures.”
The nurse laughed. “Let’s go.”
“I might be outside if I’m not here when you get back,” Stevie called after him.
He shot her a look over his shoulder, so she knew he heard her. Then she resolutely sat in the comfortable upholstered chair and studied the pattern in the parquet, willing herself to breathe normally and relax.
She made it for almost three minutes before she got to her feet and headed back out the automatic doors.
*
Brant was not as close behind Stevie and Milt as he’d hoped. After turning off the heaters and the stew burner, and pounding the lid onto the polyurethane, he’d thrown Bob his afternoon hay, not knowing how long he’d be gone. Milt’s injury wasn’t serious, but the hospital was small and if there were people ahead of him, then he might be gone awhile.
He spotted Stevie’s truck as soon as he pulled into the lot, and judging from the number of vehicles, Milt would be close to the front of the treatment line. He and Stevie could grab some coffee while they waited. He was almost to the entrance when he caught sight of a woman sitting on the bench next to a snowy hedge, her head bowed, her hands in her pockets.
“Stevie?”
She raised her head and he crossed to where she sat.
“Is Milt all right?” he asked. What he wanted to ask was if she was all right, but her stony expression stopped him.
“He appears to be in good hands. The doctor on call knows him, and the nurse is friends with his daughter.”
“So you’re just getting some air.”
“Yep.” The answer came out on a clipped note and then Stevie’s expression shifted. “I’m sorry. I don’t like hospitals.” She pressed her lips together. “Too many memories of things I’d rather forget.”
“Yeah?” he asked softly.
“Yeah.” She bowed her head again and pushed her hands deeper into her pockets. “When my mom was sick, I knew that the hospital was a magical place that would save her. But as she got sicker and the stays got longer…hope crumbled.” She shook her head. “It’s not a good feeling.”
“Come here.” He sat down and put an arm around her. She leaned into him for a moment then eased herself upright. Brant kept his arm loosely looped over her shoulders. “You don’t need to stay. You can go home.”
Her eyes widened. “No. I’m okay.”
His mouth flattened. “In the freezing weather.”
“I can go inside. It isn’t like my head explodes.”
“Why, if it isn’t necessary? This could take a while, especially if they have to call someone in.” He took her hand, squeezed gently. “Go home. I’ll be in touch.”
She glanced past him to the glass doors. “I know it’s cliché, but it’s the smell. And the way the air seems to hang without moving. And the creepy quiet in between intercom calls.”
Things he’d never really noticed. “I’ll walk you to your truck, then check on Milt.”
“I can make it to my truck on my own.” She met his gaze with a serious expression. “Keep me informed.”
“Will do.” He waited until she unlocked her truck before putting his head down and heading to the ER waiting room, where he was the only occupant for the better part of an hour. Finally the double doors opened, and Milt came out, laughing at something the attending nurse said as she escorted him to the area, making him wonder what kind of painkillers his friend had received.
“Are you his ride?” the nurse asked Brant, obviously looking for Stevie.
“I am. Let me guess—he’s not to operate any heavy equipment.”
“Exactly. We’ve x-rayed. It’s not broken, just badly sprained, which can be just as painful and take almost as long to heal, so he can’t be doing anything outrageous with that hand.”
“But I can hang lights and handle a drill,” Milt said.
“Left-handed only, but I think you’ll figure that out for yourself when you try to use that arm. Refer to the instructions the doctor gave you and give it a rest for twenty-four hours.” She met Brant’s gaze as she said the last words.
“He will,” Brant assured her.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Milt muttered.
The nurse shook her head fondly. “I don’t want to see you back in here. Steady the ladder before you climb.”
With those words she turned and disappeared through the swinging door.
“Thanks for coming,” Milt murmured before giving Brant a sheepish smile.
“Not a problem. You’re taking tomorrow off.”
“Maybe I can come to the farm and supervise.”
Brant laughed and opened the door. “Fine. Come and supervise. But I’m going to tell Stevie you’re not to use your arm, and I’ll bet money that you will not be using your arm.”
Milt grinned at him. “Might be worth it to see what happens.”
Brant gave Milt a ride to his house at the edge of town and told him that he and Stevie would arrange for him to get to the farm the next day. He rolled down his window as Milt headed toward his dark house. “Don’t forget to ice!”
Milt raised a hand to indicate he heard him.
Brant waited until the lights came on before pulling out of the driveway. And then, instead of heading west toward home, he headed east toward Stevie’s house. It was early and they needed to arrange how they would get Milt and his truck back together again. A call would have sufficed, but he wanted to see her, so he left his phone in his pocket. Sometimes a face-to-face was necessary…especially when he had things to say. Things that Milt had unwittingly made clear in his mind.
Not many people seemed to realize just how self-protective Stevie was. She fooled them with her seemingly careless attitude, but Brant now recognized that attitude as a survival strategy. Stevie, who didn’t care, cared too much. He only wished he’d figured that out back when he’d laid into her for allegedly leading Kara astray.
He, on the other hand, had built a secure professional foundation to protect himself, so that when the unexpected came along, he had something to cling to, to rebuild on, if need be. But unlike Stevie, who’d amplified parts of her personality, he’d buried his. Forgotten to take the occasional sidetrack and to just let loose and have fun. Although he did recently glue fur to a suit.
They both had a few chinks in their survival strategies. They both had things to face, things to learn.
But he was beginning to wonder if they needed to meet those challenges alone?
*
Stevie knew as soon as she heard the boots on the porch that Brant was there. She opened the door and sure enough, there he stood, his dark hair ruffled from where he’d pulled off his hat.
“Is Milt okay?” she asked as she stepped back to allow him inside.
“Milt has a bad sprain, as suspected. He plans to come to the farm and supervise tomorrow.”
Maynard jumped down from the hassock where he’d been sleeping and wound his way around Brant’s boots, as if he were an old friend. Brant idly knelt to rub the cat’s ears, keeping his gaze on Stevie.
“I’m sorry about leaving the hospital. I should have stayed.” She tried to speak lightly, but her voice was strained.
“Why?” he asked as he got to his feet.
She gave him a surprised look. “To show support for Milt.”
“He had a sprain, not something life-threatening.”
She perched on the arm of the sofa. “Then I should have stayed to overcome my wicked dislike of hospitals.”
“Or maybe you should give yourself a break.”
She got back to her feet, holding his gaze, wanting to explain so many things, but unable to push the words out of her mouth. When had she become such a chicken? When had she ever been hesitant to speak her mind?
When it mattered.
The realization caused her to swallow dryly. It mattered. He mattered.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m trying not to retreat,” she said.
“I figured,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because you’re scared.”
She frowned at him, hanging on to the edge of her chair stacked with coats and sweaters as if it were the only thing anchoring her to earth. “How do you know that?”
“Because we’re heading into territory you’ve avoided.”
“You sound certain.”
“I don’t think I’ve been reading things wrong.” He shifted his weight ever so slightly, the first sign that he wasn’t as in control as he made out.
She lifted her chin, hoping the defiant movement would help propel her forward, into the unknown, a place she pretended she didn’t fear, while in truth she avoided it just as Brant said. She was a fraud.
A fraud who was going to attempt a bluff. “I have no issue with risk,” she said. “Ask anyone.”
“Certain kinds of risk,” he corrected. “And yes, you’ve convinced a lot of people.”
“But not you.”
He gave his head a solemn shake. “There was a time when I believed you didn’t care about much. Not anymore.”
“Well…” She ran a hand over the back of her neck, squeezing the taut muscles beneath her palm. He had figured out so much more than she’d thought he would. “You’ve been busy.”
“I’ve given the matter some thought,” he agreed.
“Then you’ve probably concluded that I’m afraid to care too much. That I feel…” She flattened her mouth, the shifted gears. “Actually, I don’t want to feel.”
“Because what if you can’t control what happens?”
“Yes,” she asked softly. “What if?”
“Only you have that answer.” His expression softened. “You’ll have to decide how much you can risk, Stevie.”
An unfortunate truth.
“And until I do?”
He smiled that devastating smile of his, but there was an edge to it she’d never seen before. “We continue as we are…not putting a name to things until we’re ready. If you can still handle it, that is.”
She walked forward then, almost without being conscious of moving, and a second later she was pressed against him, her arms wrapping tightly around him as he held her.
“We’re good for each other, Stevie.” He whispered the words against her hair.
She closed her eyes, drawing his scent deep into her lungs and taking comfort from his solid chest beneath her cheek. Sidestepping was safer, but facing things head-on led to change.
And maybe…just maybe she was ready to shake things up a bit.