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I give her a polite smile and clear my throat. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ve got it covered.”
“Okay.” She sniffs. “I’ll be right back with that wheelbarrow.”
She slips into the back, not asking me what brand I want, but I don’t care. They all work the same.
The moment she’s gone, I can’t help but feel a twinge of regret. Maybe I should have given her a chance. After all, she’s beautiful and kind, and everyone likes her.
But I can’t help the feeling that settling down with her would mean settling for a life that I don’t truly want. Or, more specifically,moreof a life I don’t truly want.
“Hey, Josh,” a woman’s voice says.
I spin around, and the whole world stops.
Those bright, hazel eyes. That long, rich brown hair. The tall, supermodel figure.
Erin.
She’s back.
But then I blink and realize exactly what I’m looking at. It’s not Erin. It’s her mother, Dr. Toomey.
Now that I realize it’s her, I’m shocked I ever mistook her for Erin. She’s a good thirty years older than Erin, and while she’s still beautiful, I’ve always preferred women my own age.
“Dr. Toomey. How are you?”
She smiles warmly at me. “I’m fine. Harold and I are getting things together to sell the house and move into town, and that’s kept us busy. How about you? How are your folks?”
I manage a smile. “They’re doing well, thanks for asking. Still keeping busy even without the ranch.”
“I’m glad to hear it. It’s important to stay active, especially as we get older.” She pauses for a moment before continuing. “You haven’t been in for a physical in quite a while. Is everything okay?”
I clear my throat and try to compose myself. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’ve just been busy with the ranch. You know how it is.”
She nods understandingly. “Of course. But don’t forget to take care of yourself, Josh. It’s important to stay healthy.”
“I will,” I reassure her. “Thanks for looking out for me.”
She smiles again and starts to turn away, but then hesitates. “Actually, while I have you here, do you have a minute to talk about something? It’s a personal matter, but I’d really appreciate your input.”
“Sure, of course,” I say, surprised. Dr. Toomey has always been friendly with me, but we’ve never really had a personal conversation before.
She steps closer to me and lowers her voice. “It’s about Erin. I’m worried about her.”
My heart skips a beat at the mention of Erin’s name. I haven’t seen her in a good fifteen years, not since that night at Fletcher’s Pond when I screwed things up between us. I don’t know why her mom is asking her about me.
I try to keep my expression neutral. “Why is that?”
“She never comes home to visit, and I’m worried that she’s pushing herself too hard. Do you ever speak with her?”
I hesitate. “Uh, no. I don’t.”
Her lips draw thin. “That’s too bad. I had hoped she’d kept in touch with old friends.”
Calling us “old friends” is quite a stretch. Then again, maybe Dr. Toomey was always too busy with work to really pay attention to who her daughter was and wasn’t close with.
“Where is she again?” I ask, trying to sound casual, trying to sound like Erin — a woman I haven’t talked to in a decade and a half — still floats into my mind at least a few times a week.
“San Antonio. She’s at a family practice there.”
