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Her eyes widened at this new piece of gossip. I wondered how long it would take for it to reach the entire town. Knowing Abby and the highly effective Whisper Ridge messaging chain, it would be less than five minutes after I left. Then, I realized what I’d done—if he reopened the diner, that could affect trade in JJ’s. Abby seemed torn between shock at the news, and also wanting to know more because that is what she did.
“Well shit,” she muttered, then sighed and leaned over the counter. “Anything else?”
I didn’t have much more to tell in the way of actual news. Yes, there was a son called Fox, and she knew that, and I didn’t want to add my own feelings—that Fox was a study in contradictions, brash and brave, then fearful, all in the space of a heartbeat. He was protective of his dad, but there’d been that fear again, and then Noah had been just as protective of his son.
“Nothing more to say,” I offered.
She made this little moue of dissatisfaction, but I had given her the staying-at-the-diner part, so she had enough to look important.
My thoughts on Fox and his dad would stay with me. I went back to my car, the front door of the diner was shut, and I wondered if they were in there. I couldn’t believe the two of them would be staying in the cold apartment! Was it even furnished? I had a real flashlight in my trunk, and blankets I could loan them, and for a moment, I considered knocking and giving them to Noah.
Only my right knee burned, and my hip hurt. In fact, my entire body ached, thrown off balance, too much driving, too much tension. I wanted my home, and it wasn’t as if Noah would want to hear from me this soon. What had happened in the diner was nothing but a misunderstanding, but I’d overreacted, ready to confront an intruder. I should’ve just asked him who he was, but coming direct from the city, stressed at having to talk about my stupid feelings, I’d jumped before I thought.
It was an impulsive move on my part, I’d pissed Noah off, riled up and worried Fox, and managed to fuel Scott’s overprotectiveness all at the same time.
Great.
* * *
I was never sohappy to get home and shut my front door, grabbing a bowl of water and my case of supplies, then falling onto a low chair in the kitchen and taking off my prosthetic. I could feel the soreness in my stump even before I could see it, and the skin was red, a little inflamed. I wasn’t a small man—six-two, one-ninety—and I carried muscle weight in my upper body from using the wheelchair most every day at work. Being a teacher is one thing, but being a teacher always standing was another. Hence the chair, and the muscles.
Still, that was a lot of weight pushing down on a single point, and it didn’t matter how much engineering went into prosthetics, they were uncomfortable and rubbed in all the wrong places. Not to mention the balance issues when I leaned to alleviate some of the weight on one side. My lower back was a mess of knots, and I made a mental note to get a massage soon—tomorrow, if I could swing it.
I cleaned the area, a ritual I’d perfected over the years, and the warm water felt soothing against the irritated skin. I patted it dry, mindful not to rub too hard, wincing even then, I was so damn sore and achy. Then came the ointment, a medicated cream I’d come to rely on, which helped with the soreness and aimed to keep the skin healthy. I applied it with practiced fingers, massaging it in, then wrapping it in a soft new bandage, a layer of protection until the next day. I shoved everything back into the box and slid it under the cabinet in the corner—no one coming into my house would see medications and supplies lying around because, stupid as people might think I was being, dealing with my prosthetic and stump was a private affair. It would always be a part of my life. Even my overprotective brothers couldn’t begin to understand why I didn’t talk about it all the time, but it was something I didn’t want to share. I took a few pills to help with the aches, not something I did a lot, but today had been too much for my stubbornness to win out.
Then, it was time for food, but I was tired… so tired… I grabbed a candy bar and hot chocolate, and headed into my living room, sinking into my sofa and flicking channels. I settled on a documentary about bears on a reserve in British Columbia, added yet another mental note that I needed to add that destination to my vacation list, then ate the candy, drank the hot chocolate, and closed my eyes to rest.
It was three in the morning when I woke up to an infomercial about slacks, which was scary to say the least. Particularly given how enthusiastic Mr. and Mrs. Perky-as-hell were about pushing an expandable waist design in chartreuse, a color halfway between dog barf yellow and vomit green. What was worse was I admired the design of the slacks, and that was like pouring cold water over my head.
I was thirty-four, not seventy-four.
Grabbing the crutches I left near the stairs—top or bottom depending on where I was—I heaved my tired body up, thanking anyone who listened that it was Sunday tomorrow, so no school. I didn’t need to be up until ten if I wanted to sleep in, and that was for getting up to the Lennox Ranch for lunch, and they wouldn’t care if I didn’t make it.
Who was I kidding? My brothers would send out a search party.
Still, Icouldstay in bed and sleep.
And not think about today, about the talking with my therapist, and the ridiculous way I’d confronted Noah, and how I’d upset his son, and how…
Fuck. Now I wasn’t even tired.
It took me counting to two hundred before I could relax and ignore the insistent pressure in my left leg.
And finally, I slept.
ChapterFive
Noah
I stoodin the middle of the apartment over the diner, checking the space I had to work with. It was small, snug even. We hadn’t managed to get a good look at it last night, but it was a world away from the warm and cozy hotel where Fox and I had had breakfast. Fox, sulky and disinterested, stood beside me, his teenage angst casting a shadow over my good mood. Just yesterday, facing off against that Chris guy, and then Scott, he’d been protective, almost clingy, yet this morning, he seemed to resent every moment he had to spend in my company. The teenage paradox was real.
“Hey, Fox? The bedrooms are through there.” I gestured, trying to engage Fox, who glanced up from his phone for about five seconds. “You can pick whichever one you want.” It was a small offering, an olive branch to bridge the gap between his moodiness and actual enthusiasm.
“Okay,” he muttered, and headed down the tiny corridor, taking a left into the first bedroom.
The apartment itself was small—two bedrooms, a tiny kitchen that seemed unnecessary given the diner downstairs, and a long thin living room. The views from that main room were breathtaking—the Wind River mountains in the distance reached up toward the snow-heavy sky—and I couldn’t wait until I had a sofa in here, imagining sitting with a coffee and a book, wrapped in a blanket, and staring at the view.
I wonder if that is what Aunt Lily did.I didn’t remember her outside the diner, just that she must have lived somewhere, and I assumed it was up here.
