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Behind them, Maybell was muttering her frustrations while arranging and rearranging stuff in the massive fridge to try to make room. Again. This, too, had been a daily, sometimes hourly deal for the poor woman, and there wasn’t an easy solution in sight. Derek was clearly well respected in the community, and people wanted to help. This deluge of food was their way of showing respect and support, which meant it couldn’t be refused or criticized. Not to the bringers’ faces, anyway.
Derek was sitting in his wheelchair—a requirement that Audrey had insisted on, and one which Derek hadn’t objected to. The motorized wheelchair was giving him an easy way to circle around the huge kitchen island and glance over the food choices. Choices he was clearly mulling over since Alana had told him he could have a small serving of one of the items to go along with the chicken breast stir-fry that Maybell had fixed using one of Alana’s recipes.
Or maybe he was doing that.
But Alana thought that something else might be going on. That Derek was possibly just feigning interest in the food since he thought that was what was expected of him. He was doing that perhaps so they wouldn’t be worried about him.
“Any of it, I guess,” he finally muttered.
Maybell stared at him as if he’d just sprouted a second nose. “Any of it?” she questioned. “When it comes to food, you’ve usually got some strong opinions, like telling me you want your porterhouse cooked for exactly four minutes and twenty seconds on each side. And how about only that fancy Irish butter on your baked potato?”
The woman stopped because it must have occurred to her that all those requests were signs of a person who knew exactly what he wanted to eat. Signs, too, of a person who actually wanted to eat, period.
“Barbecue spareribs,” he finally settled on. Again, not with a whole lot of enthusiasm.
That was Maybell’s cue to leave the fridge and come to the counter so she could dish up two of the spareribs from the double rack that had been brought over by the owner of a smokehouse.
“Is Audrey joining you for lunch?” Maybell asked, popping the two ribs into the air fryer to reheat them.
“No, she’s upstairs, packing,” Derek muttered. “She’s leaving later today,” he added to Alana. “She has to get back to Germany for some big briefings.”
Alana studied Derek’s face to see if the man was upset about his wife’s departure, but he didn’t seem to be. Well, not upset but maybe just more down than he had been during her short stay. Then again, from what Alana had heard, a two-day stay for Audrey was longer than her usual, and it was possible her duties didn’t allow her to extend this visit despite the circumstances.
“You should have something to eat,” Derek offered while he wheeled over to the breakfast area where Maybell had already dished up his food. “Obviously, there’s plenty.”
“I had a late breakfast but thanks. Though, that Yummy Tummy Ball is tempting,” she joked.
Derek attempted a smile. Failed. “Then, have a glass of tea or something and sit for a minute or two.” He looked up at her, their gazes connecting, and Alana knew this was more than an offer of tea. He had something on his mind.
Apparently, Maybell picked up on that, too, and the woman shut the fridge. “I’m going to call Jesse and ask him to come get some of this stuff to take to the bunkhouse. Somebody there will eat it.”
Probably. Alana didn’t know how many ranch hands lived in the bunkhouse, but even a couple of them could make a dent in this. Temporarily, anyway. Hopefully, people would soon feel as if they’d fulfilled their neighborly duties and back off.
Maybell poured that glass of tea for Alana, brought Derek his spareribs and headed out, to make that call and give Derek and her a little privacy. Alana mentally went through some possibilities that might be bothering Derek, and she hoped it wasn’t the sex question.
As in when he would be ready for such things.
It was possible in light of Audrey’s visit.
Clients usually asked that, but most posed those particular questions to their doctors, not her. Especially not her since most folks were well aware she hadn’t been in a relationship since Jack. Still, she had gotten a sex query or two during the decade that she’d been a dietitian, and since she hadn’t been qualified to answer, she’d bounced it back to the doctors.
She didn’t push or prod him to continue. Alana just sipped her tea and waited while Derek stabbed his fork into a piece of chicken from the stir-fry.
“I did something Egan’s probably not going to like,” Derek finally said.
Alana tried to keep a neutral expression, but that shot some concern through her. She prayed this wasn’t about some kind of risk Derek had taken that would harm him or his recovery.
“What?” she asked with hope and caution.
“It’s about that letter from your sister.”
Her concern turned to puzzlement. “Egan threw that away at his house on the base.”
Derek nodded. “And his cleaning lady there apparently found it and sent it to him here.”
Alana groaned softly. Egan wouldn’t have appreciated that.
“Anyway, two days ago, Egan tore the letter in half and put it in the trash can in my office,” Derek went on. “Reba, the housekeeper, found it and called Egan about it. He told her to tear it up and trash it, that he never wanted to see or hear from Colleen again.”
