His Small-Town Family. Lorraine Beatty
was exactly as Paul had described. From the town square with its majestic courthouse, bandstand and giant live-oak trees, to the charming brick buildings lined up on each side.
April in Mississippi was a riot of color. Pink, red and white azalea bushes and colorful vines exploded from every corner. His photographer’s eye automatically began composing the perfect angles to capture the spring display. But he didn’t have a camera anymore and he wouldn’t ever again. He’d spent his entire life with the lens between himself and the real world. No longer.
“Afternoon, sir.” A soldier dressed in camouflage fatigues strolled passed, nodding a greeting.
Every muscle in Ethan’s body tensed. Caught off guard, the steel gate holding back his memories shook violently, allowing pieces of the darkness to slip through the cracks. He fought to maintain emotional control and keep his anxiety at bay.
The Lord is my shepherd. The twenty-third psalm had been his anchor during recovery. Slowly the emotional storm in his chest eased, and he started back down the sidewalk.
It had all happened too quick. One minute he had been taking pictures of the soldiers on patrol and locals at the neighborhood market, his lens focused on a mother and infant who had stepped into the frame. The next, fire and debris had rocked him off his feet. He’d continued shooting, keeping the lens to his eye, but the image that emerged shredded his soul. The mother and infant who had been standing near the market were lying on the ground.
Something in his soul had died in that moment.
The next thing he remembered was waking up in a hospital with shrapnel in his arm, a concussion and his emotions churning inside his gut like a tornado. Ten months later, here he was, still trying to get past what he’d seen, vowing to never take another photograph again.
After stopping at Filler-Up-Burgers, a charming old gas-station-turned-restaurant, Ethan returned to his small room at the Dixiana Motor Lodge on the edge of town. The old-style motel was right out of a 1940s postcard. Small cabins laid out in an L shape were connected by a common roof and separated by narrow openings for parking a car. The interior provided all the modern conveniences, though the decor was a throwback to another era. After only a few days, however, the room was starting to close in on him. He’d have to find an apartment or a house to rent now that he’d gotten a job and was committed to remaining in Dover. Maybe he’d ask his new boss for some suggestions.
He was looking forward to work tomorrow. Working at Latimer’s would give him a purpose and cover the service part of his rehabilitation. Ron’s group would provide the talking. Both were important keys to managing his PTSD. The service part he embraced. The talking, not so much. But as much as he hated to admit it, talking did help. With the Lord’s help, he’d learn to open up more, letting go of the fears one memory at a time until the past no longer had a stranglehold on his mind.
Paul’s advice had been spot-on. Dover was the perfect place to find himself, to start fresh. Nothing here would drag him down into the darkness. He knew without a doubt that the Lord had brought him here to begin again.
All he wanted now was someplace quiet and peaceful to make a fresh start. He wanted roots. Permanence. He’d lost himself on a dusty street in Afghanistan, and he’d come to Dover to find out who he was now and where he would go from here.
* * *
“Good morning.”
The deep baritone with the husky rasp sent an unwelcome tingle along Nicki’s nerves. She didn’t want to notice Ethan Stone. Not as a man, anyhow. Only as an employee. A much-needed and efficient employee. One who arrived on time on a Monday morning, ready to work.
“Hi.” She glanced up to find him standing on the threshold of her office, that lopsided smile softening his chiseled features. It would be easier to think of him as someone who worked for her if he weren’t so handsome. So capable and so disturbing. Thankfully he was a man of few words who went about his job with efficiency and determination.
He looked more intriguing today. The stubble did little to hide the strong square jaw and high cheekbones below those beautiful brown eyes. He wore an unbuttoned red cotton shirt over a white T-shirt and dark jeans that hugged his legs. He was the image of strength and dependability, two things she needed right now.
She’d learned the hard way not to depend on anyone but herself. She’d teach her daughter that lesson early. The only thing she needed to depend on now was that Ethan would hang around long enough to help her get the new layout in place. She was holding out hope that Gary’s findings wouldn’t drastically alter her plan to remodel Latimer’s.
“Would you like me working back in the stockroom today?”
For some reason, she had a hard time seeing Ethan working in a stockroom, even though he’d worked there all afternoon on Saturday. He looked more suited to the outdoors. She could easily see him leading a safari or heading up some archaeological dig or maybe even exploring jungles. She brushed the fanciful thoughts aside. “Uh. No, actually, I have some sales I need to set and fixtures I want moved.”
He nodded. “Point the way.”
Nicki stood and came around her desk. She’d anticipated Ethan stepping back out of the doorway to let her through. Instead he stepped farther into the office. They collided in the doorway, wedged together. Nicki found herself with her hands pressed against his chest and with Ethan’s hands grasping her upper arms. She refused to meet his gaze, but she couldn’t ignore the warmth under her palms or the solid mass of his chest as it rose and fell beneath her hands. She held her breath, forcing herself to focus.
“Uh, the display window.” She pushed past him into the hall, taking with her the lingering scent of soap and musky aftershave. She made a mental note to keep a safe distance from Ethan Stone.
“First, I want to dismantle this window display. Then these smaller shelves down here need to be taken apart and stored. You can put the merchandise in the back for now. I want two gateleg tables placed end to end right here. You’ll find them in the stockroom near the furnace.”
Ethan stood beside her listening intently, hands resting on his lean hips. “Having a sale?”
“Yes. A ‘Get a Jump on School’ sale. All this old merchandise has got to go.” She turned to find his lopsided grin in place. Like before, it warmed his dark eyes, but this time she was close enough to read the glint of appreciation in his gaze. For her? Silly thought. She took a step back only to snag her jeans on the corner of one of the old aluminum shelves. She tilted backward. Ethan’s strong hand clamped on to her arm. She grabbed his other arm to steady herself, acutely aware of the muscles beneath her hand. Quickly, she let go and straightened. What was wrong with her today? When had she become such a klutz? “See why I want these things out of here?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Moving to the wooden checkout counter positioned deep inside the store on the east wall, she tapped it lightly. “I’d like to move this counter closer to the front door.”
Ethan hunkered down, tapped the wood, examined the base, then stood and did the same on the other side. “I think it’s only screwed down. It shouldn’t be too hard to move it. It’ll leave some ugly scars on the floorboards though.”
“Can you do that? Move it, I mean?”
“Yes. But are you sure you want to?” He stood brushing dust off his hands. “Putting it closer to the door might create a congestion problem on busy days. The customers coming in are going to be forced to move around the ones in line.”
He was right. Nicki’d been thinking only of the aesthetics, not the practicality. Her poor judgment at work again. She bit her bottom lip. “I’ll think about it. Let’s leave it for now.”
After Nicki pointed out a few more changes she wanted to do quickly, Ethan went back to the stockroom, and she went to check on Sadie. After her talk with her mother the other night, Nicki had harbored some doubts about hiring Ethan without properly vetting him. Her confidence in her ability to make good decisions was fragile,