Run to Me. Lauren Nichols
off. He’s been putting in some long hours since the first housekeeper left, and he’s no spring chicken.”
At last, a familiar topic of conversation. “You mean the housekeeper who was interested in your grandfather?” she asked with a faint smile. “He said she’d…what was it? Set her cap for him?”
“That would’ve been nice if it had been true.”
“It’s not?”
“Amos tends to give answers he’s comfortable with,” he answered, then changed the subject. “There was no mention of it in our newspaper ad, but would you be able to drive him to his physical therapy sessions when I can’t get away from the store? We have two part-time high-school kids who help out, but I don’t like to leave them alone if I can help it.”
“Of course. Just give me directions. I’m not familiar with the area yet.”
“You’re sure? He has PT on Tuesdays and Fridays. I can take him tomorrow, but we’re expecting a fairly large shipment on Friday, and I need to be there to unload it. I don’t want Martin or the kids hoisting eighty-pound feed sacks.”
“I’m sure.” But she frowned suddenly, wondering if there might be a problem. “Will your grandfather be able to step up into my van?”
“Not without help. There’s a hydraulic lift that adjusts to any level off the back porch. I had it installed so he could ride in my Cherokee. Just steady him as he’s getting in.” Mac sighed wearily. “If he’ll let you. I prefer driving him myself so I can see and hear firsthand how he’s doing, but since I can’t, I’d appreciate it if you’d pay close attention to what—”
He stopped himself, massaged the furrows over his eyebrows. “Never mind, I can phone his therapist. As for directions, the hospital’s not hard to find. Amos can direct you.” He met her eyes. “Okay?”
It took that moment and that worn look to see that Amos’s illness had taken a very large toll on his grandson, too. “How long has it been since his stroke?” Erin asked quietly.
“Ten months.”
“That’s a long time.”
“Yeah. It’s been a long haul for him.” He glanced around as though he might say something else, but then his lips thinned. “I’d better get back. I don’t like leaving him alone for too long.”
Hopping up from her puffy nest, Christie ran after them, and automatically Erin took her hand as they went to the door. But her thoughts were still on Mac. It had to be a strain, putting your life on hold to tend to another person’s needs, no matter how much you loved them. Although, she sensed this man wouldn’t have it any other way. Handing his home over to strangers probably wasn’t helping his peace of mind, either.
“See you in the morning, Terri,” he said, closing the screen door and heading for the steps.
“See you. Thanks again for setting up the bed.”
Then, out of the blue, Christie delivered a giggling announcement that drove the air from Erin’s lungs and threatened to dump her on the floor.
Slowly Mac reversed directions, his dark eyes sharp again. He repeated Christie’s innocently spoken words. “Terri is Mommy’s new name?”
Blood thudding in her temples, Erin scrambled hard for another lie. It came to her like manna from heaven. Swinging Christie into her arms, she laughed, “Not ‘new’ name, sweetheart, nickname.” She grinned wryly at Mac. “We had a talk this morning about the names we use being short for our given names. Apparently, she got things a little mixed up.”
But Christie’s little brow was still lined in confusion, and her rosebud lips were opening. Before she could breathe another syllable, Erin peppered her face and neck with noisy kisses that started Christie squirming and shrieking at the top of her lungs. “And now that you have a bed, Lady Jane,” she teased over the noise, “it’s time for your nap.”
“I’n not Wady Jane!”
“Shouldn’t that be your new nickname?”
“No!”
“Okay,” Erin agreed over the pounding of her heart. “I like the old one better anyway.”
When her daughter’s giggles had dissolved into a sparkling smile, Erin faced Mac again, praying desperately that he believed the performance he’d just witnessed.
He seemed to.
“If you need to reach us at Amos’s, use the intercoms. There’s one in my room, one at the desk in the computer room, and one just inside the great room. Just press the button and speak.”
“I’ll do that, thank you.” But as he climbed inside the old blue truck and drove off, she knew she wouldn’t. There was no point in giving him an opportunity to ask more questions.
Easing Christie back a bit, Erin released a lung-clearing sigh and touched the tip of her nose to her daughter’s. “Okay, chatterbox, let’s get a sip of juice and visit the potty, then take that nap, okay?”
“Are you ezausted, Mommy?”
Erin smiled wanly. “You have no idea how exhausted I am, precious girl.”
She considered having another talk with her about their new last name, but thought better of it. To tell her again that it was a secret that only they could know might confuse her all the more—and might invite yet another knee-buckling announcement. As the old adage went, it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.
Fifteen minutes later, with Christie curled warmly against her and softly snoring, Erin stared up at the ceiling from Mac’s bed. Varnished pine tiles in various sizes and shapes formed a lovely mosaic overhead and met smooth, pine plank walls, just as they did in the rest of the house.
They were in. They’d passed the test. They had a job and a home until Amos no longer needed them. And Christie… Gazing down at her slumbering child, Erin felt a rush of emotion that brought tears to her eyes and thickened her chest. Christie was happy and secure, now. There were no longer any signs of anxiety or fear. No furious thumb sucking, no cries in the middle of the night. She stroked her daughter’s glossy hair, smoothed back several damp strands from her temple and cheek.
Children should never be afraid.
Between household duties and keeping Christie entertained, Tuesday morning and afternoon flew by smoothly. The only glitch happened at breakfast when Mac walked into the kitchen, fresh from his shower in a hunter-green oxford shirt and snug jeans. But he only stayed long enough to shatter her composure, tell Amos to be ready at one o’clock for his appointment, and say goodbye. The butterflies that had gathered in Erin’s stomach left through the same screen door.
It was nearly six o’clock when Amos shuffled into the living room to his recliner and the evening paper, and Erin started the dishes. She’d pushed two vintage, chrome and red-vinyl kitchen chairs together so Christie could stand beside her at the double-bowl sink and “help.”
Christie was butchering a nursery rhyme and dumping water from a plastic cup to a metal pan when Mac walked up behind them, nearly soundless in his stocking feet. He slipped his coffee cup into the frothy soap bubbles, and his warm arm grazed Erin’s. “Supper was delicious,” he murmured. “Thank you.”
Chills of awareness drizzled from the nape of her neck to the soles of Erin’s feet. Like a second shadow, the heat emanating from his body warmed her side and back.
“You’re welcome. I figured I couldn’t go wrong with chicken.” She hazarded a brief glance over her shoulder at him. He was standing so close, she could count every whisker in his end-of-day stubble, detect the faintest hint of a musky aftershave.
Her gaze rebounded to the plate she was washing. “The two of you left so quickly this afternoon, I didn’t have time to suggest a menu.”
“We eat anything,” he returned,