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“Still …” Samantha stopped abruptly. “Sorry. Of course I know you don’t get out enough. I just thought that somehow …” She brightened. “But you do like him?”
“He’s nice.”
“Don’t start that again. And you can call him J.C.” Samantha wriggled her eyebrows. “He’s single, you know. Well, divorced actually.”
“Divorced?”
“I don’t know the details, but I understand it was bad.”
Maddie wondered why any woman would let him go. Silly, she didn’t know a thing about him. Other than that smile, those eyes … Abruptly, she shook her head. “Honestly, Sam, you’re the last person I expected to matchmake. We’re seeing him so he can help Mom, not so I can develop a crush.” The word was barely out of her mouth when Maddie wished she could draw it back.
Samantha blinked.
“Bad choice of words,” Maddie tried to explain.
“Accurate is more like it.” She smiled more gently. “Hit that hard, did it?”
Her embarrassment waning, Maddie plopped her chin on one outstretched hand. “Stupid, huh? I’m old enough to know better.”
“You’re not that old,” Samantha objected. “Besides, I don’t believe in an age limit on falling in love.”
“Whoa!” Maddie protested. “Who said anything about love?”
Samantha grinned. “Puppy love?”
“I had my chance. I picked taking care of Mom instead. It’s what I want.” Maddie wasn’t only loyal, she couldn’t imagine shuttling her mother away because it was more convenient.
“It doesn’t have to be a choice.” Samantha patted Maddie’s hand. “Lillian wants you to be happy.”
“And a man deserves a woman who can devote herself to him and the family they create. I’m not that woman.” Although she’d never regretted her choice, Maddie sometimes dreamed of a life with a loving husband and children of her own. It wasn’t her destiny, but the fantasy was harmless.
“You just haven’t met the right man yet,” Samantha insisted in a gentle, yet confident, tone.
“Forgetting Owen, aren’t you?” Maddie’s high school, then college sweetheart, they’d been engaged when her mother had suffered the first of many strokes. Lillian had only been in her forties at the time, young for the onset of the neurological nightmare that had stolen her short-term memory.
Samantha’s expression was steady. “He’s a rat. What kind of man asks you to choose between him and your mother? He knew what was going on, how painful it was for you to give up everything.”
Maddie tried to interrupt. “But—”
“But nothing. I know you’d make the same choice again, but asking you to put her in a nursing home …” Samantha shook her head angrily. “And it’s not as though he was new to your life, didn’t know your history.”
Stroking the silken smoothness of the porcelain cup, Maddie remembered Owen’s unyielding stance. “I did think he might understand. We were going together when my dad passed away.”
“He also knew you didn’t have any relatives to share the load.” Samantha’s fierce loyalty didn’t waver. “Total rat.”
Maddie reluctantly smiled. “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”
“Nope.” Loyal to the end, Samantha didn’t give an inch. “And J.C.’s about as different from Owen as a rat is to a cat.”
“I wouldn’t have thought it until you came back to Rosewood, but you’re a romantic, Sam. Just because you and Bret got back together after nearly a decade—”
“That was fate,” Samantha insisted. “And real, genuine, honest love. It wasn’t a reunion, it was a new start.”
“I imagine Owen’s got his hands full with his business.” His family had money, and Owen had stepped into the enviable position of entrepreneur with none of the struggle most young business owners faced.
“Hmm. And, yes, I know, Bret’s running his family business, but it wasn’t stuffed with cash.”
In fact, it was almost failing when Bret took the helm. “No comparison, Sam. I agree. When we were younger I didn’t think Owen was that affected by having … okay, everything. He just seemed to take it in stride. But when he got older …” He wasn’t the boy she’d fallen in love with.
“Hey, I’m sorry.” Samantha’s voice changed to one of concern. “I didn’t mean to stir all that up. I guess I just thought … well, J.C.’s such a great guy, and you’re my best friend …” She smiled encouragingly. “I still think your life’s going to change because of him—he’s going to help Lillian and that’ll help you.”
“It’s not as though I don’t daydream myself. And you’re right. If he can help Mom …” Maddie smiled. “That’s all I ask.” Because her other dreams were just flotsam in the ether. And as likely to materialize.
True to his word, J.C. began Lillian’s tests with a noninvasive CT scan. Officially called computed tomography, it could detect a blood clot or intracranial bleeding in patients with a stroke. And the scan aided in differentiating the area of the brain affected by the disorder.
J.C. had prescribed a light sedative so that Lillian could lie still. Forgetting where she was, otherwise Lillian might have tried to move, skewing the test results.
The test took only about thirty minutes, but Maddie paced in the waiting room. She didn’t want her mother to wake up disoriented and scared. The technician had assured her that he would watch out for Lillian during the scan, but Maddie couldn’t stop worrying.
“She’s all right,” J.C. announced quietly from behind her.
Maddie whirled around. The carpeted waiting area had camouflaged the sound of his footsteps.
Dressed in scrubs, he acted as though it was normal for him to deliver the news, rather than the technician.
Maddie began to shake, fearing the worst. “Was there a problem?”
He stepped closer, his eyes flickering over her trembling limbs. “None whatsoever. I didn’t mean to alarm you. I just got out of surgery, thought I’d pop in and check on your mother.”
Relieved, Maddie exhaled, her chest still rising with the effort to breathe normally.
J.C. took her arm, guiding her to a chair. “You’re going to have to take it easy.”
Perched on the edge of the chair, she stared up at him.
“CT scan’s about the mildest procedure your mother’s going to have. You’ll sap your energy if you get this upset about every test.”
Suddenly Maddie could breathe. And stand. Nearly nose to nose with him. “I know you’re an excellent doctor. Samantha Conway is proof of that. But don’t presume to tell me how to react. I’ve been caring for my mother for years. I know she gets confused and scared …” Maddie’s trembling increased. “And I won’t let anyone make that worse.”
“Good.”
Maddie blinked.
“A dedicated caregiver is the best medicine any patient can have.” J.C.’s tone remained mild. His gold-flecked brown eyes were more elusive. “I’ll call you when I have the results. Should be about two days.” With a nod, he left.
Maddie wasn’t certain what to think. Plopping the palm of her hand against her forehead, she wished she could travel back in time a few minutes. This doctor was a road of hope for her mother and she’d just insulted him. Refusing to consider that her defensive reaction could have anything to do with her attraction to him, she bit down on her thumbnail.
Catching sight of the technician, she tried to shove the thoughts away and decided it would be easier to tame an infuriated horde of wasps.
J.C. strode down the familiar corridors toward his office. The sandy-beige walls were lined with portraits of the hospital’s founders and patrons. But he wasn’t looking at any of them. He wanted to kick something, preferably himself. Maddie Carter had been on his mind since the day they’d met. He’d sensed an empathetic soul. One who could understand what he was going through.
A tall, slim man in a white coat plopped himself in J.C.’s path. “Someone put cactus needles in your scrubs?”
J.C. immediately recognized the voice. “Adam.”
His colleague and friend Adam Winston tugged at the stethoscope looped around his neck. “I don’t normally drive into tornados, but from the look on your face, I think you might need some help getting out of the storm.”
“Just a mild gale.” J.C. exhaled. “Put too much thought into a nitwit notion.”
“Why don’t I believe that?”
“Don’t you have rounds?”
Adam shrugged. “Not for another hour.” Amiable, persistent, often brilliant, Adam wasn’t going anywhere without an answer.
J.C. summarized his two meetings with Maddie. “That’s it,” he concluded.
Adam’s knowing look was both confusing and annoying. “Uh-huh.”
“Don’t try to make something out of this.”
Whistling, Adam winked, then briefly shook his head. “I don’t need to. You’ve got that covered.”
J.C. clenched his teeth. Realizing he had, he made himself relax.
“Hasn’t it occurred to you that this woman’s under just as much strain as you are?” Adam continued. “When she saw you instead of the tech, she probably thought her mother had suffered another stroke. Wouldn’t be the first time a test triggered one.”
“I’m sure she’s stressed.”
“Are you? Have you checked out the situation? Does anyone help care for the mother? Or is she on her own?”
Remembering that Lillian had said Maddie was an only child, J.C. didn’t reply.
“If she’s the full-time live-in caregiver, you know she could be ready to crack.” Adam twirled the end of his stethoscope.
J.C. hadn’t asked about the details of Lillian Carter’s care. Had he done what he’d despised in others? Judged without knowing the facts? Worse even, judging at all?
Chapter Three
J.C. pulled into the semicircle driveway at the front of the Rosewood Community Church school. He was late. Again. Didi had picked up Chrissy a few times for him, but she was busy. Besides, he couldn’t expect his employees and friends to sacrifice any more than they already had.
The school was nearly deserted. Only the teachers’ cars remained in the parking lot and a few kids were kicking a ball on the playground. Chrissy sat on the steps, clutching her backpack, looking lost.
Poor kid. First she felt deserted when her parents died; now she felt just as abandoned by him. Turning off the car, he got out to meet her halfway. Her face was more than sullen; fear and vulnerability were just as apparent.
“Chrissy, I’m sorry. No excuses. I’m late.”
Although she tried to control it, her lips wobbled. “I know.”
“How about a big chocolate shake at the drugstore?” The old-fashioned marble fountain was one of Chrissy’s favorite places.
“Uh-uh,” she replied, shaking her head.
J.C. would have reached for the child’s backpack so he could carry it to the car, but she still clutched it like a lifeline. She’d had the backpack with her at the pajama party, untouched by the poisonous carbon monoxide. Untouched by what had changed her life forever.
J.C. wished he could think of something to distract her, to ease the pain from her face. But fun hadn’t been on the agenda for quite a while now.
Chrissy settled in her seat, scooting forward suddenly, pulling up a bag that was wedged beneath her. “What’s this?”
“Some trial medications for a new patient. I’ve been meaning to drop them off …” But every time he thought about it, he pictured Maddie’s anger.
“Why don’t we go now?”
He stared at his niece. “You want to go?”
She shrugged. “Nothing else to do.”
Except a mountain of dictation, articles, more work than he wanted to think about. “Right.” But the stop would distract Chrissy. “Nothing else to do.”
The Carter home wasn’t far. J.C. had copied their address on the sample bag. Located in one of Rosewood’s oldest neighborhoods, the house was an unimposing Victorian. Neither grand nor tiny, it spoke of the families that had inhabited it over the generations. The yard and flower beds were tidy, the porch and driveway well swept. But he noticed the aging roof and the peeling paint on the second-story fascia and gables.
An aged but inviting swing flanked two well-worn rocking chairs on the wide porch. It was quiet as they climbed the steps, then knocked on the outer screen door.
Within just a few moments the door swung open. Taken aback, Maddie stared at him, then collected her voice. “Dr. Mueller, I wasn’t expecting you.” Her gaze shifted to include Chrissy. “Hello.”
Chrissy ducked just a fraction behind him. J.C. put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “This is my niece, Chrissy.”
“Good to meet you, Chrissy.” Maddie pushed the screen door back. “Come in. I just put the kettle on.”
Chrissy looked up at him in question.
J.C. patted her back. “Actually, we just stopped to drop off samples of a new medication for your mother.”
“Do you have time for tea?” Maddie asked, not a bit of the anger he remembered anywhere in sight.
He glanced down at his niece. She didn’t look averse to the idea. “I guess so. Thanks.”
“Mom’s in the living room,” Maddie explained, leading the way from the small entry hall. She glanced at Chrissy. “In a house this old, they used to call the front room a parlor, but ours isn’t the elegant sort.”
Looking intrigued, Chrissy listened quietly.
“Mom? Dr. Mueller stopped by to have tea.”
Lillian sat in a faded green rocker recliner. Seeing her guests, she brightened. “I love meeting new people!”
“This is Dr. Mueller’s niece, Chrissy,” Maddie began.
Lillian clapped her hands together. “Oh, my! You look an awful lot like my Maddie when she was your age.” She patted the chair next to hers. “Come. Sit.”
Chrissy’s normal reluctance dimmed and she crossed the room. “I thought you knew my uncle James.”
Lillian smiled. “Perhaps I do. You’ll have to tell me all about him.”
Chrissy looked at him, then turned back to Lillian.
“He’s a doctor. And he’s real busy.”
J.C. flinched.
“I imagine you stay busy with school.” Lillian’s gaze landed on the ever-present backpack. “Just like my Maddie, always did her homework straightaway.”
Chrissy stroked the pink bag and halfheartedly shrugged. “Sometimes.”
Lillian’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Sometimes we baked cookies first or built a playhouse.”
“You built a playhouse?” Chrissy asked in wonder as Lillian dug into the purse that was always at her side.
Lillian produced a roll of Life Savers and offered them to Chrissy. “Sure did. My father thought a girl should know how to use a hammer and a saw. He liked to make things with his hands, so he taught me in his workshop.”
Chrissy swallowed. “My dad did, too.”
Lillian patted her knee. “Sounds like we had wonderful fathers.”
Strange. It was as though somehow Lillian sensed Chrissy’s father was gone, as well.
J.C. heard a whistle from the other side of the house. No doubt the teakettle. Considering, he watched his niece, saw that her attention was entirely focused on Lillian. Pivoting, he followed the sound of the fading whistle to the kitchen. A carpet runner covered the oak floor in the long hall; it also muffled the sound of his footsteps.
He paused beneath the arched opening to the kitchen. Maddie was scurrying around the room, pushing strawberry-blond hair off her forehead with one hand, reaching for a tray with the other. Seeing that it was perched on one of the higher shelves, he quickened his pace. “Let me get that for you.”
Whirling around at the sound of his voice, she looked completely, totally, utterly flustered.
“Guess I need to stop doing that. Coming up from behind, surprising you.”
Her throat worked and her blue-gray eyes looked chastened. “I feel terrible about how I reacted the other day. It’s just that Mom’s gotten so fragile, and …” Moisture gathered in her eyes and she quickly wiped it away. “I’m so afraid that the next stroke …” Again her throat worked, but she pushed past the emotion. “I know she needs these tests—”
J.C. lightly clasped her arm. “Being a caregiver is the most stressful job I can imagine. Do you have enough help?”
“Help?” Maddie nodded. “Samantha relieves me so that I have some extra time when I run errands, but she has her own family to take care of. Neighbors and people from church sit with Mom, too, when they can.”
He’d reread the file and knew that Lillian was widowed. With no siblings, did that mean that Maddie was the sole caregiver? “It’s important that you have time for yourself.”
She laughed, a mirthless sound. “Hmm.”
Spotting the cups on the table, he took her elbow, guiding her to the table. “Let’s sit for a few minutes.”
“But your niece—”
“Is taken by your mother. Best Chrissy’s acted in a while. Tea smells good.”
Distracted, Maddie glanced at the tabletop. “It’s probably the vanilla you’re smelling.”
J.C. sat in the chair next to hers. “Who else helps you take care of Lillian?”
“Just me.”
J.C. knew that endless caregiving could suck the life from a person. And Lillian had required home care for nearly a decade. “Have you lost some of your relief help?”
“Never had any.” Picking up the sugar, she offered it to him.
“But when do you have time for yourself?”
She lifted the porcelain strainers from their cups. “I don’t think of it like that. This is my life, my choice. It’s hard for other people to understand.”
“What about before Lillian’s strokes? You must have had plans.”
An indecipherable emotion flashed in her now bluish eyes and then disappeared. Had her eyes changed color? Or was it a trick of the light?
“That’s the thing about the future,” Maddie replied calmly. “It can always change. So far, mine has.”
Since J.C. had witnessed that she wasn’t always a serene earth muffin, he sipped his tea, wondering exactly who the real Maddie was. “This is unusual. Don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything quite like it.”
“The tea’s my own blend,” she explained.
“How did you come to make your own tea recipe?”
She chuckled, some of her weariness disappearing. “Not just one recipe. I blend all sorts of teas.”
“Same question, then. How did you start making your own tea?”
“I’ve always been fascinated by spices. I can remember my grandfather telling me about the original spice routes from Asia and I could imagine all the smells, the excitement of the markets. So my mother let me collect spices and we’d make up recipes to use them in. Then one day I decided to add some fresh nutmeg to my tea.” Her cheeks flushed as her enthusiasm grew. “Mom always made drinking tea an event—using the good cups, all the accessories. Anyway, Mom bought every kind of loose tea leaf she could find so I could experiment. For a time our kitchen looked like a cross between an English farmhouse and a laboratory. After college I planned to open a shop where I could sell all my blends.” She leaned forward, her eyes dreamy. “And I’d serve fresh, hot tea on round bistro tables covered with white linen tablecloths. Oh, and little pastries, maybe sandwiches. Make it a place people want to linger … to come back to.”
“The tea shop your mother said should be smack dab in the middle of Main Street?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Did you ever get a shop set up?”
Maddie shook her head. “I was investigating small business loans when Mom had her first stroke, the major one. Luckily, I’d graduated from U.T. by then.”
“Have you considered starting the business? Using part of the profits to hire someone to stay with your mother while you’re working?”
“Our funds aren’t that extensive. I took enough business classes to know I’d have to factor in at least a year of loss before we’d show any profit. Or just staying even. Doesn’t leave anything for caregiver salaries. Besides, Mom’s happy with me.”
“Don’t forget I’ve got a building that needs a tenant if you change your mind. Plenty of room for a shop and tearoom.” He swallowed more of his tea. “What about the senior center activities we talked about? That would fill several hours a day.”
Maddie’s smile dimmed. “As the first step toward a nursing home?”
“Nothing of the kind. If Lillian responds to her new medication, she could well enjoy spending time with people her own age.”
“Her friends have been loyal,” Maddie objected. “People stop by fairly often to visit her.”
J.C. studied the obstinate set of her jaw. “But not to visit with you?”
Maddie looked down, fiddling with the dish towel still in her lap. “People my age have young families of their own to take care of.”
A situation he knew only too well.
“It’s difficult for someone who’s never been in this position to understand,” Maddie continued. “I’m sure you’re busy with your work … and it probably consumes most of your time, but I can’t walk away from my mother. It’s not some martyr complex. It’s my choice.”
“And sometimes there isn’t a choice.”
Maddie scrunched her eyes in concentration. “Your niece? Chrissy? You said something about how she was behaving. Is there a problem?”
J.C. explained how he’d come to be his niece’s guardian. “I don’t blame her for acting out. She’s lost everyone she loves.”
Unexpectedly, Maddie covered his hand with hers. “Not quite everyone.”
He stared at her long, slender fingers.
“Dr. Mueller? J.C.?”
“Sorry.” He pulled his gaze back to hers. “Chrissy’s been fighting with some of the girls at school, her grades are slipping.” And she was miserable.
“What about your babysitter? Do they get on well?”
“We’ve been through a parade of sitters and housekeepers. Can’t keep one.”
Concern etched Maddie’s face. “Can I help? She could spend afternoons with us. Does she go to the community church school? We’re in easy walking distance.”
“Don’t have enough on your plate?” J.C. was dumbfounded. Maddie claimed she wasn’t a martyr, but …
“It’s what we do.”
He felt as blank as he must have looked.
“You know, here in Rosewood. She’s a child who needs any help we can give her.”
It was how J.C. had been raised, too. “Maybe from people who have the time. You’re exhausted now. I’m not going to add to that burden.”
The fire in her now stormy-gray eyes was one he remembered. “It’s not a burden. I realize my situation isn’t for everyone, but it works for me. And I have enough energy to spare some for Chrissy.”
She was pretty remarkable, J.C. decided. Even more remarkable—she didn’t seem to realize it.
Chapter Four
J.C. stood in front of his sister’s closet in her far-too-quiet home. Fran’s things were just as she’d left them. Not perfectly in order; she was always in too much of a hurry to fuss over details she had considered unimportant. No, she’d lavished her time on her family, especially Chrissy.
A cheery yellow scarf dangled over an ivory jacket, looking for all the world as though Fran had just hung it up. Anyone searching through the rooms would never conclude it had been a scene of death. Instead, it looked as though Fran, Jay and Chrissy could walk in any moment, pick up their lives.
Fran would be laughing, teasing Chrissy and Jay in turn, turning her hand at a dozen projects, baking J.C.’s favorite apple crumble, inviting friends over.
There hadn’t been an awful lot of time to ask why. Why had they perished? Especially when each had so much to give. Caught up in trying to care for Chrissy, the questions had been shelved.
J.C. was on borrowed time even now. He had thought he could make some sort of inventory of the house so that he could set things in motion, have the important contents stored, the house rented. But he couldn’t bring himself to even reach inside the closet.
Other people survived loss. As a doctor, he’d seen his share and then some. But how did they take that first step, put the gears in motion? Fran had managed when their parents passed away. She had thoughtfully sorted out mementos for each of them, things she had accurately predicted he would cherish. Now, he needed to do the same for Chrissy.