A Bridge Unbroken (A Miller's Creek Novel) (6 page)

“But my grandfather is ill as well.”

“Yes, and he's receiving expert care. Don’t mind if you check on him during your breaks, as long as we don’t have a repeat of the other day.”

Chance nodded obediently though everything in him wanted to protest. As he filed the paperwork, a thought came to mind. He closed the cabinet and leaned against it. “Just as a matter of curiosity, who are the other two nurses I'm splitting shifts with?”

Gains didn’t even look up from the clipboard he held in his hands. “Mike and Jimmy. Why do you ask?”

There was no way to answer his boss without blowing his top. At just that moment, the minute hand moved to eight p.m. Finally. He stalked out of the station and to the elevator. A minute later he stood outside Grampa’s room. Familiar laughter and voices sounded from behind the cracked door.

“Sorry to drop in on you so late.” The voice was Mama Beth’s. “I was waiting on my ride.”

“As was I,” added Trish Tyler dryly.

“And I’m the guilty party.” He’d recognize Andy Tyler’s laid-back voice anywhere. “Everyone thinks lawyers have an easy life. Sheesh.”

“Have a seat." Grampa's voice held weakness that hadn't been there last week. The heart attack had definitely take its toll. "Thank y'all for stopping by. Andy, I’m actually glad you’re here. Sorry to add to your work load, but I’ve been meaning to get a hold of you for a while now.”

“No problem. Something you want to discuss now?”

“Naaah. I won’t bore the ladies. Just drop by some time when it’s convenient.”

“Chance ate breakfast with me Tuesday morning.” Mama Beth joined the conversation.

“He did?”

“Yep, wanted some advice about Levi Kelly’s granddaughter.”

“Amy?”

Chance shifted positions so he could see Mama Beth’s face. She twisted her lips to one side. “I don’t remember that being her name. Trish, you brought her over to my house earlier in the year. Pretty red head with big green eyes.”

Trish nodded. “Dakota.”

“That’s it!” hollered Mama Beth. “She was your best friend in high school?”

“No, the youngest sister of my best friend. I saw Angie when Mr. Kelly passed away. Angie's really changed. And not in a good way.” Trish’s words trailed off, and she seemed to check out of the conversation for some place unknown.

“Amy changed her name? Does anyone know why?”

Exactly what he’d like to know. No one answered.

“Well, just so you can be prepared, Andy, I want to visit with you about my will.”

Andy pulled a pen and small note pad from his suit jacket pocket and jotted down a note. “I’ll bring all the pertinent info when I come. I know tomorrow’s Saturday, but I have another client visit in town. Would it be okay if I drop by then?”

“That'll work.”  Grampa laid his head back on the pillow. He was fading fast. Time to make an entrance.

Chance pushed open the door and entered the room. “Hey, everyone.” He hugged Trish and Mama Beth and shook hands with Andy before moving to the head of the hospital bed. “How you feeling, Grampa?”

Grampa looked up. “Okay. Just ready to go home.” His words held underlying significance.

An ache rose in his heart. How could he let him go? Chance patted his grandfather's arm. “I know. I’ll try to find out from the doctors when that'll be.”

The talk soon turned to the latest chatter scuttling about Miller’s Creek, so Chance begged off with a comment about being tired, and hurried out to his pickup. Already it was later than he'd hoped. The last thing he wanted was Dakota pulling a loaded shotgun on him again, but he might as well get this over with.

Fifteen minutes later, he pulled up outside the farmhouse, surprised to see lights shining from the windows. He exited the truck and made his way through the dark, calling out loud. “It’s Chance, Dakota. Just here to see how you’re doing and to apologize.”

Her silhouette appeared in the open doorway. “It’s a good thing you added that last part, or I wouldn't have even bothered to open the door.”

He moved up the steps with a laugh. “I deserve that and more.” Dressed in a denim shirt un-tucked from the waistband of her blue jeans, she was once more shoeless. “Sorry about how I treated you Tuesday afternoon. There’s no excuse for my behavior other than to say I was really scared. But even that's not good enough.”

She gave one brief nod. “I know you were scared, Chance. It's okay.”

“And thanks for leaving my truck at the hospital.” A stray thought struck suddenly. “How'd you get back to Grampa's house?”

Dakota lifted a foot in the air. “The original form of transportation. In the storm. With hail and rain soaking me to the bone.”

Chance swallowed against the wad of guilt in his throat. “I'm so sorry. How can I make it up to you?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I could use some manpower on a little project.” Her eyes held a teasing gleam.

“Such as?”

“Rebuilding the barn.”

Chance snorted. “I thought you said little.”

“Size is relative, right? Trust me. I have several projects that are much bigger.”

He glanced down at her bare feet. More than anything he wanted to spend more time with her, to work on the trust issues between them. But was the timing right, especially with Grampa's condition?

“Would you like to come in?”

Chance entered the open door, and his mouth fell open. It was almost like walking into Levi Kelly’s house several years prior, only updated nicely. “Wow, this place sure looks different. You’ve been busy.”

She shrugged. “It’s amazing what a little elbow grease and paint will do.”

“I’ll say. And you have electricity.” And heat. She’d turned down money from Grampa, so she must have some financial resources.

“How’s J.C.?”

“Still weak and tired.”

A look of concern clouded her face. “That’s how he was when I saw him earlier this morning.”

“You’ve been to see him?” Why? To pressure him into leaving the farm to her?

“Every day.” Dakota moved toward the kitchen. “Can I get you some water?”

He shook his head. “No, thanks. Why'd you go see him?”

She faced him, her head cocked to one side. “Because I’m concerned about him. It's okay if I go to see him, isn't it?”

It should be, but it wasn’t. He just didn’t trust her motives at this point. But he couldn’t exactly come right out and say it without the risk of offending her.

Dakota released a scornful laugh. “You're a piece of work, Chance Johnson. You think I’m going to see him because of the farm, don’t you?”

He cleared his throat as he scrambled for words. “Don’t mean to offend you, but—”

She turned her back. “You just did.” Dakota yanked a water bottle from the carton on the kitchen counter with more force than necessary.

Time to change the subject. “So how long do you think our work on the barn will take?”

Rather than answer, Dakota pushed past him and stopped when she reached the front door. “Don’t worry about it. Maybe your time would be better spent figuring out how to get your hands on my farm.” With that, she opened the front door, gave a pseudo bow, and held out her left arm, indicating her desire for him to leave.

His anger catapulted to volcanic levels, but reasoning with her would only lead to more hurtful words. Instead, he stepped outside. “Good night.”

Her response was a slamming door and the click of the lock.

Chapter Five

W
ell, one thing was for sure. With or without Chance, the barn wasn’t going to re-build itself. And without a barn--and the animals to go with it--she'd never be able to sustain herself on the farm.

Dakota shrugged on her ratty jacket and headed out the front door. Why had she let her anger get the best of her last night? Even as pig-headed, egotistical, and downright infuriating as Chance could be, having some help was better than none.

She stepped inside the open entrance of the barn and surveyed the problem. Not good. The posts supporting the weight of the roof had rotted away on the bottom, and caused the whole structure to lean to the left. Maybe if she could find a way to shore up the outside rafter with the new lumber she'd picked up the other day, she could remove the rotten post and replace it with a new one.

She moved to the dark recesses of the barn and hoisted a four-by-four post. A long splinter on the side shoved its way under the tender flesh of her palm.  “Ouch!” The heavy post thudded to the ground as she used her chewed-to-the-quick nails to remove the splinter. All but one tiny piece came out, but the one tiny piece was buried deep. It would just have to wait.

Once more she grabbed the offending post, lugged it to the front left corner, and set it in place. Though she pounded as hard as she could, it refused to budge. Frustrated, she reared back to give the post the hardest blow she could muster, but the hammer slipped and landed on her left thumb.

Unintelligible words fell from her lips through gritted teeth. She released the four-by-four and the hammer to grab her throbbing and bleeding thumb. It didn’t help that she’d been up until the wee hours of the morning for the past several nights trying to finish up the lousy first draft of her next novel. No new books meant no money to live on or to make the much-needed renovations to this place.

Outside a car door slammed. Dakota hurried from the barn, still clutching her injured thumb. Dressed in blue jeans and boots, Chance looked like she remembered him from their teenage years. Dangerously handsome. He waved and sauntered her direction. As he drew closer, the smirk he wore became apparent--an I-told-you-so smirk.

She clenched her jaw to keep her Irish tongue curtailed, but everything in her screamed to send him packing. A luxury she just couldn’t afford at the moment.

He stopped just a few inches away and pushed up the brim of his cowboy hat to survey the leaning barn. “You ready to concede defeat and let me help you?” His gaze traveled to the blood dripping from her injured thumb. In one fluid movement he snatched up her hand and studied it more closely. “Man, you must've been swinging pretty hard to do that kind of damage.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious. Now would you help me get it bandaged so we can get this barn fixed?”

A laugh sounded from his throat and his blue-gray eyes twinkled.

Dakota yanked her hand away and strode to the house, Chance right behind. Fine, she'd doctor it herself.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re pretty when you’re mad?”

She ignored his comment and quickened her pace.

“Anger goes well with that carrot-colored hair of yours.”

Carrot-colored? She’d give him carrots, all right. Up his nose. She stomped up the wooden steps and across the porch.

“Not everyone can carry that look off as well as you do.”

Her blood boiled at blow torch levels. Dakota halted, fists clenched. That. Was. It. She whirled around and landed a blow to Chance’s mid-section.

He groaned and doubled over, while she shook the hand that delivered the blow to make sure it still worked.

Chance straightened slowly, a devilish grin curling his lips. “Guess I had that coming.”

Understatement of the millennium. She wiggled her fingers to see if anything was broken. “What are you made of anyway? Steel?”

He patted the abs of steel. “Everyone knows boys are made of snips and snails and puppy dog tails, while girls are made of—”

“—sugar and spice and everything nice.” She finished the rhyme for him, nose in the air and hands on her hips.

Though he didn't respond, Chance perused her childish pose, a bemused expression on his face, then strode around her to open the front door. “Yeah well, someone left out your sugar and nice.”

A slow smile formed on her lips. Sugar wasn’t good for you anyway, and nice wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Of the three, she'd settle for spice, and plenty of it. Maybe Mr. Abs-of-Steel would think twice before baiting her again.

He stopped in the open doorway and turned his head. “Let me guess. You don’t have any bandages?”

“Nope.”

“Be back in a sec.” Chance squeezed past her, sauntered to the passenger side of his pickup, and returned a minute later, carrying the familiar black bag.  He let it drop to the porch floor. “This is the second time in a week I’ve had to doctor your wounds. You accident-prone or something?”

She peered at him sideways through narrowed eyes.

Chance held up both hands in mock defeat. “No offense intended, so keep your shotgun and your fist to yourself. By the way, where’d you learn to punch like that?”

Dakota shifted her weight, ignoring the question. Better that he didn't know at this point.

“You know we’ve gotta disinfect this, right?”

She huffed out a sigh and looked heavenward. “Of course.”

He doused the thumb with alcohol, his gaze locked on her face.

Ouchiewawa! Not even the hammer hurt this bad. But no way would she let him know it. Instead, she clamped her lips tighter than Ft. Knox.

His eyebrows arched. “Good girl.” A few seconds later he finished and laughed at the bulbous white gauze on her thumb. “Hey, you look like Little Jack Horner and his plum.”