A Very Special Delivery (9 page)

“Never mind. I’ll handle it.”

“Might as well tell me. I’m going to ask her if you don’t.”

No use fighting it. The man was a born rescuer. “The pilot went out last night.”

His eyebrows rose in concern and the white scar rose, too. “She was in a cold house all night?”

“Unfortunately. And on her fixed income she can’t afford to pay for something like that. So I told her I’d find someone to re-light it for her.”

“Okay. Let’s unload the rest of those boxes and head over there.”

She liked the sound of that “let’s” a little too much. “I can get someone else.”

“No need. I can do it in a jiffy. Do you have her key?”

“It’s under the flower pot on the front porch.”

He thumped the heel of his hand against his forehead. “Doesn’t she know that’s the first place a thief will look?”

“Yes, but she thinks Freddy might come home while she’s gone.” Freddy was the son who’d taken off for parts unknown years before and never returned. Mrs. Gonzales refused to give up hope.

They walked out to the van and carried the rest of the boxes inside. Then while Molly logged in the deliveries on her computer, Ethan moved around the common area greeting the older adults. They all seemed to know him.

Her eyes kept straying from the monitor to watch his long, athletic strides. Once, he disappeared but a few minutes later, she had spotted him again.

Although they had talked on the telephone a few times, she hadn’t seen him since he’d brought her home from the ER. She’d forgotten how his presence could fill a room—or at least, she’d tried to forget.

Encountering him now created a problem. She was much happier to see him than she wanted to be.

She typed in the last bar code and swiveled away from the desk and the window that looked out on the common room. Maybe he’d be gone by the time she unpacked the boxes.

“Molly?” His handsome face peered around her office door. “Going with me?”

Her pulse did a happy dance. Not a good sign.

“I’d better stay here.”

“I really need you to come along. This is my first trip to Mrs. Gonzales’s. I wouldn’t want the neighbors to think I was a burglar and call the police. Besides, I went all the way back to my apartment for my own truck so you could ride with me without making my company angry. You gotta go.”

“Oh.” She gnawed at her lip.

The pilot had to be lit and Ethan was willing. Only her selfishness stood in the way. Mrs. Gonzales needed this favor badly. With Laney safely at daycare, Molly was in no danger of a panic attack. And they wouldn’t be gone long.

“Okay,” she said at last. “Let me tell my boss.”

“Tell her we’ll be back after lunch.”

Lunch. She usually ate with the seniors, but a meal with Ethan sounded really good.

What could it possibly hurt?

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Molly sat at a round table across from Ethan inside the Caboose, Winding Stair’s most popular diner. The scent of apple pie hung in the air like potpourri, and townspeople she’d known all her life filled the long narrow dining room.

Tension knotted Molly’s stomach as she gazed around. She hadn’t been here in more than a year.

At the senior’s center she felt safe. Here, she was open to the speculative stares and whispers of any and all. Maybe this lunch wasn’t such a good idea after all.

“I thought that dog was going to eat my leg off,” Ethan said with a laugh as he shook out his napkin.

Mrs. Gonzales’s schnauzer had welcomed Molly with a wagging tale and friendly whines, but she’d taken exception when Ethan had begun to dismantle the floor furnace.

“Daisy doesn’t bite. She was looking for treats.”

“You calling my leg a doggie treat?”

Trying to hide her anxiety, Molly managed a smile. Ethan was good at making her forget. “Isn’t that what mailmen are for? Dog treats?”

“See why I have a goldfish?”

“Don’t forget the snake and the shark.”

The waitress arrived, earrings swaying, order pad at the ready. She took one look at her customers and said, “Well, hello, Molly. Haven’t seen you in here in a long time.”

Though the woman’s tone was friendly, Molly stiffened. The dread expanded in her chest. “Hi, Debbie. How’s the family?”

“Growing. One more kid and we’ll have to buy a hotel.”

At the mention of kids, Molly’s pulse rate rocketed. Her insides trembled, but instead of the expected reference to Zack’s death, Debbie pointed her pencil at Ethan and grinned. “Better watch out for this one. He’s trouble.”

“Is that right?”

“Positive. Just ask Tom. According to my husband, Ethan cheats at every sport known to man, even in the church fellowship hall.”

Ethan’s lips twitched.

Across the room someone hollered, “Hey, Debbie, I need some coffee.”

“Be there in a sec, Willis.” She hollered back, and then said to Ethan, “Better get moving. What are you two having today? The special is fried chicken.”

“Sounds good. How about you, Molly?”

Molly agreed, though as nervous as she was, she doubted her ability to eat a bite.

Debbie took their order, flipped over their coffee cups and filled them, then whirled away, bantering with customers and refilling cups.

Ethan folded his arms on the tabletop and leaned toward her. “So how have you been? You’re not limping anymore so I’m guessing the cut healed just fine.”

“All gone except for a long red line. Doc Jamison says it will fade with time.”

At the mention of a scar, Ethan’s hand moved to the one dissecting his eyebrow. He smoothed his finger over and over the scar. As before, Molly was tempted to ask about the wound that had caused it, but Ethan didn’t give her a chance.

“Any progress on the plumbing problem?”

Moving her gaze from the scar to his eyes, she shook her head. The local plumber was still backed up. “Not yet. How are you and Laney doing since the ice storm?”

Ethan’s hand paused at his temple, expression tender. The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Laney’s awesome.”

“Growing, I imagine.”

“Like a weed. She had a cold a couple of weeks ago, but that didn’t slow her down.”

“A cold?” Her voice rose. “Is she all right?”

Ethan’s look questioned her. “A cold, Molly. Not the Black Plague. Mrs. Stone brought over some kind of concoction to rub on her chest.”

Molly tried to relax, but the worry nagged her. Had Laney caught a cold while in her care? Had she caused the sickness by making Ethan and the baby spend five days in the old camper?

“I’ve used Mrs. Stone’s home remedies,” she finally said. “They’re usually effective. Did it work?”

“Worked great. Even worked for me.”

Molly paused from stirring sugar into her coffee.

As much as she worried about Laney, she worried more about Ethan. He put in long hours in addition to caring for Laney and doing oddjobs for those in need. And there was no one to care for him or Laney if he became ill.

“Were you sick, too?”

“Nah. But the smell of that stuff cleaned out my sinuses anyway.”

Captivated by the pure fun in Ethan’s blue eyes, Molly laughed. Ethan had that power—to make her relax, to help her forget her worries, to remind her that she was a woman.

Still holding her gaze with his, he rubbed a finger over the back of her hand and grew serious. “I’ve missed you.”

She’d missed him, too, a troublesome truth.

Fortunately, she was saved from saying anything when a man paused at their table to chat with Ethan about a hunting lease.

In the background, plates clattered, voices rose and fell, and occasional laughter broke out around the long room.

Here were people she’d known all her life. Yet Ethan seemed more comfortable with them than she did. Natural, she supposed, given the cloud of suspicion she’d lived under for so long. Ethan had proven trustworthy. The jury was still out on her.

Throughout lunch, townspeople continued to stop at their table with greetings. Each time she tensed, but no one mentioned Zack. No one stared at her as if she’d done something terrible. By the end of the meal, she had relaxed and was actually enjoying herself.

And then her sister walked through the door.

Chapter Eight

E
than watched a radical change come over his luncheon partner. One minute she was giggling at something silly he’d said and the next she turned as white as one of Laney’s diapers.

“Molly? What’s wrong?” He laid his fork aside and looked around the noisy diner. The only difference he noticed was a too-slim woman with short-cropped red hair standing in the entry. He recognized her from church, though theirs was only a passing acquaintance.

Apparently Molly knew her far better than he did.

He was no rocket scientist, but he wasn’t stupid either. Though different in style and stature, the familial likeness was striking. Two redheads with the same almond eyes and high cheekbones could only mean one thing.

“Is that your sister?”

Molly nodded, hand at her throat. “Chloe.”

Her tone, broken and anxious, touched him. So this was the sister with whom she had “issues.”

Curiosity tempered by concern, he asked, “Should we leave?”

But it was too late. The woman spotted them, jerked as if she’d suffered an electric shock and began twisting the straps of a black shoulder bag round and round in her hands.

She stared in disbelief for several long, tense moments before striding toward their table. If she noticed Ethan’s presence at all, she didn’t acknowledge it. Her wounded gaze bore into Molly.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The words hissed out of her mouth like noxious gas escaping a canister.

Molly seemed to shrivel. Hurt and longing hung over her like a darkness. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Ethan leaned back in his chair and gripped the table’s edge, hardly able to take in the bizarre conversation. Since when did Molly, or anyone else for that matter, have to apologize for eating in a public restaurant?

Though he had no idea what was going on, he considered intervening. From the looks of Molly, she was about to collapse.

Before he could, Chloe, her skin as pale as Molly’s, spoke again.

“I don’t understand why you keep doing this.” She stuck out a trembling hand. “See this? Do you realize how upset I get? Even tranquilizers don’t help in situations like this.”

“Tell me how to make things better, Chloe. What can I do?”

Molly’s reply was gentle and so filled with sadness, Ethan could almost see her broken heart. Without another thought, he slid a hand across the table to touch her. Her fingers were as cold as the icicles they’d melted for water.

“My counselor says I have to find a way to resolve things with you if I’m ever to be happy again,” Chloe said, her narrow chin tilting in a martyred pose. “But he doesn’t understand. Every time I see you, I remember—” Her voice broke. Tears welled in eyes so like Molly’s…and yet so different.

“I’m sorry.” Molly’s voice was barely a whisper. Her knuckles had gone white against her throat. “Please forgive me. Please, Chloe. Forgive me.”

“Forgive?” The redhead’s lower lip trembled with victimization. “How can I? All I ask is for you to leave me alone, and yet here you are.”

Ethan was fast moving from bewildered to annoyed. If this woman didn’t back off pretty quick, she’d have someone else to blame for her problems—him.

He caught Molly’s gaze, lifted an eyebrow to ask if he should intervene. She gave her head a tiny shake and pushed aside her plate.

“We’ll leave now.”

She started to rise but Ethan stopped her with a hand on her arm. “No. Sit down and finish your chicken.”

“Ethan, please.” Huge golden eyes begged him. “Let’s go.”

If she said
please
one more time he would come unwound. She had no reason to beg him or anyone else. But her anguish disturbed him enough to let her win.

“All right. If you’re certain that’s what you want.”

“It is. Please.”

Ethan ground his teeth and barely refrained from cursing, a bad habit he’d thought was long gone.

“Let me take care of the check.” Rising, he reached for his wallet and tossed a tip on the table. Reluctant to leave Molly alone, he locked eyes with the vindictive sister and stared hard, signaling as much of a warning as possible without upsetting Molly even more.

Chloe emitted an affronted hiss and hitched her narrow chin.

Ethan couldn’t believe this woman. She seemed to believe she had a right to treat her sister with such cruelty.

Molly leaped up and grabbed her coat from the back of the chair. “I’ll wait in the truck.”

As she brushed past her trembling sister, Molly whispered, “I love you,” and Ethan thought either his heart would break or his anger would explode.

He made his way to the cash register, aware of the whispers coming from the other tables, but too concerned about Molly to listen. After settling the bill, he hurried out to the truck.

Once inside, he started the vehicle to ward off the chill and then turned sideways in the seat. “What was that all about?”

Molly still shook like a wet kitten. “Nothing. Just take me back to the center.”

He clenched his jaw, fighting off the very real threat of his temper. “No way. This vehicle doesn’t move until you talk to me.”

He’d had all of her secrets he was willing to take. They’d been strangers before so he hadn’t pried, but now he was a friend. And friends helped each other.

Her hand went to her throat again in that anxious action he’d witnessed far too often. “I can’t talk about it, Ethan. You’ll hate me.”

Hate her? She was making less sense than her sister had. But whatever troubled her cut deep and lay like a boulder on her slender shoulders. Having him lash out, too, wasn’t the way to help.

Without stopping to think about it, he reached out and pulled her into his arms. She needed comfort. He could give it.

As soon as her forehead touched his shoulder, she broke. All the resolute composure he’d observed during the confrontation with her sister gave way to tortured sobs.

As much as Ethan hated for a woman to cry, Molly needed this. Heavy-hearted, bewildered and worried, he stroked her silky hair and let her cry herself out.

There had been a time in his own life when he had needed someone this way. Thank God his parents had been there ready to catch him when he’d fallen. From the looks of things, Molly didn’t have that safety net.

When the storm of tears passed she tried to pull away, but he held her fast against the damp shoulder of his coat. She required little resistance to keep her there, and he wondered how long it had been since Molly had had a shoulder to cry on.

Holding her was a simple thing to do. And, regardless of the circumstances, he liked having her in his arms. She smelled like the vanilla candles his mother liked so much. He liked them, too, more now than ever.

The foolish thought flitted through his head that he would buy one for his apartment and burn it whenever he wanted to think of Molly.

Disgruntled by such silliness, he shoved the idea away. Right now, something way more serious than Molly’s sweet vanilla scent weighed on him.

He needed to know what terrible secret had torn her family apart. And was still tearing her apart.

Gradually, the tremors in her body subsided to occasional jerks and sniffs. When at last she lifted her head, he smoothed the hair back from her tear-streaked face.

“How can I help you fix this if you don’t tell me?” His throat was thick with more emotion than he normally wanted to deal with. Molly had that strange effect on him.

Averting her face, she grappled in her coat pocket and came up with a tissue.

“Some things can’t be fixed, Ethan.” Her voice, too, was wrought with emotion, only hers carried the added layer of sorrow.

“Not true. God can fix anything.” Didn’t he know from personal experience? “Maybe not in the way we expect, but He can make things right again.”

“Chloe won’t let Him. Won’t even try.”

“Why not?”

She lifted puffy, red eyes that tore at his heart and brought the anger surging up inside him again. Somebody needed their heads cracked for this. Two years ago, he’d happily have done the honors. If nothing else his walk with Christ had helped him see the futility in such behavior. It hadn’t, unfortunately, taken away his natural inclination to take matters into his own hands.

“I hurt her, Ethan. I wronged her in the most terrible way.”

“What did you do that could have been that bad?”

She fell silent for a moment while the hum of the heater filled the space between them with sound and warmth. He could see the war going on inside her. She didn’t want to go there, and yet she couldn’t escape the memory.

Shoulders hunched, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, shakily.

“After today, you’re bound to hear about it from someone. It would probably be better if I tell you myself. You’ll hear the truth this way.”

He narrowed his eyes. The truth? Did the good people of Winding Stair tell lies about Molly? Regardless of the fact that he attended church with her troubled sister, he’d never heard a negative word about Molly.

A car pulled in beside them. A door slammed, and his peripheral vision caught the flash of a plaid jacket. Ethan kept his attention riveted on Molly. No matter how long she stalled, he would wait.

“Talk to me,” he said in the same soothing, cajoling tone he’d once used to gather vital information from injured patients.

Molly stared out the fogging window and followed the plaid coat with bleak eyes.

Ethan clicked on the defroster.

As if the switch had also activated her tongue, Molly whispered, “Chloe believes I killed her baby.”

The awful words echoed in the moist, heated air for a full minute. Stunned, Ethan fell back against the seat to absorb her meaning. His brain buzzed louder than the humming van motor. He couldn’t take it in.

The Molly he knew wouldn’t hurt a flea. She fed birds and fretted over strangers, she provided for countless needy kids, and she pampered the elderly. No way she’d ever hurt a child.

“I don’t believe you,” he said when he’d regained his voice.

“It’s true. Anyway that’s what Chloe and most of the people around here think.”

She looked so small and alone, sitting huddled against the door with her terrible secret hanging heavy between them.

All of his protective instincts screamed to gather her close and block out the ugliness, to be the shield between Molly and the rest of the world. But it wasn’t the world that tormented Molly. It was her own guilt and sorrow.

He reached out, tried to pull her back into his arms, but she resisted, scooting away to dig another tissue from the pocket of her beige coat. Red marks spotted her neck where her fingers had squeezed.

He eased back against the driver’s door, allowing her the distance she seemed to need. As much as he longed to touch her, he resisted. The shots were hers to call. “What happened?”

A beat passed. Then two. Her breath whooshed out, adding more fog to the windshield.

“Chloe and James wanted an afternoon out, so I offered to babysit for Zack. He was six months old. I loved him so much.” She fidgeted with the tissue, picking it apart in tiny pieces. “We played. I fed him and gave him a bath. He smelled so good.” She closed her eyes as if remembering. “I can still smell him if I try.”

Something inside Ethan twisted. He knew that sweet, special baby scent very well.

“He was fine when I put him in his crib. Sleeping so peacefully. I kissed his soft little cheek and went into the living room.” She pressed her fists together in front of her face, shoulders hunched. “If only I hadn’t watched that TV show. Maybe if I had looked in on him sooner.”

His medical knowledge clicked into place. He knew of only one malady so unexpected and so devastating in perfectly healthy infants.

“SIDS?” he asked quietly. He’d gone out on a couple of those calls in his paramedic days. No call was more shattering.

“That’s what the autopsy revealed.” She shuddered. “An autopsy, Ethan. I can’t bear to think about it.”

Neither could he. He blocked the thought and moved into objective medic mode. If he let his emotions have free rein, he wouldn’t be any help to her at all.

“SIDS happens, Molly. You didn’t cause it.”

“But don’t you see? That doesn’t matter. Fault or not, my sister’s baby is dead. She lost the most precious thing in her life.”

“But why punish you?”

“I was the adult in charge. I was the one she’d trusted to protect her baby.”

What could he say? No amount of argument would change the hideous loss all of Molly’s family had suffered. He couldn’t begin to imagine how he would feel in the same situation. Laney was his everything. After all he’d been through to keep her, nothing could be worse than losing her.

But regardless of the tragedy, Chloe had no right to vent her anger and bitterness on Molly. Didn’t the woman realize that Molly was grief-stricken, too?

“One thing for certain, Molly. Neither you nor your sister can heal until the rift between you is mended.” He’d had enough psych classes to know the negative impact of hanging onto guilt and unforgiveness.

“But being around me hurts her, and I don’t want her to suffer anymore. She’s been through too much already.”

And so have you, he wanted to say, but knew the sentiment would be rejected. Instead he said, “Is it like this every time you see her?”

Pale red hair brushed her chin as she nodded. “I’ve only seen her a few times, mostly by accident. But every time she looks at me with those accusing eyes, and I feel so horribly ashamed, I leave. I do that to her, Ethan. Seeing me breaks my sister’s heart.”

As Ethan absorbed the heartrending information, some of the things that had puzzled him about Molly began to make sense.

“This is why you’re so anxious around Laney, isn’t it?”

“I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

As terrible as it was, understanding this made him feel better. The fear around Laney coupled with the boxes for children’s charity had confused him. One minute he’d wondered if she was as self-focused as Twila and the next he hadn’t known what to think. Now he knew. It wasn’t that Molly didn’t care. She cared too much.

His admiration—and sympathy—rose several notches.