Jill Kemerer - Small-Town Bachelor

Claire.

Medium height, almost-black hair skimming her shoulders, slim and pretty. Very pretty. She had unusual eyes—a ring of indigo surrounded the palest blue—and a sweet smile. The kind of smile a guy could let go to his head, if he was the type to consider having a wife and family. Which he wasn’t. Not even close.

Claire had taken care of him for hours in the dark. She had a soothing way about her, had handled the disaster calmly and kept up a steady stream of chatter until her dad found them and called an ambulance.

If Reed had to be trapped half the night with a broken leg and rain pouring through a gaping hole in the ceiling and a tree on top of him, he was glad he’d been with Claire.

He frowned. Why was he thinking about her in that way?

She lived in Lake Endwell. The one place he avoided. His dad, stepmother and half brother, Jake, lived here and were just fine without him in the picture. The three of them had moved to Lake Endwell after Reed graduated from high school, and this was the first time Reed had visited in years. Chicago provided a necessary two-hour buffer. Barrier? Whatever. It all added up to the same thing—he didn’t fit with them. Or with families in general. He’d ruined two already.

Reed had no clue how to make a relationship—any relationship—last.

“You’re awake.” Barbara, his stepmother, paused in the doorway, her lips not quite committing to a tremulous smile. Her short black hair skimmed her chin, and she wore a dark green sweater set with her ever-present pearls. Dressed up even after a tornado. She strode to his side and poured water into a small plastic cup. “Sip some of this. You must be thirsty. Do you want me to hold it for you?”

He should have known she’d be here, trying to play Florence Nightingale with him. Why she continued to make an effort, he didn’t know. It wasn’t as though he deserved her kindness. He’d always been cordial, but he preferred to keep a distance. Didn’t want her poking and prying and getting close. Better that way.

He reached for the cup, grimacing when his trembling fingers spilled it.

“Let me.” She placed it against his lips.

He dutifully took a sip. “Thanks.” It came out more a croak than a word. His neck stiffened trying to hold his head up. “Claire?”

“She has a black eye and a few nasty scratches.”

His head sank into the pillow. Why a stranger—Claire, of all people—brought out his dormant protective side, he didn’t know, but last night he hadn’t liked the thought of her walking home in the rain, nor did he like the thought of her with a black eye now. “What about Jake? Is he all right?”

“He’s fine too. Rode out the storm in Dale’s basement with Libby. I’ll go get your father.” She patted his hand and left the room.

Jake was okay. Thank You, God. Reed loved the kid—not that a twenty-three-year-old could be called a kid. A twinge of guilt prodded. When Jake asked him to be the best man, Reed had considered turning down the offer. What kind of big brother was he?

“How are you?” Dad shuffled in with his hands in his pockets. He didn’t sit, just stood there shifting from one foot to the other. He nodded to the cast. “Rough getup.”

Tension crackled, and a fissure of cool air rushed over Reed’s skin, raising the hair on his arms. “Yeah.”

A knock at the door startled them. Staring at a clipboard, a doctor entered the room and strolled to the bed. “Ah, I see you’re awake.”

“I’ll wait outside.” The creases in Dad’s forehead deepened.

“Wait, Dad, don’t—” But he disappeared out the door. What had Reed expected? The man had made an art out of slipping away. Reed’s fingernails cut into his palms.

“How are you feeling? Tell me your pain level on a scale of one to ten.” The doctor pushed a button, raising Reed’s bed to a seated position, and checked him over.

“Four, I guess. I’m more stiff than sore.”

“Good. Good. How is your leg?”

“You tell me.”

The doctor scanned his notes, making a clicking sound with his tongue. “Broken tib-fib. Snapped in two places—the right tibia and fibula. We inserted a pin to hold the broken ends together, and we didn’t have any complications. We’ll be keeping a close eye on it with X-rays over the upcoming weeks, but I believe you’ll make a full recovery.”

Reed’s face must have betrayed his shock, because the doctor lowered his clipboard. “It could have been much worse. You’re fortunate you had someone there to elevate it and keep it stable all those hours.”

Reed agreed. Without Claire’s help, he would be in much worse shape.

“The cast.” Reed dipped his chin to indicate his leg. “How long will I have to wear it?”

“Plan on a minimum of six weeks.”

Six weeks?

“No other injuries?” Reed asked. “Only the broken—what did you call it?”

“Tib-fib. You broke your leg. We’ll keep you here overnight. In the meantime, I want you to give some thought to how you’re going to manage at home. Do you have anyone who can help you get around?”

“I’ll be fine.” He’d figure it out. People got around in casts all the time. It wouldn’t be that big a deal.

But what about Alaska? In all the chaos, he’d forgotten his monthlong trip to the last American frontier. The timing had been perfect. Do his duty as best man in Jake’s wedding, squeal the tires out of Lake Endwell Sunday morning and drive across the upper states until he reached Bellingham, Washington. From there, he’d hop on a ferry for whale watching and spend the rest of the month exploring Alaska. Give him time to breathe before tackling his duties as the new vice president of Rockbend Construction. Eight years of intense work and he’d finally been offered the VP title he coveted. Everything had fallen into place.

Until this.

He swallowed the copper taste of disappointment. Why had God allowed this to happen? Jake’s wedding ruined. A broken leg the day before Reed’s Alaskan adventure.

What now? He couldn’t return to Chicago. An image of the busy sidewalks he navigated seared into his mind—it was hard enough getting around the city on two legs, let alone on one. And he didn’t have anyone in Chicago who could help.

He’d just have to change his daily routine and walk less, drive more.

The doctor pulled out a stool and wheeled next to the bed. “The tibia supports the body’s weight. Avoid putting any pressure on the leg for several weeks. We’ll start you in a wheelchair, check the X-rays and if it’s healing, we’ll okay crutches. You’ll still have to stay off this leg, though. Don’t plan on driving until the cast is off.”

Wheelchair?

No driving?

As if that was going to happen. He wouldn’t bother telling the doc he had no intention of following his instructions. A wheelchair would never work in his high-rise apartment.

A sound startled him. Barbara hovered in the doorway, raised her eyebrows and fingered her pearls. “Doctor, would it be okay for Reed to have some lunch? He hasn’t eaten since yesterday.”

“Of course.” The doctor rose. “If you have any questions, I’ll be in later to check on you. And tell the nurse if you’re experiencing any pain.”

He was experiencing pain all right—the giant pain in the rear this injury had forced on him.

“I’ll tell the nurse you’re ready for some food.” Barbara hesitated. “Or would you like us to bring something? Roger and I will gladly go to the cafeteria.”

Yeah, Dad would gladly go to the cafeteria to avoid spending time with him. And Barbara would flutter around and make the atmosphere even more charged. If he could go back to sleep and not wake up until his leg was functioning...