Small-Town Bachelor. Jill Kemerer

things done quickly.”

      “Reed’s boss called him while I was there yesterday. No calls have come through from any girls. I’d say he’s definitely girlfriend free.” Sally gave her a knowing look, then handed her the takeout bag. “You’d better get moving if you want to enjoy your meal while it’s hot. Tell Reed hi for us, and let him know I’ll be bringing lunch tomorrow around noon. I like that boy. He’s respectful and cute.”

      Claire couldn’t deny it. He was cute.

      “Nothing to say, huh?” Sally popped a hand on her hip. “Hey, I may be getting older, but I’m not blind. I’ll gladly bring a handsome guy lunch every day. Yes, I will. And I think you should make the most of this opportunity. A fine man like him hasn’t come through town in years.”

      Claire wasn’t touching this conversation with a fly-fishing rod.

      “How’s he been with you? Not much of a talker, is he?”

      “He talks,” Claire said. “He’s probably in pain and doesn’t want to show it.”

      “I’m sure you’re right. With you bringing him dinner, maybe we can convince him to stay.”

      Not likely. “I think he’s pretty happy in Chicago.” Claire reached for the handles of the paper bag. She kissed her aunt on the cheek, thanked her and headed back to Granddad’s cottage.

      Five minutes later, as she made her way up the ramp, she paused to savor the low sunlight spreading gold over the lake. Her favorite place in the world. God had touched this land, blessed it with beauty. Giving the side door a perfunctory two knocks, she cracked it open.

      “Yoo-hoo, Reed? It’s Claire.” She set the bag on the large island and continued to the living room, stopping when she glimpsed him.

      Shirtless.

      Her mouth dried to ashes. Wow. Reed’s arms flailed over his head, and the T-shirt he wrestled with tangled in his hands and forearms. He muttered something, and she chortled, choking on a laugh as she sped to his side.

      “Let me.” She tugged the cotton off him, and then, trying not to gawk at his bare chest—she’d be attempting to erase the image of that six-pack for some time, maybe forever—she straightened the material and stretched it over his neck. She spun on her heel to return to the kitchen. Why was she out of breath?

      “When you’re ready, come to the table.” Her words came out higher-pitched than a three-year-old’s.

      Reed followed her. His face had reddened—embarrassment or exertion?—but he stopped the wheelchair at the low farmhouse table next to a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows.

      “Isn’t the view incredible? Another gorgeous day on the lake.” She snatched two plates out of the cupboard, piled silverware and napkins on top and quickly set the table. Then she divvied up the fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn and biscuits before taking a seat next to him. “Want me to say grace?”

      “I’ll do it.” Reed folded his hands and said a prayer. When he finished, Claire smiled at him, but the hollowness in his eyes stopped her from digging into the food. “What’s wrong?”

      He sent a sharp glance her way. “Nothing.”

      “I didn’t cook this.” She backed her palms to her shoulders. “Aunt Sally did.”

      That brought the hint of a smile to his unshaven face.

      “Is it your leg? The first week is the worst for pain. Have you been taking your meds?” She strolled to the counter and found the orange bottles of various medications he was supposed to be taking.

      “I’m fine,” he growled.

      “You are not fine.” She held up one of the bottles. “I can see it in your eyes. I’m a trained professional, you know.”

      “I’m not an animal.”

      She chuckled. “I know. My otters are more playful. You’re grumpier.”

      “Your...what?” His crinkled nose and eyebrows reminded her she’d never told him about the rescued babies.

      “Otters. I’m caring for twins until the zoo takes them later this summer.”

      “Why?”

      “Their mom was attacked. Lost the use of her back legs. My friend Lisa runs an animal sanctuary nearby and was able to deliver the twins. They stayed with their mother until they were weaned, but Lisa only keeps injured animals. They’re too tame to be released into the wild, so I made an arrangement with the zoo. I’m housing them until the new exhibit is ready next month.” Finding the prescription ibuprofen, she returned to the table and slid the tablet his way. “Here. You should be a quarter way through the bottle by now. Haven’t you taken any?”

      “I don’t need them.” He pushed it away. “Before you start lecturing, though, I have been taking the antibiotics.”

      “I’m not lecturing.” Technically, she was lecturing, but she preferred to think of it as reminding. “Now is not the time to play tough guy, Reed. The painkillers will make this easier on you.”

      The vein in his temple jumped. He ignored the pill and bit into his drumstick.

      What now? She couldn’t force him to take it. And she couldn’t hide it in a piece of cheese the way she did when a pet stubbornly refused a tablet.

      Well, she probably could hide it in a piece of cheese, but Reed was an adult. He could make his own decisions and live with the aftermath.

      She suppressed a sigh and dug into her potatoes, telling him about Wompers, the enormous dog no one in their clinic had been able to budge from the waiting room this morning. The owner tried to drag the poor beast, but the dog could not be moved.

      The dark circles under Reed’s eyes and the tightness around his mouth churned her stomach.

      “Just take the stinking pill.” She pointed to it with her fork.

      He glared for five seconds but finally popped it in his mouth and took a swig of lemonade. She smiled. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

      They finished the meal in silence. When Claire stood to clear their plates, Reed backed the chair up, but it got caught on something. He jammed the wheels forward, then backward, then forward again. His body crackled with tension. “I hate this.”

      Claire wanted to go to him, put her arm around his shoulder and comfort him. But it wasn’t her place.

      “This stupid chair,” he said. “I can barely get around.”

      “I would hate it too. I wish I could make your leg heal with the snap of my fingers.” Claire strode to the living room and opened a cabinet. “Maybe you need something to take your mind off things.”

      She selected an early CD by Michael Bublé and slid it into the stereo. Jaunty music filled the air. Returning to the kitchen, she stacked dishes in the sink. Then she paused in the living room—Reed had wheeled to the sliding door and looked out at the lake. He rested his chin on his fist, his gaze faraway.

      “As hard as it is for me right now, the view almost makes me forget. Your grandfather knew what he was doing when he made his home here.”

      “I’m glad you think so.” The whitewashed walls, tan leather furniture, bookcases filled with paperbacks, old ashtrays and golden retriever knickknacks relaxed her. Reminded her how Granddad always had a hug and a pot of coffee for her. “It’s been a big part of my life.”

      Reed’s eyes appeared almost copper in the weakening light, and the expression in them... Apologetic? Or appreciative?

      “Claire?” His long lashes lowered. “Will you help me out of this torture chamber so I can sit on the couch?”

      “Of course.” A slow ballad came on. She bent for him to put his arm around her shoulder