Sweet Blessings. Jillian Hart

little gold nametag said. Amy. She didn’t look like an Amy. Amys were cute and sweet and bubbly, and this one was somber. Polite and nice, but somber. She liked to keep people at a distance. He knew enough about shields to recognize one when he saw it. He had too many of his own.

      She returned with a container and he took it from her. He didn’t like to be waited on. He tipped his plate and the burger and fries tumbled into the box.

      Ever efficient, the waitress reached into her crisp apron pocket and laid a handful of ketchup packets on the table. That annoyed him. He couldn’t say why. Maybe because he felt her gaze. Her heavy, questioning gaze as if she were trying to take his measure. Trying to figure him out.

      He’d given up long ago.

      “There’s no charge,” her voice followed him like a light in a bleak place. “For what you tried to do.”

      “I pay my own way.”

      Whatever kind of man he looked like, he had standards. He had pride. He had no use for handouts. He wasn’t looking for a soup kitchen and a quick revival meeting to patch up the holes in his soul.

      He doubted even God could do that. So he faced the storm. What was a little wind and rain? Nothing.

      He was so numb inside that he didn’t feel the icy rain streaking in rivulets along the back of his neck. He didn’t feel the water squish into his boot as he crossed the unlit parking lot and became part of the chill and the night.

      Chapter Two

      “What’s with you?” Rachel asked as she tied off a bulging black garbage sack. “You’re attacking that floor as if it’s your own personal enemy.”

      Amy put a little more shoulder power into the mop. The yellow sponged head compressed into a flat line, oozing soap bubbles as she wrenched the handle back and forth. “I’m trying to get the floor clean.”

      “Yeah, but we don’t want the tile to come off with the dirt.”

      She had a point, Amy realized as she gave up on the faintest of black streaks—she’d need to buff those out. Otherwise the floor sparkled. She dunked the mop into the bucket, surrendering, and rubbed at the small of her aching back. “Is this day over yet?”

      “Go home. I can finish up.”

      “No, I told you I’d stay and I will. We leave together.”

      “What about Westin? He’s waiting up for you. I don’t have anyone at home for me. You go on.”

      “No. We share the work. And that’s low, using my son to get me to do what you want.” Amy loved her sister, who meant well. Who always gave too much. “You know I’m thinking of him.”

      Was it wrong that she was thinking of someone else, too?

      Yes. Determined to sweep the lone stranger from her mind, she lugged mop and bucket to the industrial sink and, with a heave, emptied the dirty, soapy water. There. The bucket was clean and so was her…well, her list of distractions. Westin came first. Always first. She had no business thinking about some man whose name she didn’t know.

      Men always led to trouble. Sure, there were a few good ones in the world, but they were as rare as hen’s teeth, as her grandmother used to say. And you couldn’t always tell the mettle of a man, no matter how wonderful he seemed, until it was too late.

      That was the truth. There were so many things she wished she could go back in time and change. She’d right every mistake and every problem that had blown up into a bigger problem.

      But there was one thing she would never regret, and that was deciding to keep her son. It hadn’t been easy for either of them, but they were a team, and somehow they’d get through this. With the good Lord’s help. And, of course, her family’s.

      Rachel wrestled a second garbage bag out of the industrial-sized bin and tied it off. “If you want to trade shifts tomorrow, let me know. Or, if you need me to sit with him so you don’t have to pay a baby-sitter, I’m available. You know how I love to spend time with my nephew.”

      “Thanks, I’ll let you know. This means I’m doing the early-morning shift tomorrow?”

      “Paige gets back in two days. We just have to survive until then.”

      Amy dumped a dollop of soap into the bucket and ran fresh hot water. “Survive? I think we’re doing really good on our own.”

      “Except for the short-handed part.”

      Paige was their older sister, who ran everything perfectly and was out of town. And while chaperoning the youth-group trip to the Grand Canyon was great, no one had known ahead of time that the cook was going to up and quit out of the blue and leave them shuffling to fill his position and cover most of Paige’s duties.

      Rachel, her soft heart showing, straightened from garbage detail. “You’ve been working way more shifts than I have. I know, you don’t mind. You can use the extra tip money. Speaking of which, please take me up on my offer to baby-sit. I know you think it’ll be imposing, but I really want to help. I’m supposed to spend tomorrow doing the books, so it’s done for Paige’s inspection when she gets back. I can just take everything over to your place. Maybe alternate posting to the ledgers with playing a few games, video and otherwise.”

      There was no way Amy could say no to her sister’s big doe eyes. And Rachel knew it. Not to mention it would help with the baby-sitter’s bill. But that wasn’t the driving reason she agreed. “I’m sure Westin would love to spend his day with his Aunt Rachel. He’s been wanting to play Candyland with you.”

      “Oh, that’s my very favorite game. Probably because I’ve always had a sweet tooth.” Rachel cheerfully grabbed the bulging garbage bags, one in each hand. She was gone with a slap of the door.

      Thunder cannoned overhead, echoing in the empty dining room. Amy rocked back on her heels. Wow, that was a good one. As she turned off the faucet and hefted the bucket from the sink, her heart went out to her son miles away. Had he heard it, too? He didn’t like storms.

      I’ll be home as soon as I can, baby. Just one patch of floor left. Moving fast, she leaned the mop against the wall and hustled down the aisle, flipping the chairs onto tabletops as she went.

      She stopped at the last booth. It was where he’d sat. The stranger. The image of him remained as brightly as if he’d been on a movie screen, how he’d stood with feet braced and shoulders wide in the rain. How he’d faced down the oncoming blaze of headlights and refused to move. He was either really brave or he had a death wish, and she’d nearly fainted with horror watching as the truck had careened toward him. Certain he was about to be hit, she’d started running toward the door until, at the last moment, he’d stepped out of harm’s way.

      Then, as if he’d done nothing of consequence, he growled at her, refused her thanks and left the diner with his meal in hand. He just stalked out the door, eager to be on his way, solitary and remote.

      Wasn’t that just like a man?

      Oh, well, he was gone. She wished him luck. She didn’t know what else to do. She would add him to her prayer list tonight. He’d made her feel things she’d worked hard to keep buried. Feelings and memories she’d banished after her son was born and she’d come home a different woman from the girl who’d left for big-city excitement with a chip on her shoulder and something to prove—only to find out that home wasn’t as bad as she’d thought.

      The back door blew open and slammed against the wall. Rachel came in with the wind and rain. “Whew. It nearly blew me away out there and it’s getting worse. Let’s hightail it out of here while we can.”

      “I’m almost done.” Determined to finish, Amy upended the final chair. Something dark tumbled to the floor.

      She knelt to retrieve it. Mercy’s A’s was scrawled in worn gold-and-white letters on the black fabric of a man’s baseball hat. The bill had curved into a sagging