Moving On (2 page)

Chapter 2

Perspiration beaded on Anna’s forehead when she saw the kennel and a doghouse. Her knuckles stretched against her skin while she gripped the steering wheel. The gate was closed on the pen. Her options were limited. She could go back to being a trauma nurse on stress leave, living in an apartment with unopened wedding gifts stacked against the wall and grieving over her dead fiancé. Or she could open the car door and challenge her childhood fear of dogs. After all, she’d been very young when that stray dog bit her leg.

Anna grasped the handle and jumped out of her car, flew along the wooden slat sidewalk, pounded up the steps, poked at the doorbell, and flattened herself against the door.

She turned with increasing agitation to check for a four-legged presence. Again, she drew the cleansing breath taught to her in bereavement counseling. She inhaled the smell of earth turned over from its winter rest. She spotted a green tractor on the horizon. What if the owner was in the field?

The air pressure shifted as the door opened. Her hands clung to the frame to keep herself from falling. Her eyes searched for a beast while a polite smile thinned on her lips.

Because of her past health care experiences, she instinctively assessed the man she had almost toppled against. He stood before her, rugged-looking and dressed in a multicolored terrycloth bathrobe tied loosely around his middle. Water glistened off his chest. She followed cloaked arms to hands resting on an aluminum-framed walker that attracted her eyes like a metal to magnet. A quick assessment noted one muscled leg and foot and one absent limb.

Anna met his stare and asked, “Recent?”

His hooded brown eyes widened. “Almost a year.”

“Okay.” She didn’t need to worry about him; his loss wasn’t recent. Anna nodded. “My neighbors called about a room for the night.”

“You’re early. Most clients come after they’ve had some supper.”

“Never thought about it.”

“Might as well come in and I’ll show you the room.” He waved her to precede him.

Picturing owners of a B&B, her imagination would conjure up a Margaret and Herman. Not the tanned male in his prime who should be on the seat of the tractor on the horizon. His arms looked strong enough to hold and protect her out in the unpredictable world rather than leaning on a walker here in the hallway of a home where light flashed on polished surfaces of solid wooden tables and the armrests of cushioned chairs. There was something about him, a suggestion of dependability during loss. Her heart pounded in recognition.

“Straight down the hall and on your left.” The timbre of his voice broke the silence and seemed to push her forward.

She led the way. The drop of the walker and the hop were almost simultaneous, like footsteps. He seemed practiced and agile.

She turned. “Here?”

“Yes. A list of everything you need to know is on the bedside table.” He called over his shoulder, “The restaurant on the top of the hill cooks up a supper special.”

She wouldn’t turn around. She wouldn’t get involved. This new life was about taking care of herself rather than everyone around her. She sank onto the bed with its ruffled edged sheets, lacy trim, and canopy. Luxury.

Past experiences with amputees nudged for acknowledgement. She buried them with action, moving with exactness to the double doors, which led to a wraparound porch. The porch was ordinary in the days when reticence was more prevalent rather than today when it seemed as though everyone shared their thoughts openly. This setting was just what she needed. He had his privacy, she had hers. Maybe he even had a wife somewhere. Maybe she was driving the tractor. He probably had someone sharing his future.

With the list of rules in one hand and the key to the double doors in the other, she followed the advice she had read in the book on living with a fear of dogs.
Walk strong and sing a nursery rhyme.
“A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M-N-O-P,” and she was at her car opening the door, climbing into the seat, safe.

She drove back into the valley. Straight toward the water’s edge she could see the beach sand, the play area with swings and slides and picnic tables. Her stomach rumbled so she headed to the Hilltop Café and Pizzeria.

The parking spaces next to the building were filled with half-tons, SUVs, and vans. She parked her compact and looked forward to ordering her favorite pizza. While she waited to be seated, a couple of men nudged each other and they smiled her way. She nodded back. Two young women with children in highchairs stared openly at her hair, scrubbed face, and citified uniform. Could she advertise ‘stranger’ any more blatantly?

An Asian man with an apron tied snugly around his waist asked, “Is this to eat in or take out?”

She made a split decision. “Take out, please.” She placed her order, paid, and exited back to the safety of her car for the promised quarter of an hour.

While she waited, she plowed through her suitcases and packed her jeans, T-shirt and PJs into an overnight case along with her hygiene essentials, and a novel. If she waited to do this at the B&B, she might get a four-legged beast sneaking up and sniffing her butt while it was stuck out the door. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the spectacle she’d create.

When she turned out of the parking lot and back onto the highway toward the B&B, the aroma of her pizza soothed her concerns about the possible dog. It could be an old pen. Maybe there wasn’t an animal in residence any longer. She held on to that thought while she slung her case over her shoulder, looped the plastic sack with her supper across her wrist, and focused on the double doors of the room where she would stay tonight.

Sitting cross-legged in a white wicker chair directly outside her door, she savored her Greek salad and small spinach and feta cheese pizza. Without the constant hum of the traffic, voices floated across the road, and an occasional
thwack
from a golf club connecting to a ball was followed by good-natured cheers that shrank the wide expanse of the prairie landscape. Country rock percolated from the pores of the house as she half listened for nails on wood or a bark of any kind.

The sound of footsteps interrupted her thoughts. She picked up her novel from the side table and held it open in her hands. Over the past several months she’d learned if she appeared to be reading, people passed her without interrupting and perhaps stumbling over condolences.

“Excuse me.”

Anna pinched the corner of her page and looked up into brown eyes, then along the fine sculptured nose to his full lips. He wasn’t what would be considered handsome in an uptown office but there was that air of a man’s man. She waited in silence while he stood in front of her chair.

“Sorry about earlier. I’m usually put together before I meet strangers.” He pushed his hand through thick black hair. “Nick Donnelly, temporary B and B host.” His voice was a practiced modulation of polite distance, but the deep and resonant sounds seemed to reach out to her with his extended hand.

“Temporary?”

“My father owns the place. He’s gone on a cruise, so I’m in charge.”

“Anna Jenkins. Apology appreciated and accepted. I’ll add my own apology. In another life, I was trauma nurse but I shouldn’t have asked.”

His stance shifted. “Ah, that explains the question.” Nick straightened, tall and strong, like a tree posed on the horizon.

“Mrs. Lamb suggested breakfast may be a problem. If you could leave some coffee and perhaps a muffin for me in the morning, I’ll be fine,” she said.

“That I can do. Will you be back tomorrow night?”

“I hope not.”

He leaned one arm against the pillar, giving him the appearance of a controlled, casual stance.

“I meant I hope to be in my own house tomorrow night.”

“Good. I go to work early, I’ll contact the cleaner. Would you lock up when you leave?”

“Yes, but just one more thing.” Her voice wavered. “Is there a dog on the property?” Her hand pulled against her collar hiding the heat that crept up her neck while she waited for the answer.

He gave a sharp whistle and a movement over the hill caught her eye.

Her feet hit the floor and her hands gripped the chair. “Is it always loose? For instance, tomorrow when you’re gone, will it be penned?” Her throat dried up while she watched the horizon and the four-legged beast thundering toward the yard.

A big, black dog lunged against Nick’s chest. Anna gaped in amazement as his features softened and his laughter became a croon. “Where have you been, girl?”

With her heart pulverizing her ribs, she scuttled behind the screen door. While Nick ruffled the beast’s fur, Anna’s ears were accosted by barking ecstasy. Her skin tingled. No animal should enjoy its master’s touch that much.

Nick approached the door with the dog at his side. Anna jumped backward. “Don’t come any closer!”

His brow furrowed while he peered through the mesh. “Molly won’t hurt you. She’s as gentle as a lamb.”

“That’s what every dog owner says, even after the animal has mauled you. Of course, after blood’s flowing, then it’s the victim’s fault.”

His fingers curled around the collar of the black beast. “Molly has never bitten anyone.”

“I’ll bet she chases rabbits.”

“She’s an animal.”

“Exactly my point.”

With his hand on the door latch, he asked, “What’s the worst that can happen? You lose a hand. You already know all about missing limbs.”

“Do I look foolish to you?”

His eyes held hers. His voice was calm. “No, but you don’t have to be afraid.”

Anna inched closer to the door. “I won’t come out. She can smell my hand from here.” She placed her fingers against the mesh. Molly looked from the hand to the pizza container and back to the hand just inside the door. She nudged the pizza container with her nose.

“Leave it.”

The dog turned and looked up at Nick and sat at his side. He threaded his fingers through the royal blue collar. “City people come out to the country and want to lock and tie everything up. Animals need to run. I’ve got her collar.”

She focused on Nick’s deep brown eyes, then sighed and opened the door. He cradled her hand in his and pulled it toward the beast’s nose. She felt safe as long as she held his gaze.

A ticklish, warm, wet path crossed her palm.

Nick held her fingers firm. “Don’t snatch it away. She’s an animal, remember.”

Her hand shook. She had a sudden, inane vision of caressing the creases on his face. Instead, she took control and made her fingers relax in his hold. “Old fears die hard.”

“Same as new ones.” He kissed her fingertips before releasing them and dropping his hand to his thigh. “It’s bedtime for Molly and me. Good night. I’ll take her with me in the morning. Sleep tight and don’t worry.”

Be happy
wormed its way into her mind. “Thanks.” She pressed her recently kissed fingertips to her throat and felt her heart skip in beats of anticipation.

He placed his right foot firmly before pivoting and walking evenly toward the front door. If she hadn’t seen him without his prosthesis she would not have guessed he’d lost part of his leg. The black dog wagged her tail at his side.
We’re all cautious about secrets
.

Man and beast retired without a backward glance.

Molly’s nails clicked on the floor as Nick reached the doorway of his childhood bedroom at the rear of the house. If he hadn’t indulged in extra laps in the pool after work, he would have been dressed before Anna knocked at the door. He could tell she had secrets of her own, with her buttoned-down collar and pressed pants and a mop of curls like those he usually saw on the silver-tinted clients coming and going from Connie’s Curly Cue. Except her curls were burnished copper.

Nick eased himself into the chair and slipped off his right boot before he stood to push down his jeans so he could remove his prosthesis. Molly watched him set the booted foot against the wall. Only a handful of people in this town knew about his loss, and he wanted it kept that way. As far as he knew, even Margaret stayed mum about his secret.

He’d been glad his father left town the same day he arrived. Nick had kept the details of his surgery in Germany sketchy. He had planned to tell his father over a pot of coffee. Nick would return to his troop as soon as he was fit but his father would argue. Nick just wanted to recuperate without Dad worrying about his only son’s future.

The light of a half moon bounced on the ripple in the pool’s surface just outside his bedroom. He wondered again what had prompted Dad to install a kidney-shaped indoor pool and open a B&B, of all things. He’d thought his father would die on the seat of a combine, working the land just like his grandfather and uncle. However, this year he emailed Nick informing him he’d rented out his land to the local Hutterite Colony, leaving others to do the business of seeding and harvesting.

The land was all Nick had heard about from the time he could walk, how it had been in the family for a hundred years, how Nick had better get his act together and learn the business of being a steward of the land.

Right now Nick was the end of the Donnelly line. His grandfather first and then his uncle who had shared the love, work, and hardships of the land, were gone. Last year while he was on the Afghanistan peacemaking tour, Nick began to dream about the rich loam and the peace of the land he knew so well. The land where he’d seen war waged flowed with danger and demanded a keen eye, but even all the eyes in his troop hadn’t spotted the IED before it triggered. The medics had done their best until he had been airlifted to Germany.

His left calf tingled. He reached down and for the umpteenth time his hand met air. They’d told him these phantom limb sensations were normal. It might be normal, but they sure annoyed him.

It felt unusual to have a woman in this house. His mother had left before Nick even finished third grade because she wanted more out of life. Grandma, of course, wore out a little faster after that. Both his father and grandfather decided to divide the household chores into each of their daily lives, and Nick cooked, washed, ironed, and scrubbed beside both of them. Consequently, he didn’t have the same adjustment to army life like a lot of the other men who had either a mother or girlfriend to look after them.