from someone depositing funds in a never-ending account, to all the volunteers who lend a helping hand.”
Kaitlyn Foster slipped into the small cottage. She was a striking woman, with blond hair and green eyes, who could make any woman envious of her. But her personality as a compassionate pediatrician was as striking as her good looks. That compassion seemed to extend to all areas of her life. She’d been so kind to Sara after the fire and so good with Amy.
Now she was carrying a small bedside lamp in pink and white, perfect for a little girl’s room. “I just have to plug this in and Amy’s room is ready. The sheets are on the bed if you want to make it.”
“I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay The Mommy Club. Is there anything I can do to help kids or a family who needs it?”
Kaitlyn said, “We have a food drive coming up, as well as a summer program for kids and parents. We provide lunches and food baskets for families who are down on their luck and kids who are hungry. All of it makes a difference. Even if lunch is just a sandwich with an apple, the kids act like it’s a gourmet meal. We can always use help. After you get settled in, we can talk about it more.”
Jase suddenly said, “I’d like to help, too.”
Both women stared at him.
“What? A man can’t help The Mommy Club? I can donate funds and a little time. Sure, I’m as busy as the next guy, but helping kids—that used to be my life’s goal.”
Again some of the pictures Jase had taken and stories he’d written ran through Sara’s mind. She knew precisely what had happened to change his life’s goal. What exactly was his goal now? Did he miss his old life?
After Kaitlyn said again she’d be in touch about the food drive and headed toward Amy’s room, Jase moved away from Sara, took one end of the sofa and pushed it where she wanted it in front of the fireplace. “How’s that?”
“Perfect. If you ever tire of making wine, you can move furniture,” she joked.
He gazed straight out the window to the winery. When his gaze met hers again, she thought she saw a bit of longing in his eyes. Just what did Jase Cramer long for?
He studied her and then came closer, his voice low and a bit husky. He said, “The only reason I can push that sofa around is the physical therapy you gave me.”
“Jase—”
“Don’t tell me it isn’t so.”
“Any therapist who took you on as a patient could have strengthened your arm and shoulder and put you on an exercise regimen to make you healthy again.”
“I don’t know if I believe that. It was your caring and your positive outlook that made me see I could have a future here, that photojournalism wasn’t the be-all and end-all. You provided more than physical therapy, Sara. I imagine you do with all your patients.”
She felt herself blushing, a condition she’d had since childhood that affected her when she was nervous or upset. Now she was neither of them, but she was blushing anyway.
As she looked into Jase’s face and saw he really meant what he said, her heart raced. At the V-neck of his T-shirt, black hair curled against his tan skin. She remembered the scars on his shoulder, the line across his stomach where bullets had almost been the death of him. A field doctor at the refugee camp had done emergency surgery and saved his life under awful conditions. Yes, Jase was lucky to be alive. She knew what the experience had cost him—the notes were in his medical records.
Amy suddenly came running in and wrapped her arms around Sara’s legs. It was a relief to take her attention away from Jase and give it to her daughter. Her first and foremost concern always had to be Amy. “What’s up, Bitsy Bug?”
“I’m not a bitsy bug. I’m Amy.”
Sara hugged her daughter. “Did you get lonely out there?”
“I want to see my room.”
“We can do that. It’s not completely ready yet. Maybe you can help me make the bed.”
“Can Mr. Jase help, too?” Amy looked up at Jase with a wide smile, obviously accepting him into her world. That sweet roll had gone a long way, but his attitude had, too. He didn’t just tolerate Amy, he conversed with her. He got down on her level. A kid could smell a phony a mile away and Jase was no phony.
“I’m sure Mr. Cramer has so many more things to do than help make your bed.”
Jase shrugged. “I took the morning to help. Let’s go see what your room looks like.” He held out his hand to Amy.
Her daughter didn’t hesitate to take it. Jase was so tall, and Amy, so small. Living on the Raintree Winery property, just how often would they see him?
There was a single bed in Amy’s room with a white wood headboard. The short dresser had a child-sized mirror hanging above it. Beside the bed, someone had unfolded a latch-hook rug with adorable kittens scampering on it. A sealed package of new pink sheets, a soft pink blanket and a pink-and-white gingham spread with ruffles lay at the foot of the bed.
“I like pink,” Amy said as if wondering why her mother was hesitating. The truth was, Sara’s throat felt thick and her chest a little tight. Someone had done this for her daughter and she was so thankful for that.
Without her saying a word, Jase seemed to understand. He unfolded the spread and laid it over the wooden rocking chair by the side of the bed. Patting the mattress, he said to Amy, “Try it out. See what you think. You shouldn’t jump on it, but you can bounce a little.”
Forgetting her mom for the moment, Amy crawled up onto the bed and bounced up and down. “It’s soft.”
Jase had already ripped open the package of sheets. He flipped the pillowcase to Amy. “See if you can put the pillow in that. It will be a big help.”
After Amy jumped off the bed, Sara helped her daughter stuff the pillow into the fabric. By then, Jase had the bottom sheet spread on the bed and tucked in.
“Do this often?” Sara teased.
But he said casually, “I’m used to setting up camp. This isn’t all that different. It’s sort of like riding a bike. You never forget how.”
“When you were a kid and living here, I bet you didn’t have to make your own bed.”
A shadow crossed Jase’s face. She’d seen those shadows before when he was remembering something he didn’t want to remember. She could understand that with regard to his injuries and his broken engagement, but with regard to his childhood?
“The housekeeper took care of that.”
“Does your father have help with the house now?” Certainly, he must.
“We have a cook who comes in three times a week. She prepares food and makes sure the refrigerator’s stocked. A cleaning lady also comes in once a week. As I said, my father didn’t particularly like someone else around all the time.”
“But he agreed to let me stay here because it’s temporary.”
“Something
