his mind.
He glanced at her, as if realizing she’d been looking at him. “Life here is different from the big city. Can you imagine not having to lock your doors?”
“Not really,” she said, turning toward the scenery.
But her quiet didn’t stop him. He talked about the community while she viewed the passing landscape. She didn’t want to get caught up in his lighthearted prattle. She’d been miserable about coming here, and she planned to stay that way. Her attitude jolted her. She was being childish, but right now she didn’t care.
Ahead, Huron Street veered right past the visitor’s center. Christine viewed the wide lawn of the fort now hidden beneath a fine blanket of snow. The jingle of the horse’s bells set her in a holiday mood, despite her opposition to being here.
The driver pulled the reins, and they turned up Fort Road. As they climbed Fort Hill, the wind nipped at their backs and sent a chill down Christine’s spine.
“Cold?” Will asked, tucking the blanket more securely around her legs. “If you move closer to me, I’ll block the wind.”
She noted his masculine frame and, though feeling odd nestled beside a perfect stranger, she shifted toward him, grateful for the offer. When she moved, he slid his arm around her shoulders.
For a fleeting moment she drew away, but the wind lunged across her again. Reconsidering, she settled beside him. Pride and independence held no value if she froze to death.
Steam billowed from the horse’s nostrils as it trotted along, its hooves clopping on the asphalt road and breaking the deep silence.
“How long will you be here?”
“Only a week or so.” Her breath ballooned like a white cloud.
“That’s right. Your parents went on a cruise.”
She eyed him, wondering what else he knew about her family. “A Caribbean cruise.”
“Warm weather in the Caribbean. Sounds nice, although I like winter,” he said. As a second thought, he added, “Nice you’re filling in for them.”
Nice probably wasn’t the word. She’d resented it, but she’d come. “They’re celebrating their fortieth wedding anniversary.”
Will drew her tighter against his shoulder. “Forty. That’s great. Your parents are nice Christian people.”
“They are,” she said, feeling on edge again. Her Christian upbringing had taught her to honor her parents and show compassion, but while her parents followed those rules, she wasn’t always very good at it.
The road veered to the right, past the governor’s summer residence, then at the fork, the driver turned onto Cupid’s Pathway. When she saw the house ahead of her, she pulled away from Will’s protection, hoping to regain her composure.
“Here we are,” he said, as the driver reined in the horse beside the lovely Victorian home. The house tugged at her memories—summer memories, she reminded herself.
Will jumped off the rig and extended his hand. She took it, thinking he was not just irritatingly charming but a gentleman. When her foot touched the ground, Christine felt off balance. She steadied herself, not wanting to let Will know how addled she felt.
He released her and scooted around to the back of the carriage while the driver unloaded her luggage. When the large bag hit the road, Will pulled out the extension handle, grasped her carry-on and paid the driver.
Will led the way, and by the time she’d climbed the porch steps, he’d given a rap on the door, opened it and beamed his toying smile. “I live here.”
Christine gave a nod, thinking he might live in the house, but her grandmother wasn’t his. She hoped he remembered that. Hearing her grandmother’s welcoming voice, she surged past him.
“Grandma,” she said, sweeping into the cozy living room. She set her case on the carpet and opened her arms to her grandmother, noticing the droopiness on the right side of her face. Seeing her made the stroke seem so much more real. “You look good, Grandma Summers. As beautiful as ever.”
Her grandmother shook her head, her hair now white, her body thinned by age and illness. “That’s a wee bit of stretching the truth, Christine, but thank you. The truth is, you’re as lovely as ever.” Though her words were understandable, Christine noted a faint slur in her diction.
Christine ached seeing her grandmother’s motionless left side. Her mind flew back to the first time she was old enough to remember a visit from her grandmother. Ella Summers had appeared to her as a tall, well-dressed woman with neat brown hair the color of wet sand and a loving smile. Today she still had a warm, but lopsided smile.
Choked by the comparison, Christine leaned down to embrace her. When she straightened, she glanced behind her, wondering what had happened to Will.
“I’m happy you’re here,” her grandmother said, “but I’m sorry it’s because of my health. I feel so—”
“Just get better, Grandma. Don’t worry about feeling guilty.” Let me do that, Christine thought, as her grandmother’s words heightened her feeling of negligence.
She slipped off her coat, but before she could dispose of it, a sound behind her caused Christine to turn.
Will stood with his shoulder braced against the living room doorjamb. He had removed his jacket, and she noticed his chestnut-colored sweater, nearly the color of his eyes. She pulled her attention away and focused on her grandmother.
“Now that I’m out of the hospital’s rehab and you’re here, I’ll get better sooner,” Ella said, trying to reach for her hand without success.
The picture cut through her. “Mom and Dad told me what happened, but I’d like to hear it from you.” She draped her coat on the sofa, then sat in a chair closer to Grandma Summers.
Her grandmother’s face pulled to a frown. “You know, Christine, my memory fails me when it comes to those first days. I can remember details of my childhood, but all I remember about my stroke is Will found me and called nine-one-one. I’m not even sure if I remember that or if he told me about it.”
“I can tell you what happened,” Will said, stepping more deeply into the room.
Christine ignored his offer. She’d heard secondhand details. She wanted it from her grandmother. “I see the stroke affected your arm,” Christine said, watching her grandmother’s frustration grow when she’d tried to gesture.
“My left arm and leg. My leg doesn’t cooperate, and I’m a little off balance.” Discouragement sounded in her voice. “But I’ve made progress.”
Christine patted her hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“Where do you want her bags, Grandma Ella?”
Christine froze. Grandma Ella? At least, he could call her Grandma Summers. Even better, Mrs. Summers. She opened her mouth to comment.
“The room at the top of the stairs,” her grandmother said.
Will
