okay?” Sara asked.
“Yeah. Fine.”
The phone kept ringing, demanding his attention.
“Go ahead and take that,” she said. “I can see myself out.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “They’ll call back. Let me walk you to your car.”
“No need. I’ve got it.” She stepped back, distancing herself from him, moving toward the door.
“Sara.”
She turned.
“Thanks for coming all the way out here.”
“No problem. Professional courtesy.”
Professional courtesy? He supposed he deserved that, and yet he couldn’t resist another question. “Have you considered the possibility that we could be friends?”
“Friends?” Sara cocked her head. “Are you sure? You seemed pretty adamant about the job this afternoon.”
“Oh, I am adamant, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”
“Okay, friend. So do you want me to write a script for pain medication?”
“You were going to let me suffer?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it as her cheeks flushed with color.
“I’m just giving you a hard time,” he said. “I’ll be fine with a little acetaminophen.”
“Then I guess I’ll see you Monday.”
Ben nodded. Monday.
Right now Monday couldn’t come soon enough. He needed to stay busy.
His phone buzzed again, just as she pushed open the rickety screen door, and he froze.
“Ben, are you sure everything is okay?”
“Yeah. Sure. It’s all good.” He nodded toward the porch. “Careful where you step.”
Sara tiptoed around the broken planks and down the stairs.
When the door closed with a gentle bang, Ben slumped against the counter, unable to move as the cell phone’s persistent sounds beckoned him.
Not today, Lord.
Tomorrow he’d call them. Tomorrow.
The phone kept ringing, and he continued to ignore the plea, unable to answer and hear the pain in their voices, knowing he had put it there.
His sister had gone in for a simple tonsillectomy. They’d all laughed because she’d be the oldest kid on the unit.
He’d assured his parents they didn’t have to come home. Of course he’d take care of things. Except he was called away on an emergency, and when he arrived at the hospital and walked down the hall toward her room, something was very wrong.
The flurry of activity.
A code in process.
He began to run. Slamming through her doorway in time to hear the code called.
Time of death: 3:45 p.m.
Carolyn.
Ben closed his eyes tightly.
Oh, Carolyn. He’d let her down. Let them all down.
Sorry. So very sorry.
Not his fault. That’s what his parents had said over and over again. But how could anyone forgive him when he couldn’t forgive himself?
Chapter Four
Ben lifted his head. What was that noise? He rubbed his eyes against the morning sun that streamed into the room through the open blinds, taunting him for sleeping in. His watch showed 8:30 a.m. Something besides the twitter of birds outside his window had roused him from a deep sleep.
He’d slept solid and slept in, which hadn’t happened since before... It hadn’t happened in a long time.
Disoriented, he glanced around. His gaze took in the Spartan room, furnished with only a small bureau, a single chair and a small beat-up maple desk. No, this sure wasn’t his lux covenant-controlled condo in Denver with its “no noise before 9 a.m.” policy. Then he spotted his open suitcase in the corner. Paradise. He was in Paradise.
Perched on the edge of the mattress, he paused to listen. There it was again. Someone was at the door. How could that be? He’d rented a cabin located in a remote area five miles from town for a good reason.
Running a hand through his hair, he stepped into jeans and scooped a discarded shirt off a chair. As he shrugged into the cotton T-shirt, pain zinged through his arm. He’d forgotten about the stitches in his triceps.
Oh yeah, wide awake now.
He stumbled through the living room, nearly running into several half unpacked boxes. The place was a mess. Could he possibly get maid service in the middle of nowhere?
He opened the door and paused. The elderly man standing on the other side of the screen door grinning up at him looked familiar. A moment later, Ben made the connection. It was the gentleman who’d collapsed in the café, and he looked no worse for the trauma of yesterday’s incident.
“Dr. Rogers, did we wake you?”
We? Ben glanced past the nicely dressed gentleman to see his smiling silver-haired wife peeking around her husband’s shoulder.
“No. I mean, yes. I overslept.” He shook his head to clear the last cobwebs. “First night in a new place. I guess I’m not used to the altitude either.” Ben paused. “Can I help you, Mister, ah...”
“Carter. Orvis Carter. This is my wife, Anna.”
“Morning, Doctor. Did you know you have a hole in your porch?” Perplexed, Anna Carter glanced at the splintered wood surrounding the gaping hole in his porch.
“Yes, ma’am. Found out the hard way.” Ben raised his gauze-wrapped arm.
“Oh, my, my, my,” Anna crooned. “Well, no worries. Our son is a carpenter. We’ll have him stop by and fix that hole.”
Ben narrowed his eyes, focusing on the couple. Exactly why were the Carters at his door? How had they even found his door? And why did he smell warm cinnamon?
His stomach growled loudly in hungry response. As if reading his mind, Anna stepped around her husband and thrust a large white bakery box and a thermos into his hands.
“These are yours,” she said. “Our daughter-in-law Patti Jo owns the café, and she made them up special just for you. Oh, and she roasts her own coffee beans, as well. You won’t taste a better cuppa than her Mountain Blend.”
They’d
