she was already fighting that familiar closed-in feeling.
“So are the two of you going to get married?”
Nikki blushed. “The town doesn’t even have a church yet. But Porter said he was working on it, so I hope that’s a sign. After living with Darren in Broadway and that relationship going south, I don’t want to move in with Porter until we’re married.”
Amy smiled at her friend, remembering the feeling of living in this town and being hopelessly in love with an Armstrong. She hoped it worked out better for Nikki than it had for her.
The door opened and a young bespectacled man Amy recognized from the photo on the website stuck his head in. A pair of safety goggles sat high on his head. His hair stuck out at all angles. He wore fluorescent orange rubber gloves.
“Excuse the interruption, Dr. Salinger,” he said in a precise British accent. “We have a walk-in, and I’m stuck…er, I’m still giving flu shots to the elementary students.”
“I should let you go,” Amy said, pushing to her feet. “I need to see Marcus anyway.”
Nikki stood, as well. “I’ll handle the walk-in, Dr. Cross. May I introduce my friend Amy Bradshaw? She’s in town to build us a bridge.”
“Brilliant,” he said. “We British are very fond of bridges.” He gave Amy a flustered smile. “Very pleased to meet you. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to some miniature terrorists.” He lowered the safety glasses and backed out of the room.
Amy laughed. “How did he wind up here?”
“We worked together in Broadway. He’s a great doctor, even if he’s a fish out of water here.”
Amy felt a rush of sympathy for the man—she knew how he felt. “I’ll let you get to your patients.”
“I assume you’ll be staying at the boardinghouse?”
“I honestly don’t know. Marcus just said that accommodations would be provided.”
“It just dawned on me,” Nikki said as she opened the door and held it for Amy to walk through. “You must know the Armstrongs.”
“Yes,” Amy said carefully as she exited the lounge into a large waiting area. “We grew up together.”
Nikki grinned. “You went to school with Porter?”
“That’s right, although I knew his brother better.”
“Which brother?” Nikki asked.
“Nikki!” came a screeching woman’s voice. “Help!”
Amy looked up to see the owner of the voice, Rachel Hutchins, standing there in all her vivacious glory.
“You remember Rachel,” Nikki murmured in an amused voice.
“Yes,” Amy said, but her gaze was riveted on the man next to her, the man Rachel was holding on to in a very proprietary way.
Kendall Armstrong.
Her heart stood still. He was broader and taller than she remembered. His hair was still dark and wavy, and he was sporting a light mustache and beard, probably in deference to the cooler season. It suited him, she acknowledged, and emphasized his strong jaw. It was jarring to see the boy she remembered matured into a man she didn’t know. His deep blue eyes were still as intense, but framed with character lines that, if possible, only made him more handsome. Tony’s face flashed in her mind for a split-second comparison. She opened her mouth to gulp air and her heart resumed beating.
Kendall appeared to recognize her at the same time and froze. Time seemed suspended, the air between them thick and gluey. Her blood rushed in her ears. How many times had she rehearsed this moment in her mind? She wanted to say something smart and cool, but her tongue was paralyzed. Kendall’s mouth opened, but Nikki interrupted whatever greeting he’d been forming.
“What happened here?” she asked, gesturing to his wrapped hand.
“Kendall was hanging a picture for me and smashed his thumb with a hammer,” Rachel said, unwinding the cloth. “He hurt it really bad.”
“I just need a Band-Aid,” Kendall argued, still staring at Amy.
Hearing his voice again was a shock to her system. Years of travel and experience hadn’t changed his deep tone or his rolling accent. She averted her gaze to his pulpy thumb, fighting the urge to reach out to him. It frightened her how easily she could fall back into old patterns around him, but knowledge was power. She would endeavor to spend as little time alone with Kendall as possible.
Nikki was looking back and forth between Amy and Kendall. “Let’s get your hand cleaned so I can have a better look,” she said, leading Kendall away.
“I’m coming with him,” Rachel announced, confirming Amy’s suspicions that she and Kendall were an item.
“Why don’t you stay here and wash up?” Nikki suggested in a kind but firm voice, indicating Rachel’s own bloodstained hands. Nikki looked back at Amy. “Let’s have dinner tonight?”
“Sounds good,” Amy called.
Kendall looked back at her, too, as if she were an apparition, then disappeared with Nikki.
Amy exhaled. So much for a dramatic reunion. Apparently Marcus had kept his word to stay mum about her arrival. Was it because he knew that Kendall didn’t want her here?
“I hope he’s okay,” Rachel murmured. “His thumb was bleeding like a stick pig.”
“I think you mean ‘stuck’ pig,” Amy volunteered, still stung by the sight of Kendall and Rachel together. Although what had she expected? Of course Kendall had gotten on with his life. Probably many, many times.
Rachel squinted at her. “I know you…Amy, right? You were a patient at the dermatologist where I used to work in Broadway.”
“Right. Amy Bradshaw.”
“Rachel Hutchins,” the woman offered. “Are you just now answering the newspaper ad?”
“No. I’m a structural engineer. I was hired by Marcus Armstrong to rebuild the covered bridge over Timber Creek.”
Rachel’s face lit up. “You’re kidding? I love that bridge. In fact, the man Nikki took away was Marcus’s brother, Kendall. He was helping me hang a picture of the covered bridge in my bedroom when he smashed his thumb.”
“Really?” Amy was surprised at how normal her voice sounded. Evermore Bridge had been her and Kendall’s place. It hurt to know he was sharing the memory of it with someone else.
Rachel nodded. “If you need a picture of the way it looked before, I can get you one.”
Amy bit down on her tongue. Rachel couldn’t know she’d committed every detail of the bridge to memory. She glanced down at the bloody cloth Rachel held that had been wrapped around Kendall’s thumb—it was a cropped pink T-shirt that read “Maybe, Baby.” She’d also memorized every detail of the body
