Grandpa set a gravy dish of cocoa goodness in the middle of the table. Mitch served them, starting with her. He ladled a heap of chocolate gravy over one of Grandpa’s homemade biscuits she’d torn into quarter-size chunks over her plate.
She tried not to soften at Mitch’s sweet Southern manners. Or notice the way his well-muscled forearm moved with motion that mesmerized. How many broken soldiers had those careful and caring hands mended? How many lonely days had Mitch’s smile and presence brightened for Grandpa, who struggled with loneliness?
Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked vehemently.
She felt Mitch’s militant intentional gaze on her again and remembered she hadn’t brushed her crazy hair. Or finished answering Grandpa’s question of many awkward moments ago.
Self-consciousness flitted through her. “What’d you ask?”
“You never did tell me if you still like your eggs scrambled best,” Grandpa repeated with a spirit of patience.
She patted her head. “Yep. Scrambled like my hair this morning.” She slid a sideways glance at Mitch. Maybe he hadn’t noticed the big red mop.
Oh, he noticed, all right—because he stared right at it.
Mitch cleared his throat. “You have nice hair, Lauren.”
Lauren wasn’t sure Lem, fiddling again at the stove, heard. She also wasn’t sure she liked Mitch being nice, or the merry way his flattery made her feel.
She leaned back and eyed herself in a shiny toaster. An out-of-nowhere laugh came from the back of Lauren’s throat.
Grandpa turned faster than a man half his age. Mitch looked up with the most adorably confused expression.
“Nice?” Lauren held out her unruly hair. “Now I know he’s as adept at fibbing as he is at interfering.” She directed her comment to Mitch. His face colored as Grandpa chuckled and rejoined them at the table.
“Well, when you brush it it’s nice.” Mitch poked at his eggs. Had she offended him? Maybe he’d get a clue and get away from Grandpa. At least while she was here. She didn’t need anyone distracting her from the reason she came to visit: to make up for lost time.
She refused to sit idly by while Mitch picked up where he left off before deployment—taking her place in Grandpa’s heart.
Unfortunately, Mitch was the kind of man who was effective at whatever he attempted, which justified her jealousy. A little.
She studied Mitch. He still pushed his fork around his plate. Perhaps he’d cued in on her struggle with ill feelings.
Grandpa nodded toward Mitch’s well-massacred eggs. “Uh, son, those are already scrambled.”
Both men grinned. Lauren’s faded.
Grandpa called Mitch “son.” Dismay and fear disarmed her. Her heart thumped as though it wanted to be let out of her chest. Her stomach clenched and unclenched like a raw-knuckled fist.
Mitch and Grandpa were closer than she ever imagined.
What bothered her most was that she envied Grandpa this morning almost as much as she envied Mitch. Almost.
Thankfully her emotions came quickly to their senses.
Jealousy, she could contend with. Feelings for Mitch? No way. That would be the second stupidest thing she could do. Entertaining the annoying attraction had been her first.
The three ate in introspective silence. Lem looked from one to the other. His eyes circled Lauren’s face.
The last thing she wanted to do was worry Grandpa. So how to wrestle her jealousy under a rug and remedy this? She needed to try to compromise. Be more understanding. Easier said than done, though. One solution was to strive to spend time with Grandpa when Mitch wasn’t here. That meant rising before the crack of dawn and staying up late, like Grandpa-the-night-owl liked to, but so be it.
Whatever it took to regain the bond and have more time to cherish with him, like old times. Before Mitch.
“What’s today’s agenda?” Lauren asked politely to break the tension, ease Mitch’s embarrassment and Grandpa’s concern.
Mitch wiped his mouth. “I’m driving to the trauma center to check on last night’s patients. Then returning to knock out some stuff on Lem’s summer to-do list.”
“For which I’m glad.” Lem’s arm draped over Mitch’s chair.
Just great. More Mitch and less Grandpa.
She clenched her teeth until her jaw hurt.
Mitch stood. His height always took her by surprise. He carried plates to the sink. Grandpa nudged Lauren. She rose to help Mitch with dishes, even though she wanted to be nowhere near him.
Grandpa also tried to help. Mitch waved him back. “You cook, I clean, remember? That’s the deal.” Mitch grinned and shooed Lem to the living room.
It galled her all the more. Why hadn’t she thought of giving Grandpa a break?
Lauren found herself glaring at Mitch before she could stop. Thankfully her back was to Grandpa. She peeked to be sure.
Lem eyed the television and didn’t offer a clue that he’d picked up on Lauren’s struggle. In fact, he looked overjoyed at the prospect of retreating without an ounce of argument.
Highly unusual for Grandpa, whose work ethic wouldn’t let him see someone else working without stepping in to help.
Rather, he grinned all the way to his easy chair and appeared perfectly content to leave the two of them alone.
Keyword: alone.
His suddenly sturdy countenance depicted an inner well-being that left Lauren with a distinct impression. Perhaps Lem’s fear of perishing at seventy had more to do with worry over her than himself? That made sense. Especially in light of Grandpa’s grounded faith and trademark talk of the hope of heaven.
Dread gave way to a sick feeling inside Lauren. Did Grandpa hope she and Mitch had a future together? And did that hope seem to invigorate and enliven Grandpa?
She studied Mitch and dearly hoped Grandpa’s trust hadn’t been sorely misplaced.
Chapter Five
What was she thinking?
Mitch would really like to know. He watched Lauren with magnified interest for the third chore day in a row after breakfast at Lem’s.
“We got a lot done yesterday. Thanks for your help.”
She shrugged. “No reason for me not to.”
He eyed her attire and grinned. “Not many women can rock a vintage pair of farmer’s ratty denim overalls. But you do.”
Cheeks tinged, she quickly spooned scraps into the trash. Mitch
