You're Gonna Love Me Read online

  “And none of it is my business.”

  She leaned her head back against the rest, considering. Maybe that wasn’t true. Didn’t being his friend mean they should talk about their lives? Wouldn’t it give her the right to ask those kinds of questions?

  “Not necessarily,” she answered herself.

  With a sigh of disgust, she rose from the chair and left the office. The early-morning coffee rush was over. The remaining customers were those who wanted to linger. A few had laptops open on tables. Others were in pairs, visiting as they sipped hot beverages.

  Samantha gave a brief wave to Camila as she made her way to the connecting door to the house. Once it was closed behind her, she went to check on her grandmother and found her in the recliner. Napping, she thought.

  “I’m not asleep,” Gran said without opening her eyes, proving Samantha wrong.

  “Sorry. I didn’t want to disturb.”

  Now her grandmother looked at her. “You didn’t disturb me.”

  “I need some fresh air. I thought I might go for a walk in the park.”

  Gran lowered the footrest of the recliner. “Great idea. I’ll go with you.”

  Samantha’s eyes widened. “You must be joking.”

  “I’m not joking in the least. I’ve mastered the scooter. I think a brief outing would be good for me.”

  “Gran . . .”

  “I was married to a physician, my dear. I know a thing or two about recovering from an accident. The best plan includes exercise and fresh air.”

  Samantha gave her head a slow shake, not to argue further but in resignation. Gran would have her way. She might as well accept it.

  Once Gran was out of the chair, her knee firmly planted on the scooter, Samantha helped her into a sweater to protect her against the early-morning chill. Then the pair of them headed outside. Samantha let her grandmother set the pace.

  The house and shop were surrounded on three sides by the town park. The pair followed a sidewalk toward the creek that ran through the center of it. At this time of day in the middle of the work week, they had the park all to themselves. Not even the playground was in use by children too young to be in school.

  The soft sounds of nature—a breeze through the limbs of the trees, a songbird announcing its presence, the tumble and gurgle of the creek—and the whir of the scooter wheels surrounded them.

  “This is lovely,” Gran said. “Just what I needed. I hate being cooped up day after day.”

  Samantha glanced over at her grandmother. “That’s great, but we don’t want to go too far. You shouldn’t overdo things.”

  “Then let’s sit on that bench near the bridge. I’m not ready to go back inside yet.”

  “All right.” Again, she knew it was useless to argue.

  Once they were settled, the morning sun caressing their faces, Gran took hold of Samantha’s hand. “Now why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you.”

  “Troubling me?”

  “Oh, Sam. I broke my ankle, but my ability to observe wasn’t affected. I’ve tried to be patient, to wait for you to tell me what’s wrong.” She shook her head. “If you really don’t want to talk about it, of course I will not press you. But maybe telling me will help.”

  Denial rose in Samantha’s chest. An instinctive reaction, an urge to keep her life in order and under control. Admitting her confusion aloud to another person, especially to her beloved grandmother, felt like failure.

  Her grandmother closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the sun, the image of patience.

  “It’s complicated, Gran.”

  “What is?”

  “For starters, my job. I don’t like my boss, and I can’t seem to get anywhere. You know how much I dislike change. But even so, I feel stuck. I’m restless. Restless with everything.” She looked at the trees on the other side of the creek. “Including my personal life. It feels like an utter disaster. I haven’t had a serious relationship in my life since—” She broke off abruptly.

  Gran waited several moments before asking, “Since?”

  Samantha released a breath, needing to be honest. “Since Nick.”

  “Do you mean . . . ? Oh, good gracious.”

  She laughed, a humorless sound, and repeated her grandmother. “Good gracious.”

  “Well, well.”

  Softly, “Well, well.”

  Another silence, this one lengthy. Finally, Gran asked, “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “I don’t know what to say. We were together about eight months. When he wasn’t working or off wind surfing or sailing or hiking, we spent time together.” She drew in a breath, her thoughts flittering from memory to memory. “We liked such very different things. I don’t suppose it ever could have worked. And yet I liked him so much. I loved those times we spent together.” She felt Gran’s gaze on her but refused to look in the older woman’s direction. “One day the differences became too much. We argued and broke up, and that was it. It ended just like that.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She met her grandmother’s gaze. “What do you mean?”

  “Are you sure it ended . . . for you? Because there is something in your voice that makes me think that might not be so.”

  “Of course I’m sure.” She sat straighter on the bench, looking toward the creek, hating that her grandmother had seen something Samantha had managed to keep hidden even from herself. “I never spoke to him again. Not until he walked into the hospital and found me with you.”

  Gran released a soft breath. “Were you in love with Nick?”

  Unexpectedly, tears welled up. She was horrified by their presence but was unable to stop them from falling.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Gran put an arm around her and drew her close. “Oh, my dear.”

  Samantha turned her face into her grandmother’s shoulder and let herself cry.

  She hadn’t meant to pry when she entered Nick’s spacious home office. She’d wanted a sticky note, and she’d known there was a dispenser on his desk. But as she removed the sticky note, her eyes fell on the printed sheet of paper in the center of the desk. The word ITINERARY was typed boldly across the top, easy to read even though it was upside down. Without considering her action, she turned the sheet of paper to face her.

  Her stomach fluttered when she saw the dates at the top of the page. Was this part of Nick’s surprise? He’d been so evasive about what he planned to do during the university’s spring break that she’d convinced herself his secrecy included something special to do with her.

  The flutter stopped, then hardened and sank like a rock as she took in more of the information on the page. Colorado. Kayaking. Almost a whole week of white-water rafting and camping.

  “Sam?”

  She turned toward the office doorway.

  “I wondered where you went,” Nick said. “I’ve got the movie in the player and the popcorn’s ready.”

  “I wanted to make a note for myself.” She held up the yellow Post-it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Nick gave her a quizzical look.

  “About your spring break plans.”

  He was silent a short while, then answered, “Because I didn’t want to argue with you about my trips again. I’m tired of it. We’ve been over it ad nauseam.”

  “I wouldn’t have argued with—”

  “Yes, you would have, Sam. You don’t like what I do for fun. Even when all I do is go mountain biking for an afternoon. You’ve made that plenty clear. And this is one trip I didn’t plan to pass up because of your fears.”

  “What if you get hurt again? Remember how you dislodged your shoulder blade when you fell rock climbing last month?”

  Nick moved into the room. His mouth seemed hard. “You worry too much.”

  “With good reason.”

  “Sam, I’m not your dad.”

  She sucked in a breath.

  “His death was an accident. You told me so yourself.”

  Yes, she’d told him about the ski
ing accident that had killed her dad. But she hadn’t expected him to turn the tragedy against her like this.

  “His death has turned you into a coward.”

  She drew back, as if struck. “That’s a little harsh.”

  Regret flickered in his eyes. It seemed he might reach for her, might say he was sorry for his word choice, if nothing else. Then the moment passed, and with firm resolve in his voice he added, “It’s not harsh. It’s the truth. You’re afraid of your own shadow.”

  “That’s not true,” she whispered.

  His expression softened a little. “Sam, you need to accept it.” He spread his arms. “This is who I am.”

  “It isn’t who you have to be.”

  “I can’t let your fears change the way I live my life.”

  “It isn’t fear. It’s being sensible. Sensible people don’t risk their lives just for the thrill of it.” Her voice rose sharply. “Nick, sometimes you are reckless with yourself and thoughtless with others. Sometimes I think you’re a highly educated idiot. You even take unnecessary risks with your students.”

  “Is that what you think?” All emotion bled from his voice, leaving it flat and cold.

  Her own hurt gave way to anger. Tilting her chin in a show of strength, she answered, “Yes, that’s what I think.”

  The air seemed to be sucked out of the room. They stared at each other, unblinking, unmoving.

  After what seemed an eternity, Nick said in that same flat, cold voice, “Then we have a bigger problem than where I plan to spend spring break.”

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  He spun on his heel. “A movie wasn’t such a good idea.”

  “No.” She turned and slapped the sticky note onto the edge of his desk. “It wasn’t.” As she left the office, she flipped the light switch off, wanting the action to make a statement of some sort, though she knew not what.

  It wouldn’t have mattered if it did. Nick didn’t see her do it. Didn’t care either, from the look of it. He awaited her by the front door, her sweater held in one hand. Obviously all he wanted was for her to leave. Now.

  Her anger continued to rage as she took the sweater from him. She wished she could slap his face. Hard. And not for this argument alone. Not even for him calling her a coward or bringing up her dad. No, for all the little disagreements that had happened before tonight. For his stubbornness. For his inability to see her side of the issue. For the way he refused to understand that her concern was because she cared for him so much.

  Since it wasn’t in her nature to slap another human being, the best she could do was clench her teeth and say, “Good night, Nick.” She stepped through the open doorway.

  “Good-bye, Sam.”

  His choice of farewell felt like a shaft in her heart. It sounded so . . . final. She spun around on the stoop, hoping to see another glimmer of regret in his eyes. It wasn’t there. A shudder ran through her. “Nick . . .”

  “It’s over, Sam. It has to be.”

  He couldn’t mean it. Surely he couldn’t. They’d had a disagreement. They’d both lost their tempers. But he couldn’t want to break up with her over it.

  “I’m not the guy you’re looking for,” he said, the anger gone, even the coldness gone. “I’m sorry. I thought maybe we could make it work, but I don’t think so anymore. You need somebody . . . safe. I hope you find him. I really do.”

  Anger welled again, although even at that moment, she understood it was a reaction meant to protect her shattering heart. “Fine. Have a fun spring break. Maybe you’ll drown in that white water you crave so much. I won’t care if you do.”

  Hateful, stupid words. Words she was immediately sorry for but couldn’t take back.

  “I’m sorry it had to end this way, Sam.”

  He didn’t close the door on her. Not the one she could see. But she felt an invisible door slam closed.

  She turned and hurried to her car.

  Chapter 8

  In the days that followed her granddaughter’s revelation about her former relationship with Nick Chastain, Ruth spent a great deal of her time pondering ways that she might be of help to Samantha. She prayed and she plotted. What else was there to do when she was confined most of the time to her bedroom or the living room?

  First thing she wished to know was more about Nick. Was he a man worthy of her granddaughter’s affections? Some investigation seemed to be in order. Careful investigation, of course. She wouldn’t want Samantha to feel she was prying.

  Which, of course, she was.

  Her granddaughter hadn’t said she had once loved Nick. But she’d burst into tears at the question, which Ruth thought was a good indication of her answer. Ruth also suspected the past two years hadn’t erased Samantha’s old feelings. If Nick was a man worthy of Samantha’s devotion, a man who could be trusted with her granddaughter’s future, then Ruth wanted to do her utmost to see if he, perhaps, might feel the same way.

  Seated in the recliner, she glared at the ugly cast encasing her broken ankle. If not for that blasted thing, she could be up and about and seeing to what needed seeing to. Of course, without it, Samantha wouldn’t be in Thunder Creek. But that was neither here nor there. Samantha was here, and she needed her grandmother’s help.

  “I’ll have to recruit some assistants,” she said to herself. And Camila would be the place to start. Perhaps she should—

  “What?” Samantha stepped from the hallway, her hands behind her head as she caught her gorgeous red hair in a ponytail. “Did you say something, Gran?”

  “Nothing, dear. You caught me talking to myself.” She tapped her temple with an index finger. “A sure sign of old age.”

  “I hope not. I talk to myself all the time.” Samantha stopped a short distance away. “Are you ready to go?”

  Ruth lowered the foot rest. “I can’t wait.”

  “You like your doctor that much?” Her granddaughter grinned.

  “I do like him, but that isn’t why I can’t wait. I’m dying to get out of the house again. I’m missing far too much of spring. Summer will be here before we know it.”

  Ruth’s eagerness had her on the scooter and out the door in no time. She felt the warmth of the May sun on her head and shoulders as she rolled toward Samantha’s car. She delighted in the brightly colored flowers now in bloom around the borders of her house and stopped long enough to admire them.

  “Not a weed anywhere.” She looked over her shoulder at Samantha. “You’ve been busy.”

  “Camila and Sandra have both helped.”

  “God bless you all.”

  Getting settled into the car took some maneuvering, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the day Ruth had come home from the hospital, still weak and somewhat woozy.

  “You doing all right, Gran?” Samantha asked as she lifted the scooter with both hands.

  “I’m good.”

  Her granddaughter carried the scooter and put it into the back of the vehicle, then came around to get behind the wheel.

  “I should have broken my left ankle,” Ruth said. “Maybe then I could have driven myself to my doctor appointments.”

  Samantha shot her a questioning look.

  Ruth patted the center console that went from car seat to dashboard. “Nowhere to put my right leg. Even if I was coordinated enough to drive with my left foot, my right leg would be in the way. But I think I could have managed if it was my left leg in a cast.”

  “Gran, you’re too independent for your own good.”

  She chuckled. “You may be right about that, Sam.”

  It hadn’t always been that way. Ruth had been a woman of her generation, the babies born during WWII. She married Walter when she was eighteen and set up her first home before the sweeping cultural changes of the 1960s. She had allowed her husband to manage their lives without ever asking a question. Not that she’d minded. Walter had been a generous, kind, and godly man. So she hadn’t had any reason to chafe beneath his control.

  She smiled as she re
membered those early years of their marriage, Walter busy with his medical clinic and her busy with the children that had come along. Life had changed both Walter and Ruth, but Ruth most of all. Somewhere along the way she’d come into her own, and her loving husband had supported her as her interests had grown and changed.

  “Gran?” Samantha’s voice snapped her out of her memories.

  “I’m sorry, dear. I was daydreaming. What did you say?”

  “I asked if you’ve been to this doctor’s office before.”

  “No. He was the surgeon on call the day of my accident.”

  Samantha reached into the console and then handed a piece of paper to Ruth. “I googled the address. Can you read me the directions? I don’t know my way around Caldwell without a map, and sometimes the GPS on my phone doesn’t give me the next turn soon enough for me to change lanes if I need to.”

  “Of course. Between the pair of us, we’ll do fine.”

  Nick knocked on the back door of the Johnson home, but he wasn’t surprised when no one answered. He’d noticed Derek’s truck was missing from the driveway. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, scrolled to Johnson, and tapped the number on the screen.

  “This is Derek.”

  “Hey, Derek. It’s Nick. Sorry to bother you.”

  “No trouble. What do you need? I’m in Caldwell right now but should be back in an hour or so.”

  “No need to rush. Just wanted you to know that the crew and I have called it a day. We’re waiting for some supplies to be delivered on Monday. But it looks like we’ll have the job finished by the middle or end of next week.”

  “That’s great, Nick. You’ve all done a great job. I couldn’t be more pleased with how it’s turned out.”

  Nick grinned. It felt good to have his work praised. There’d been a period of time when he’d wondered if he’d be able to work at anything again. In any field. He was thankful to God for the progress that had been made, physically, mentally, and spiritually.