“Well, my work is done here.” She grinned and dusted off the front of her shorts. “Anything I can get you before I head to work?”
“Should you be working today? You’re still pretty beat up.”
Her cheeks sagged. “My boss expects me there. But I’ll come back over tonight.” She drifted to him, and he found himself holding his breath. What was she doing? She grabbed his cell phone, swiped it and a minute later, set it on the coffee table. “There. I programmed my number. You need anything, text me, okay?”
“Wait.” He didn’t want her to go. Not yet. “Have you seen the restaurant?”
“No.” She frowned and sat in the chair. “The dining room survived, but not much else. At least that’s what I’m hearing. I’m not sure I want to see for myself.”
“I’m glad part of it is still standing.”
“I am too.” Uncertainty shone in her eyes. “What if it needs to be torn down? I don’t like to think of it in shambles, but I’ll take shambles over nonexistent.”
“A good builder wouldn’t tear it down unless it was absolutely necessary.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.” She twisted her hands together and bit her lower lip. “If I asked for a favor...”
A favor? What kind of favor? His stomach tightened, but her pleading eyes broke through his defenses. He wanted to help.
“I know you’re hurt and won’t be here long, but could you help Aunt Sally and Uncle Joe find a good contractor?”
He exhaled in relief. “If they need help, of course. I’ve worked with disaster relief crews in the past, and red tape can hold up projects for months.”
“What do you mean by red tape?”
“Getting the insurance adjusters, builders and business owners to agree on costs and schedules is no easy task.” Pain spread from his ankle again. “Let’s hope there won’t be any problems, and the work will get started right away.”
Claire stood, rubbing her arm. “But what if there are problems?”
“I know how to get things moving.”
Smiling, she grazed his hand with her fingertips. “Thank you. And I insist on helping in any way I can.” She checked her watch. “Oh! I’ve got to go. Get some rest, okay?”
She glided through the kitchen and let herself out.
He lay back against the pillows. The thought of working with Claire set off warning alarms, but he dismissed them. He’d be back home in a week. All he had to do was focus on rebuilding the town, and no one would get hurt.
“Really, Claire? I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”
Claire took a deep breath before turning to Tammy Lathrop—Dr. Tammy—the boss she never seemed to please. The small examination room at the clinic smelled of wet dog, cleaner and dog biscuits, which usually didn’t bother Claire, but today the medley of scents closed in on her. The fact that she should have been home thirty minutes ago didn’t help. Eight hours on her feet every Monday was bad enough—today’s tally would be closer to nine.
Tammy gestured to the bottle of cleaner in Claire’s hand. “You know we use the sanitizer solution with bleach to clean the examination tables.”
“This is the sanitizer solution with bleach.” Claire tried to remain pleasant.
“No, it isn’t. That’s the blue bottle. You need to get the purple bottle.”
“They repackaged it.” She held it up. “The bleach solution looks like this now.”
Tammy stared, her jaw tightening. “Let me see it.” She waved two fingers for Claire to hand it to her. After reading the label, Tammy thrust it back in Claire’s hand. “Fine. But wipe it down twice. It looks like you missed a spot over there.”
Claire strangled the paper towel in her hand until her boss exited. She couldn’t do this much longer. She never minded cleaning up after patients, but when her every move was judged and criticized, it killed her morale.
Tammy hadn’t even asked about her black eye or scratches. There had been a time Tammy would be the first to show concern. She probably would have urged Claire to take the day off. But those days had disappeared long ago when Tammy started seeing Mark Calloway, aka Dr. Jerk Face.
So Claire had worked for Mark before Tammy. Was it really that big a deal that Claire dated him briefly? Apparently. But Claire had dumped him, not the other way around, and Mark had promptly spread rumors about her around town. No doubt, Mark filled Tammy’s head with the same lies. An ex ruining another good thing in her life—a friendship she’d cherished. A job she liked. It still hurt.
Not that Tammy was worth it if she believed everything he said.
Claire sprayed and wiped the examination table. Getting Reed settled next door this morning had taken her mind off the job opening at the zoo. Last night, after she, Dad and her brothers cleaned up the yard for the otters, Claire had finished her online application. The only red flag? The omission of recent job references. Mark certainly wouldn’t give her one. And Claire didn’t want Tammy to know she was actively job hunting. Hopefully, her volunteer work at the zoo and the letter from her friend, Lisa Jones, who owned the animal sanctuary where Claire gave free checkups to injured birds and animals, would be enough.
Submitting the application had been exhilarating, but now the giddiness melted into anxiety. Were her qualifications enough? Had she answered the questions correctly?
One of the zookeepers had texted her at lunch. Did you put your app in yet? I heard Tina say she has 30 in already.
Claire continued wiping the surfaces. Thirty applications. And the job had been posted on Friday. Steep competition.
Working quickly and methodically, she finished cleaning the room. She put the supplies away and found her purse, and she and the receptionist left together. A blast of moist heat hit her as she made her way to her bike. A breeze to keep her scrubs from clinging to her skin couldn’t be too much to ask for, could it?
She pedaled down the side street to a back road—her favorite route home. Varying shades of green leaves dotted the woods on either side, and a pair of mourning doves swooped ahead of her. Her legs tightened, burned, but she forced them to keep pumping up the hill. The exertion burned off some of her earlier resentment.
After she’d changed into shorts and fed the otters, Claire stood outside Granddad’s cottage. Aunt Sally had texted her earlier to say she had plans tonight but that she’d left stir-fry ingredients in Reed’s fridge.
Preparing dinner for Reed didn’t sound like a good time. For one, she was a lousy cook. Two, making food seemed intimate, and after this morning when her treacherous body betrayed her—she’d practically gotten shivers putting her phone number in Reed’s cell—she’d promised herself to be nurselike. Detached.
One-on-one interactions with a devastatingly gorgeous guy? One on his way back to Chicago soon? Not smart.
She knocked and strolled inside. From across the room, she noted Reed’s paleness. Reclining on the sofa, eyes closed with his cast up on her yoga blocks—Aunt Sally had hit a home run again—Reed’s slack face looked haggard while he slept. Poor guy.
As quietly as possible, she padded to him and pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. No fever. But his shallow breathing indicated his discomfort even in sleep.
She retreated to the kitchen and cut up the vegetables. Started the rice. Heated oil