“Tessa, hi. Welcome home,” Miss Judy greeted her cheerfully.
“Hey, Miss Judy. Good to see you.” She smiled and headed toward the drugstore, but not before she heard Beckett and Miss Judy talking about the holiday meal drive that he was evidently helping with.
She paused at the corner, watching as Miss Judy laughed at something Beckett said. The older woman patted his arm with the easy familiarity of someone who’d known him for years, not months. It bothered her more than it should, seeing how seamlessly he’d woven himself into the community of Sweet River Falls. Into her father’s life. Into her childhood home.
He belonged here in a way she no longer did.
Everyone seemed to know him, trust him, like him. The ex-con who’d somehow charmed the entire town, including her emotionally distant father. It didn’t make sense. Nothing about this homecoming made sense. Not the way her father had welcomed a stranger but barely acknowledged his own daughter. Not the way the town had embraced Beckett without question.
Then a thought startled her.
She was jealous. Jealous of Beckett. Jealous of the way he fit in and she didn’t. Never had really. Well, not since her mother died.
But as she continued to walk along the sidewalk in the brilliant sunshine, surrounded by clear mountain air, she started to relax. She found herself thinking about what Annie had said. Not everyone is the sum of their worst moment. She wondered if that applied to her too, to the ways she’d failed or the bridges she’d burned. To the panic attacks she’d been hiding from everyone at work, the trembling hands she’d been disguising, and the exhaustion that had finally caught up with her.
Maybe coming back to Sweet River Falls wasn’t just about taking care of her father. Maybe, whether she wanted to admit it or not, it was about finding a way to breathe again.
Chapter 4
Tessa checked her father’s vitals for the third time that morning. His blood pressure had stabilized, and his color looked better than it had the previous day. She scribbled the numbers in the small notebook she’d started keeping on the kitchen counter.
“You don’t need to hover,” Stan muttered, not looking up from his newspaper. “I’m not one of your patients.”
“Actually, you are. That’s why I’m here, remember?”
Stan folded his newspaper with a sharp crinkle. “I remember Fran overreacting and dragging you back here unnecessarily. I had a mild episode. The doctor already cleared me.”
“With instructions to rest and modify your diet. And the medication schedule needs to be followed exactly.”
Her father waved a dismissive hand. “Beckett’s been helping with all that.”
Of course, he had. Beckett, the stranger who somehow knew more about her father’s medical routine than she did. Beckett, who seemed to have earned her father’s trust in mere months when she’d spent decades trying.
She busied herself washing the breakfast dishes, scrubbing harder than necessary. The past few days had fallen into an uncomfortable pattern. She’d wake early, check on her father, make breakfast that he barely touched, and then spend the day trying to be useful while feeling entirely superfluous.
The sound of boots stomping snow from the porch caught her attention. A moment later, Beckett came through the door, his cheeks reddened from the cold. He carried a small stack of mail and a paper bag.
“Morning. Mail came early. And Miss Judy sent over some of those biscuits you like, Stan.”
Her father’s face brightened. “The cheddar ones?”
Beckett nodded, setting the bag on the table. She watched her father reach eagerly for the food, when he’d barely touched the eggs she’d made an hour ago.
Beckett hung his coat on the hook by the door. “There’s a message from Annie. Something about a delivery problem at the cafe. She asked if I could stop by to help.”
“The Christmas baskets,” Stan said, nodding knowingly. “Every year Annie organizes food baskets for families that need extra help during the holidays. The whole town pitches in.”
She vaguely remembered her mother participating in something similar years ago. Before she got sick. Before everything changed.
“I told her I’d come after lunch. Sounds like they’re short on supplies and volunteers.”
Stan turned to Tessa. “You should go too.”
She nearly dropped the plate she was drying. “Me?”
“You’ve been cooped up in this house for days, and they need the help.”
“I’m here to take care of you,” she reminded him.
