Stan snorted. “I don’t need a babysitter. Go make yourself useful somewhere else for a few hours.”
The familiar sting of her father’s dismissal stung. Some things never changed. “Fine,” she said, setting the dish towel down with forced casualness. “I’ll go.”
Beckett looked between them, his expression unreadable. “I’ll be heading over around one if you want a ride.”
“I can drive myself,” she replied automatically.
“Save the gas,” her father cut in. “No sense taking two vehicles to the same place.”
She pressed her lips together to keep from arguing. “One o’clock, then.”
Beckett nodded once and headed toward the basement stairs, where he’d been working on some project. The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Left alone with her father again, she felt the unspoken words hanging between them. Had he always been this difficult, or had she simply forgotten? Or maybe she was the difficult one, still nursing old wounds that everyone else had moved past.
“I’m going to take a shower.” She needed to escape the suffocating silence. Her father merely grunted in acknowledgment, already reabsorbed in his newspaper.
Under the hot spray of water, she tried to quiet her thoughts. She’d come here with one clear purpose. She needed to tend to her father’s medical needs, ensure his recovery was on track, and then return to Denver.
Simple. Clinical. Manageable.
Except nothing about being back in Sweet River Falls felt manageable. Every interaction with her father reopened old hurts. Every glimpse of Beckett’s easy rapport with him was salt in those wounds. And now she was being volunteered for community service she hadn’t planned for.
The water began to cool, forcing her to finish her shower. As she toweled off, she caught her reflection in the mirror. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her skin looked pale. She hadn’t been sleeping well, torn between hypervigilance over her father’s condition and unsettling dreams about the hospital.
The memory of her hands shaking as she tried to place an IV made her stomach clench. She’d hidden in the supply closet, gasping for air, convinced she was having a heart attack until Dr. Foster had found her and recognized the panic attack for what it was.
“Take some time,” he’d told her. “Get help. This job will eat you alive if you let it.”
She hadn’t told anyone here about her leave of absence. Not even her father knew she was on highly suggested medical leave rather than vacation. It was easier that way. Simpler to be the competent caregiver than admit she was barely holding herself together.
By the time one o’clock rolled around, she had changed clothes twice, unsure what to wear for community service in a town she barely recognized anymore. She settled on jeans and a flannel shirt, practical enough for whatever tasks awaited.
Beckett was already waiting by his truck when she stepped onto the porch. The vehicle was older but well-maintained, much like the man himself.
“Your chariot,” he said with the barest hint of a smile, opening the passenger door.
The ride to town was quiet but not entirely uncomfortable. He seemed content with silence, focusing on navigating the snowy roads with careful attention. She found herself studying his profile when he wasn’t looking. There was a steadiness to him that she hadn’t noticed before, a calm centeredness that contrasted sharply with her own internal chaos.
“Your father’s doing better,” he said eventually, breaking the silence. “His speech is clearer every day.”
She nodded. “The medication is helping. But he needs to be more careful with his diet.”
“He’s stubborn.”
A surprised laugh escaped her. “That’s putting it mildly.”
“He reminds me of my grandfather. The man would argue with a fence post if he thought it was in his way.”
The small moment of shared understanding faded as they pulled up behind Bookish Cafe. The back door stood propped open despite the cold, and people were carrying boxes in and out.
Annie spotted them immediately, waving them over with visible relief. Her hair was pulled back in a messy braid, and she wore a Christmas sweater adorned with tiny bells that jingled as she moved.
“Thank goodness,” she said. “We’ve got a situation.”
Beckett stepped forward. “What happened?”
“The delivery truck that was supposed to bring most of our canned goods got diverted to Grand Junction. We’re short about half of what we need, and the baskets go out tomorrow morning.”
