That was a fact. The service at Chuck’s Place was quick and efficient. If this visit ran true to form, his food would be out in less than ten minutes. And no matter how long he stretched out his meal, he’d be done far too fast.
He drummed his fingers on the table.
If he relieved one of the deputies on duty for an hour ortwo after he finished, he could delay going home. Larry would grab the chance to run back to his house and play with the grandkids until bedtime. They didn’t get down from St. Louis often enough to suit his senior deputy.
Of course, going on a patrol circuit would extend his already long day—but it beat wandering around his empty, silent house where the love and laughter that had once filled the rooms were only a distant echo in the recesses of his heart.
Outside the window, a couple strolled past hand-in-hand on the other side of the street, and Brad’s stomach hollowed out.
Strange how the loneliness and sorrow and despair he’d learned to keep at bay felt more acute tonight.
Stranger yet?
He had the oddest feeling his melancholy state was somehow related to his encounter with Cara Tucker.
“THAT WAS A WONDERFUL WELCOME MEAL,Natalie.” Cara set her napkin on the table. “But I wish you hadn’t gone to so much trouble after all the excitement earlier today. A sandwich would have been fine.”
“Nonsense.” The older woman waved her concern aside. “I did most of the prep yesterday. Besides, I’ve dealt with far worse than a bruised knee in my day.”
Hard to dispute that. For someone who’d suffered through polio in her youth and continued to live with the aftereffects decades later, a bruise or two would be nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
“At least let me handle cleanup.”
“Now that I won’t argue with. Much as I enjoyed cooking while my father was alive, I must admit I never liked the pot-scrubbing part.”
“Why don’t you give me fifteen minutes to take care of thedishes, and then we can discuss our schedule for tomorrow. Shall I meet you in the living room?”
“That will be fine. And don’t rush on my account.” Natalie pushed herself to her feet and grasped her cane. “I’ll crochet a few more rows on my latest project while I wait for you.”
As her hostess limped toward the doorway, Cara assessed her. While her gait did seem a tad stiffer tonight than it had during their visit back in April, the other woman would never move with agility or grace. How could she, with one leg shorter than the other? Even with a brace and heel lift to help compensate for the discrepancy, she had to use a cane for stability. In all likelihood, her awkward carriage had more to do with the lingering effects of polio than her fall today.
Cara sighed.
So many people had challenges the able-bodied never stopped to think about.
She began clearing the table as the woman disappeared through the door.
Was that why Natalie had contacted her after the interview in the Cape Girardeau newspaper? Any story about twentieth-century French culture around Old Mines would no doubt catch the woman’s eye, but perhaps Natalie had also sensed a kindred spirit when the interview briefly took a personal turn. Had that compelled her to extend a helping hand?
Hard to know for certain. All her benefactor had offered was that the project would give her the incentive to follow through on the promise she’d made to her father to translate the journals.
Whatever the motive, it was foolish to look a gift horse in the mouth. There were amazing resources under this roof, and she didn’t intend to waste a second of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
After restoring order to the kitchen, she joined Natalie in the living room.
“That was fast.” The woman paused in her crocheting.
“I try not to linger over disagreeable chores.” Cara smiled and motioned toward the pile of pink yarn on Natalie’s lap as she took a seat at a right angle to her. “Pretty.”
“Baby afghan. I crochet them for a pregnancy resource center. It’s a worthwhile use of my spare hours.” She finished a stitch and put down the hook and yarn. “Before we talk schedules and routines, are you certain the guest cottage is adequate? I don’t get out there often, and while my cousin never complains when he comes to visit, men tend to view accommodations through a different lens than women.”
“It’s perfect. Spacious and clean and welcoming. I also caught a glimpse through the trees outside the back window of a lake in the distance. Is that on your property?”
“Yes. I should have mentioned that when I gave you a tour of the house earlier. Feel free to wander about on the grounds. Micah keeps a walking path cut that Steven, my cousin, likes to use.”
“Who’s Micah?”
“My groundskeeper. He lives in a tiny cabin not far from the lake. You won’t see much of him if you ramble around. He keeps to himself. And you met Lydia earlier today.”
