Sweet Blessings. Jillian Hart

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      With the darkness tugging him and the brutal rain beating him back, he ducked his head and plowed into the storm. He splashed through puddles and the water seeped through the hole in his left boot. As he went, his big toe became wetter and his sock began to wick water across to his other toes.

      “Goodness, you gave us a scare!” The waitress was holding the door for him. Concern made her seem to glow as the light haloed her.

      He blinked, and the effect was gone. Maybe it was from his fatigue or the fact that adrenaline had kicked in and was tremulous in his veins. He still had the will to live, after all.

      Thunder crashed like giant cymbals overhead, and it felt as if he broke with it. As he trudged up the steps and into the heat of the diner, bitterness filled him. There was shelter from this storm, but not from the one that had ripped apart his life.

      No, there was no rest and no sanctuary from the past. Not tonight.

      The waitress moved aside as he shouldered by, and he felt her intake of breath. The concern was still there, for she wore it like the apron over her jeans and blouse. As sincere as it was, he had no use for concern or sympathy. Those paltry emotions were easy to put on and take off and the words, “I’m sorry for your loss” came back to him.

      Words meant to comfort him, when for a fact they were for the speaker’s benefit. To make the speaker feel safe from the brutal uncertainty this life sometimes had to offer.

      He’d learned it the hard way. Life played tricks with a person. Get too much, become too happy and bam! It could all disappear in the space between one second and the next.

      It was a lesson he would never forget and he doubted the pretty waitress with her big blue-violet eyes and lustrous ponytail of gold would ever understand. What tragedy could happen here in this small little burgh miles from frantic big cities and desperation?

      None, that’s what. His boots squished and squeaked against the tile floor as he ambled down the aisle. The faint scent of perfume stayed with him, something subtle and sweet that made him think of dewy violets at dawn’s first light and of hope. That’s what that fragrance smelled like, and he wanted nothing to do with hope.

      He didn’t look back as he lumbered the length of the diner to the booth where his burger waited. He reached into his back pocket and hauled out his wallet. Dropped a ten on the table. “I’ve changed my mind. I want this to go.”

      “Sure thing.”

      She’d said that phrase before and just like that. Politely cheery words held up like a shield as she efficiently went about her work. Amy, her little gold nametag said. Amy. She didn’t look like an Amy. Amys were cute and sweet and bubbly, and this one was somber. Polite and nice, but somber. She liked to keep people at a distance. He knew enough about shields to recognize one when he saw it. He had too many of his own.

      She returned with a container and he took it from her. He didn’t like to be waited on. He tipped his plate and the burger and fries tumbled into the box.

      Ever efficient, the waitress reached into her crisp apron pocket and laid a handful of ketchup packets on the table. That annoyed him. He couldn’t say why. Maybe because he felt her gaze. Her heavy, questioning gaze as if she were trying to take his measure. Trying to figure him out.

      He’d given up long ago.

      “There’s no charge,” her voice followed him like a light in a bleak place. “For what you tried to do.”

      “I pay my own way.”

      Whatever kind of man he looked like, he had standards. He had pride. He had no use for handouts. He wasn’t looking for a soup kitchen and a quick revival meeting to patch up the holes in his soul.

      He doubted even God could do that. So he faced the storm. What was a little wind and rain? Nothing.

      He was so numb inside that he didn’t feel the icy rain streaking in rivulets along the back of his neck. He didn’t feel the water squish into his boot as he crossed the unlit parking lot and became part of the chill and the night.

      Chapter Two

      “What’s with you?” Rachel asked as she tied off a bulging black garbage sack. “You’re attacking that floor as if it’s your own personal enemy.”

      Amy put a little more shoulder power into the mop. The yellow sponged head compressed into a flat line, oozing soap bubbles as she wrenched the handle back and forth. “I’m trying to get the floor clean.”

      “Yeah, but we don’t want the tile to come off with the dirt.”

      She had a point, Amy realized as she gave up on the faintest of black streaks—she’d need to buff those out. Otherwise the floor sparkled. She dunked the mop into the bucket, surrendering, and rubbed at the small of her aching back. “Is this day over yet?”

      “Go home. I can finish up.”

      “No, I told you I’d stay and I will. We leave together.”

      “What about Westin? He’s waiting up for you. I don’t have anyone at home for me. You go on.”

      “No. We share the work. And that’s low, using my son to get me to do what you want.” Amy loved her sister, who meant well. Who always gave too much. “You know I’m thinking of him.”

      Was it wrong that she was thinking of someone else, too?

      Yes. Determined to sweep the lone stranger from her mind, she lugged mop and bucket to the industrial sink and, with a heave, emptied the dirty, soapy water. There. The bucket was clean and so was her…well, her list of distractions. Westin came first. Always first. She had no business thinking about some man whose name she didn’t know.

      Men always led to trouble. Sure, there were a few good ones in the world, but they were as rare as hen’s teeth, as her grandmother used to say. And you couldn’t always tell the mettle of a man, no matter how wonderful he seemed, until it was too late.

      That was the truth. There were so many things she wished she could go back in time and change. She’d right every mistake and every problem that had blown up into a bigger problem.

      But there was one thing she would never regret, and that was deciding to keep her son. It hadn’t been easy for either of them, but they were a team, and somehow they’d get through this. With the good Lord’s help. And, of course, her family’s.

      Rachel wrestled a second garbage bag out of the industrial-sized bin and tied it off. “If you want to trade shifts tomorrow, let me know. Or, if you need me to sit with him so you don’t have to pay a baby-sitter, I’m available. You know how I love to spend time with my nephew.”

      “Thanks, I’ll let you know. This means I’m doing the early-morning shift tomorrow?”

      “Paige gets back in two days. We just have to survive until then.”

      Amy dumped a dollop of soap into the bucket and ran fresh hot water. “Survive? I think we’re doing really good on our own.”

      “Except for the short-handed part.”

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