Her Cowboy Till Christmas. Jill Kemerer

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СКАЧАТЬ in this house ever since she’d gotten married at eighteen. After two days here, Brittany wasn’t sure Nan would be able to live on her own for much longer.

      But what could she do about it?

      At meals, Nan picked at her food. She most likely skipped eating altogether when left to her own devices. Her bony frame could use more nourishment.

      Also, from the smell of it, Nan wasn’t bathing regularly. She used to shower first thing in the morning. When Brittany suggested she take a shower, Nan claimed she’d washed up yesterday, which was not true. How long had it been since she’d shampooed her hair?

      Other things nagged at her, as well. The house was tidy, but dust covered every surface, and the floors hadn’t seen a mop in a long time. Yesterday afternoon, Brittany had scrubbed the house, but how long would it last?

      She stretched her arms over her head. Nan was resting in her room. The Sunday service had tuckered her out.

      After church, Gretchen Sable, a sweet older lady who was friends with Nan, had pulled Brittany aside, given her a paper with her number on it, patted her hand and told her to call her anytime.

      At least the church was the same as it had been a decade ago. Sure, the old blue carpet had been replaced, but familiar worship songs had filled the air and the message of grace had not fallen on deaf ears. It reminded Brittany of her church back home.

      That was another thing to thank her grandmother for—Nan was the one who’d told her about Jesus and encouraged her to pray.

      The last time she’d attended a Sunday service here with Nan, she’d been eighteen and full of excitement about the future. Now? She hadn’t fulfilled her dreams. They’d never included scrimping to pay bills, teaching only a handful of classes and renting a run-down matchbox of an apartment.

      Success had eluded her in every area.

      The sharp pang of discouragement tore through her chest. Had her entire adult life been a waste? Had she made the wrong choices?

      Her mother certainly thought so and wasn’t afraid to say it. As for Brittany’s father, she had his last name, but he had never been part of her life. Now that Mom was busy traveling as a corporate consultant, Brittany rarely talked to her, either. It wasn’t as if she cared what the woman thought anymore. God saw Brittany’s heart and didn’t judge her by her lack of progress. So why was she judging herself so harshly?

      She tossed down the pen and massaged her temples. She was supposed to be coming up with solutions for Nan’s care, not wallowing in some strange what-had-she-done-with-her-life crisis.

      The sound of a vehicle coming up the drive broke her concentration. She peeked out the window and recognized Mason’s truck. Why was he here? Whatever the reason, her pulse sped at the thought of seeing him again.

      She put her coat on and shoved her feet into her boots to meet him on the porch. The air was crisp and the frozen countryside beautiful. He strode up tall, sure of himself. The cowboy boots, hat and jeans fit him like a glove. Her stomach did a pirouette. She looked for signs of Noah, but the boy wasn’t with him. Too bad. He was a cutie.

      His eyes weren’t as hard and judgmental today. A girl could get lost in those depths.

      “What are you doing here?” she asked.

      “I wanted to talk to you for a minute.”

      “I’d ask you inside, but Nan is sleeping right now.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Actually, I wanted to speak with you, too.”

      “If this is about what happened way back when...” His expression grew wary.

      “No.” She waved him off. “It’s been a long time. We’ve both moved on with our lives.” She fought for a chipper tone. Talking to Mason used to be easy—from the day she’d met him until the day she’d left. This awkwardness felt wrong—understandable, but wrong. “I wanted to talk to you about Nan. About how she’s doing.”

      He widened his stance, crossing his arms over his chest. Formidable.

      “I don’t like it when you tower over me. I know it’s cold, but let’s sit.”

      His left eyebrow cocked skyward, but he followed her to the rocking chairs on the covered porch.

      She sat in one and waited while he settled into the other. She was all too aware his knee was only inches from hers. “Nan isn’t the same.”

      “The same? What do you mean?”

      She’d never been good at this—being blunt. Never quite knew how to approach a subject without offending someone. And it tended to result in her rambling.

      “She’s gotten thin. Just this morning I caught her hiking up the elastic on her black church pants, and let me tell you, they still drooped. And her hair really concerns me. I mean, how many days does she go without showering? It’s so unlike her.” Without thinking, she rose to her feet and stretched to her tiptoes before sitting down again.

      “I hadn’t noticed.”

      How could he not have noticed? She turned to face him. “She sleeps more. Drifts in and out all day long. You know how she used to be. Capable. Self-sufficient. She drove everywhere, baked up a storm, made jam, quilted. This house was always spotless, and she’d sit in her rocker with a book most afternoons, and she’d have this peaceful, happy expression on her face. I loved that.” Her heart simultaneously warmed and pinched thinking about it. She hugged herself. “But now? She’s forgetful. Confused. And frail.”

      He leaned back, crossing an ankle over his knee. “She’s getting up there in age. What did you expect?”

      What did she expect? If she were being honest with herself, she hadn’t wanted to face the thought of Nan being anything other than the strong, kind woman who’d taught her how to pray and to be comfortable in her own skin. It had been delusional on her part to expect Nan to still be a powerhouse at eighty-six.

      “I don’t know.” Her head dropped. “I just don’t know.”

      He didn’t say anything. Simply sat there, quiet and still.

      She’d always struggled with stillness. Even now, her arms and legs longed to move, explore the space and, to some extent, help her come to terms with what she was feeling. A series of pique turns down the length of the porch enticed her. But she kept her feet rooted in place.

      “You check on her most days and get her groceries.” She shivered. It was really cold out here.

      “Yep.”

      “She doesn’t seem fit to drive anymore.”

      “I don’t think she is. Lois Dern takes her to the beauty parlor every other week, so she is getting her hair washed, and one of the other church ladies, Gretchen Sable, I think, takes her to the doctor if she needs to go.”

      Just what she’d suspected—Nan was trapped in this house, far away from help. It couldn’t be safe for her.

      “I think her days living alone are numbered.” Brittany sighed.

      “She’s fine.” His expression СКАЧАТЬ