Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“One sleeps better with a happy heart and full stomach.”
Pride shines in her eyes, reflecting the smile on her face as she sets the plate and a fork in front of me. Moving back to the counter, she begins to wipe it down. “I was thinking about making a roast for dinner tonight.”
Another growl has me wanting to ease the hunger. I’m quick to stab at the scrambled eggs. “I love your roast, but I won’t be here. I go in earlier tonight. Don’t worry about me, though.” I take a big bite.
“I will always worry about you, Autumn, just like I still worry about Summer and now her husband and his son like they’re my own.”
Daniel and Roman became a big part of our family when Daniel and Summer got married. He’s traveling a lot for his hockey career, and Roman is with his mom in New York City and is now back in school, but they always fit right into our family of women as if they belong.
I mistakenly thought that would translate when I went on a few dates with one of his teammates. I learned—the hard way, I might add—that Daniel and Roman are special. Not everyone clicks with our family, but there was no chemistry between us either. Dating has been put on the back burner since that debacle.
“I can send a container in with you to eat on your break.” She stands at the end of the small table we’ve squeezed into the kitchen. “How was your shift?” Brandon comes to mind as if I were his personal nurse. I mean . . . technically, I was his, along with two other patients, but living in technicalities is never a good thing. Before I can reply, she sucks in a harsh breath. “Oh, and how is Brandon doing? Still doing well? I ran a King Ranch chicken casserole over to his mother yesterday. She’s been worried sick and only got to see him for a few minutes the other night before he fell asleep again.”
“Since everyone already knows the ins and outs of his hospital stay, he’s doing well but needs the rest. I hope she doesn’t worry too much.”
“He does, but that doesn’t stop a mother’s worry.” She pats my shoulder when she reaches for her book. “Or a Dolly’s.”
I catch her hand before it disappears from my shoulder, my heart clenching a wee bit. “Thank you for making me muffins.” She’s been through everything with us girls, and she's still here, taking care of grown women.
“You’re welcome, darling girl. So, back to Brandon, you feel that he is healing well?”
I take another bite because that’s the gratitude she wants to see—me eating. And since I want to protect my patient’s privacy, I don’t usually talk about their conditions. But everyone in Mountain Laurel Cove seems to already know what’s going on with Brandon Culver. I was the only one left out of the loop. “Remarkably well, in my opinion. I’m not a doctor—”
“You could be.” She swipes a muffin from the cooling tin and sets it on the edge of my plate. “That hospital doesn’t appreciate the asset you are to them.” Maneuvering toward the door, she smiles when she looks back. “But we sure do. And I know Brandon had the best care under you.”
“Thanks. His spirits are . . . well, you know Brandon.” The locals would call him charming. I consider him more of a suck-up. He knows just the thing to say to get his way.
“That’s good. I’ll say a prayer for him.” She pushes through the door, but before it can swing shut, she says, “Eat up and rest. The world needs that beautiful heart of yours functioning in top gear.”
I listen to the swoosh of the wood flowing from the hall into the kitchen and watch the door come to a standstill in its rightful place inside the frame. My grandmother’s steps, though lighter than my sisters’, can still be heard padding on the wood floors.
I take a large bite of muffin, the little blueberries buried like treasures in the sweet bread and bursting with flavor in my mouth. Sitting back, I savor it before finishing my food and cleaning the dishes I dirtied.
Exhaustion dragged me home, but my eyelids had become harder to keep open after the heavy meal. Slipping out of the kitchen, I gently walk up the stairs, hoping to fall into bed before getting caught up in a lengthy conversation with my sisters. I adore them, but overnight shifts have become harder to handle lately, so I don’t want to take my worn-down patience out on them.
When I step onto the second-floor landing, a creak that could wake the dead alerts the neighborhood. Just my luck.
“Hey, you,” Winter says, poking her head out of her room and looking every bit like summer in her white sundress. “How was work?” Her dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail with a thin white ribbon running down its length, and the natural glow she exudes makes me realize how dirty I am in comparison. A shower is definitely in my future.