The Caregiver - By Shelley Shepard Gray Page 0,50

up years ago.

Then, she was gone, leaving only her pail of berries, the faint fragrance of her soap, and the startling words they exchanged hanging steadfastly to his consciousness. Lucy had been married, and Paul had been her husband.

Little by little, confusion of what was right and wrong spun together in his mind. Calvin forced himself to come to terms with what he now knew. Her husband had hurt her. Hurt her a lot.

Oh, he should just call it what it was, he chided himself. Lucy’s husband had abused her. That was why she’d been so angry in her diary. That was why she’d been relieved at his death.

Taking a seat on the hard ground, he leaned back against an old wooden post. Then he tried to remember what, exactly, she’d written in her journal. But for the life of him, none of it was terribly clear. Perhaps he’d been too stunned by her sentiment to recall it all.

Or perhaps he’d felt too guilty—both by what he was doing and by his feelings for Lucy.

In his world, wedding vows were sacred. People didn’t divorce, and they accepted the good with the bad in the marriage. As another bee hovered nearby, Calvin wondered just how bad Lucy’s marriage had been.

And he wondered how scarred she was from such a life. Would she ever be able to love again? To marry again?

Just as soon as they came, Calvin tried to shake off such musings. His thoughts were shameful, that’s what they were. It would be far better to concentrate on his own feelings instead of Lucy’s. As he looked at the pail she’d abandoned, filled to the brim with berries, Calvin stretched out his legs, uneager to return home until he had a handle on his emotions.

Until he had a plan of what to do next. Of course, what could he do besides apologize to Lucy again for not immediately returning her book? But what then? Would there ever be anything more after that?

The afternoon sun beat down on his shoulders and face. He closed his eyes and let the sun warm his skin. And let himself think about her some more. Lucy was such a tiny thing. All golden hair, pale, creamy cheeks, and light brown eyes. So watchful, so full of secrets. Hesitant.

But also strong, too. In many ways, she was the exact opposite of Gwen, who’d gotten bored with their relationship and had moved on, her chin held high. She’d had no regrets about how she’d embarrassed him, or how she’d changed her mind so suddenly.

Yes, Lucy was strong. Strong enough for him to ask her more questions. And perhaps ask if she feared him.

Suddenly, he knew that he wanted to be there for her, at least as a friend, as someone she could trust. But perhaps as something more, too.

Slowly, Calvin got to his feet and grasped the pail. Later he would carry it to the Lapps’. Perhaps tomorrow, or even the next day. But until then, he knew they both needed time. He needed to process her revelation and she needed time to deal with his confession and her own emotions.

And if they had that time, perhaps when he asked her if she feared him, Lucy would be able to tell the truth.

And he would be able to accept it.

“Are you picking berries in your spare time now, Calvin?” Loyal asked when Calvin entered the kitchen.

Ignoring his brother’s sarcasm, Calvin shook his head. “The berries are Lucy’s. She forgot them at the patch. I’ll give them to her later.”

Loyal grinned. “Ah.”

Calvin glared. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that I knew you fancied her. You carrying her pail of berries proves that.”

Honestly. How come younger brothers could still be irritating, even at twenty-four? “I don’t see how this pail proves anything.”

“It proves that for some reason the two of you ended up picking fruit together this fine afternoon . . . and then got so distracted that somehow Lucy managed to forget her fruit.”

They certainly had gotten distracted. But that wasn’t something Loyal needed to know. “I think your mind’s gone missing. Maybe you’ve been out in the sun too long.”

Loyal grinned wider. “Care to tell me how you just ‘happened’ to meet Lucy on your walk?”

Oh, this was too much. He did not care to say another word about his walk, or his conversation with Lucy. Actually, he didn’t seem to be able to think about anything other than what she’d told him. “No.”

Loyal’s playful