“Did they say why?”
“Apparently, my mother grew generous in her old age. She funded two of their youth trips to the Twin Cities last year and donated money for their choir robes the year before.” If he’d said that Vivian had flown to the moon, he couldn’t have sounded more mystified by her generosity. “So now they want to return the favor.”
“That’s sweet.” She hesitated. “I know you and your parents didn’t get along when you were in high school. And...I know they weren’t fair. But maybe they changed, later. Or maybe they had a better side that you didn’t see.”
“Possibly.” He hitched his good shoulder. “I’d still rather pay the youth group and keep things square.”
She lifted her hands in frustration. “Send them an anonymous donation, in care of the church. I’m sure they can put it to good use.”
He nodded. “I’ll do that.”
At the weariness in his voice, she looked up at the pallor of his skin and the fine lines of tension bracketing his mouth.
She knew he’d never admit to being in pain, even if it robbed him of sleep and made each day a struggle.
Whatever military code of honor he subscribed to, it allowed no admission of weakness of any kind.
“How is your shoulder?”
“Good.”
No surprise there. “And how are things at the motel?”
“Fine.”
“Clean? Comfortable? Quiet?”
“If I’m not in a tent in some desert, it’s all good.”
“That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement. How are the midnight trains?”
That earned a wry laugh. “Right on time. Every night.”
“And the four a.m.?”
His half smile faded. “Ditto.”
After being there over a week, she could only imagine how it felt to be shaken awake at all hours by fifty-car trains rumbling past just a few dozen yards from the motel. Especially when he needed the healing balm of deep, restful sleep.
“So when are you moving into the cottage?”
“As soon as I get time. It works just fine as a storage shed, now.”
“In other words, it’s packed to the rafters with odds and ends.” She flashed a bright smile at a lanky teenager carrying a garbage can bristling with a full load of scrap wood. “Hey, Ryan. Would you kids be up for another project this weekend? It’s the guest cottage behind Sloane House—”
“That isn’t necessary,” Dev cut in sharply. “But thanks anyway.”
The sandy-haired boy glanced uncertainly between them as they stared each other down, then he shrugged and continued on his way.
“You don’t have to be stubborn just on principle,” Beth hissed. “I was only trying to help.”
Dev waited until the boy disappeared out the front door. “Thanks, but I don’tneedhelp.”
“The kids could clear that cottage out in anhour.”
“But I already paid for the full week at the motel, and I’m in no hurry to move at any rate.” Dev’s narrowed eyes fixed on hers. “I don’t remember you being such a take-charge kind of gal.”
“I’m sure you don’t remember anything at all about me.” The words stumbled from her lips, unbidden, driven by the raw emotions that she’d tried to hide since Devlin had come to town.
