The Sweet Spot by Heather Heyford

Author:Heather Heyford [Heyford, Heather]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-01-11T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

“Hate to think of what would’ve happened if that young lady hadn’t walked into the kitchen when she did,” said Ellie’s doctor.

If the stroke hadn’t killed Ellie, the near–kitchen fire would have.

“How long do you figure she’ll be hospitalized?”

“Plan on at least a couple of days until we’ve done a complete assessment. Couldn’t even venture a guess at this point.” The doctor clapped Hank’s shoulder. “My advice to you is to go on home and get some sleep. You look like you could use it.”

Hank looked down at his dirty jeans and wrinkled shirt he’d ridden and slept in. He rubbed his stubbly chin. The clock on the wall of the ER waiting room said eleven thirty. It had been forty-some odd hours since he’d had a shower and a shave.

He nudged Jamie, slumped over on the vinyl couch.

“How’s Ellie?” she asked, sitting up straighter.

“They’re keeping her as comfortable as they can. C’mon. I’ll take you home.”

Home. Ellie was the ship’s rudder. It wouldn’t be the same without her there in the kitchen first thing in the morning and last thing at night, on the front porch greeting guests, and watching over the campfire out back.

In the car, he bought Jamie up to speed.

“Doc said she hadn’t been sitting there long. But she still can’t talk or move her hands.”

“It’s only been a few hours. Give her some time, let the doctors figure it out.”

He gave the upper arc of the steering wheel a sharp rap with the heel of his hand. “That forty-five-minute drive to get to the trauma center couldn’t have helped. When someone’s having a stroke or a heart attack or falls off a rock, time matters.” Then he whipped off his ball cap, tossed it into the back, and massaged his jaw.

“Ellie wouldn’t live anywhere else.” Jamie laid a hand on his arm. “Everything seems worse when you’re tired. You’ll feel better after you get some rest.”

“Won’t get much rest tonight. There’s green harvesting to be done, and we have a dozen guests arriving in”—he glanced at the dashboard clock—“a matter of hours. Who’s going to take care of the inn? Supervise the meals? Handle reservations?”

“Green harvesting?”

“When there’s too much rain, the grapes grow too vigorously. Every single bunch has to be cut in half.”

“But that’s like throwing away half the grapes.”

Hank nodded. “That’s why you don’t look back on the ground behind you as you work. Breaks your heart while you’re doing it. But culling pays off in a stronger yield, later.”

“I’m here. I’ll man the inn.”

“Look,” said Jamie a short time later when she and Hank walked in the kitchen door. “Some anonymous good Samaritan cleaned the kitchen.”

There was a note stuck on the fridge. “It says they hope Ellie will be okay,” said Jamie. “It’s signed by all the men.”

* * *

By the next morning, everyone for miles around had heard about Ellie’s stroke. When Ellie’s teenagers came to serve breakfast, they brought along some unexpected help.

Brynn took one of them by the hand and inched toward Jamie.

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