Page 12 of Sweet Deal (Honeysuckle, Texas #4)

Rachel had no idea why she bothered to climb into bed last night.

The hospital confirmed Jim had no broken or even cracked ribs, only bruised.

Which, as far as Jim was concerned, hurt just the same.

Apparently, his reflexes were better than she’d thought.

He’d twisted just enough for the baseball to graze his side, not slam into it.

Though from what was explained to her, a baseball pitched at eighty miles an hour is going to hurt when it skips over a man’s rib cage like stones on water.

The news should have been great, wonderful, a relief.

For the most part, the news of no breaks was great, but that didn’t help her get some sleep.

Regardless of what the doctor had explained, she was still worried about him.

After his release, she’d driven him home and Garret followed in Jim’s truck. Somehow the grapevine had failed to reach his mother—probably a good thing. Everyone had fawned over him and finally, he was settled with the meds kicking in, and Rachel and Garret headed home.

“I don’t understand what the hurry is.” Her mother slapped bread across the counter as if it had somehow offended her.

Putting together the fixings for double grilled cheese sandwiches to go with her homemade tomato soup, she shook her head.

“What is it with all of you and weddings? Anyone would think you were allergic to them.”

“Not all weddings, just big ones.” As a little girl, she had dreamed of a big fancy wedding with a long train, lots of bridesmaids, and, of course, flowers.

The older she got, the more all those ideas seemed to be nothing but a waste of money.

Now that they were in such dire straits, there was nothing about a fancy dress, a ton of food, and the whole town watching that appealed.

Her mother peeled slices of cheese out of the packets. “Fine. A small wedding. But that doesn’t explain, what’s the hurry?”

It took Rachel a few moments to shuffle through answers that might work, when a light bulb went off. “When did you know you wanted to marry Dad?”

A huge smile bloomed and her previously rough movements slowed. “At the Harvest dance when he asked me to dance and told me he liked the new way I’d done my hair.” She blew out a little sigh. “Men never noticed things like that, but your dad, he noticed and remembered everything.”

She nodded. “And how long had you been dating?”

“Oh,” her mom shook her head and reached for the Swiss cheese, “that was the first time he got up the nerve to ask me out.”

Rachel just stood, silently, waiting for her mother to connect the dots.

Her mom waved a finger at her. “You’re sneaky, you know.”

“I’ve got a lot of practice. In my line of work, the trick to getting people to talk is to ask the right questions. You learn more, accomplish more when you let folks tell their story.”

“Never ask a yes or no question.” Her mom smiled. “You’ve said that before.”

“Right. If I ask, are you okay, I’ll get a yes or no answer. On the other hand, if I say, tell me how you’re feeling, we might get somewhere.” Now it was her turn to smile. “And nice to know you listened.”

“To every word.” Turning, her mom went back to assembling sandwiches. “Any news on how Jim is doing this morning?”

“No. I called, but his mom said he was sleeping, and she didn’t want to disturb him.”

“Smart woman. Rest is important when you’re healing.”

She knew that, but she still wanted to see for herself.

Glancing up at the wall clock, she debated how annoyed would his mom be if she just showed up at the Henderson home?

Before she could steal up the courage to drive over, the front door squeaked open, and she made a mental note to oil the hinges.

“Look who I found shuffling outside.” Garret came in the front door, hung his hat on a nearby hook, and stood waiting for Jim to follow him inside.

“Morning.” Jim waved with his good arm.

“Should you be out?” Rachel blurted.

“Nice to see you too.” Jim started to chuckle, then grimaced, holding his side.

In a flash, she was on her feet and hurrying over to him. “You shouldn’t be out.”

“It’s my ribs that hurt, not the rest of me, and last time I looked, I don’t need my ribs to drive. Though Mom did insist I take the more comfortable Edge instead of the truck.”

“Glad to see you’re okay,” her mom called from the kitchen.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Smiling quickly at her mom, he glanced at Rachel, his gaze softened and she knew what was coming. Very slowly, he leaned in and gave her a soft kiss on the temple. “I can’t bend any lower, or I’d give you a proper good morning kiss.”

She didn’t have to look over her shoulder to know her mother was watching and probably smiling too. Pushing up on her tippy toes, she gave his lips a gentle peck. “Good morning.”

How Jim wished he could bend over, pull her in close, and give her a real kiss. And not just for her mother’s sake. Last night, the way she’d held his hand in the ER, refused to leave his side, and hovered over him like a mother hen, everything felt so very real and not at all for show.

After spending most of the night on the recliner so he didn’t have to move much, thinking about his life, the directions it had taken, leaving California and the high stress work that had ruled his every day and night, and how he’d wound up back in the one place he swore he never wanted to see again, one thing struck him very acutely.

Never in the two years he’d dated Blair, or the months engaged to her, not even when planning their lives together, did he ever feel the way Rachel made him feel.

Could it be as simple as the old cliché, there’s no place like home?

“Come on,” Rachel nudged him gently into the living room. “You should sit.”

“My legs are fine.”

She rolled her eyes at him, and then one hand on her hip, gave him a look that should have made any mere mortal whither.

“Okay. I’ll sit.”

“The recliner will be more comfortable.”

“On that,” he nodded, “we can agree.”

He was just easing himself back, trying very hard not to show how damn much it hurt when Rachel’s phone pinged once, twice, and three times, back-to-back.

Her gaze darted from him to the other side of the room and back.

“Go. I’m fine.”

Waiting another second to make sure he was indeed fine; she darted to her purse on the sofa table and flipped through messages.

“Everything okay?” He didn’t like the frown deepening between her eyes.

Slowly walking toward him, she continued to stare at her phone.

“Rach?”

She sank into the sofa beside him “Sorry. I’ve got a family I’m having a hard time helping.”

“Tell me about it.”

Her gaze lifted to meet his, and she blew out a sigh.

“Most of the time, we’re trying to protect kids from their parents.

I hate to have to say this, but we don’t always get to swoop in and save the kids from a troubled home life.

Too often we spend time coaching the children on how not to aggravate the parents so they don’t get hurt. ”

“That’s crazy.” Other words came to mind but none he could use without his mother threatening to wash his mouth out with soap, no matter how old he was.

“There’s so much about the system that can be frustrating. Sometimes, some of us bend the rules.”

“Bend?”

Her lips pressed tightly together, her shoulder dipped, and then she heaved a sigh. “You might say that there may have been a time or two when a social worker might take an injured kid in their own vehicle for… treatment.”

“Some as in you?”

Again, her shoulder lifted, and her head tipped to meet it. “Maybe.”

“Rach…” He struggled with how to say what he was thinking without coming off as a jerk. “Violent parents, taking kids without approval, you mentioned the other day tracking folks down on the streets if that’s where they’re smoking crack. Is your work always this dangerous?”

Her hesitation to respond told him more than he wanted to know.

“What’s happening now?”

She glanced at her phone. “I have one case. The son is about to age out of the system. Not that it’s been able to help much so far.

He’s schizophrenic, doesn’t like taking his meds, and has a drug abuse problem.

Whenever he gets into a placement to steady his meds and clean him up, they let him out and it starts all over again. ”

“Like now?”

Her head bobbed. “It’s just the mom and a little sister. When he’s in a good place, he’s a sweet boy.”

“But when he’s not?”

“Mom just texted me that he left the house this afternoon and hasn’t come home. She’s worried. Actually, she’s scared. She says that he’s arguing with the voices.”

“Man.” Eyes closed, he relaxed fingers that had tightened into a fist. “Now what?”

“I’ll make some calls tomorrow. Try a little harder to get him placement for evaluation before it escalates any more.”

“What is it they say the definition of crazy is?”

“I know, doing the same thing over and over but expecting different results. It’s all I can do. I can’t fix everything, and I certainly can’t cure schizophrenia.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“No.” She reached out and touched his arm. “When I can fix a situation, help a troubled mom, reach a lost kid, it’s a euphoria like you wouldn’t believe.”

He felt his mouth tip in a slight smile. “You always loved straightening out messes. As I remember, the more chaotic and impossible the situation, the more drawn to it you were. I guess you still are.”

“Most social workers, we thrive creating calm from chaos.”

Holding his side, he stretched his arm and took hold of her hand. “You, Rachel Sweet, are amazing.”