Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(66)

I love seeing Aubrey like this.

She has her hair piled on top of her head in a messy ball, and on her face is the most carefree smile I’ve ever seen. After ninety minutes of driving, she put her bare feet up on the dash. Red-polished toenails wiggling, she’d asked if I minded.

I told her no. What I kept to myself was the fact that everything about her, including her cute feet, was making it harder to concentrate. But, seeing as how my whole life is in my truck right now, I focused on the road.

Claire fell asleep after a bathroom break fifteen minutes ago, her head slumped against the side of her car seat. She has her left arm bent across her body, as if it’s still in a cast.

Aubrey looks back at her. “Do you think she’s comfortable?”

I shrug. “Comfortable enough to fall asleep.”

“But her arm…” Aubrey bites her lip. I think about telling her to stop.

She faces front. “That skin was so gross.”

Perfect. The switch to that subject is exactly what I need right now.

“I should have warned you. Sorry.” I don’t think of it as gross anymore. Aubrey, however… She was shocked when the cast came off.

“What’s that?” She’d asked with alarmed eyes, pointing at the dead skin covering Claire’s arm.

I felt bad. Normally I tell my patients ahead of time, but I keep forgetting Claire and Aubrey are my patients.

Aubrey shudders lightly, as if she’s remembering with me. “It’s OK. It’s common sense. Anyway, I brought the vitamin E oil. She’s been trying to scratch it.”

I open my mouth, but Aubrey holds up a hand. “I know, Doctor Cowboy. Don’t let her scratch it.” She laughs and settles back into her seat. I shake my head.

“Tell me more about the day I went to the brunch with your mom. I just can’t picture my dad hanging out with your dad.” She makes a sound like a disbelieving exhale.

“It was…good. Interesting.” I tap my fingers on the wheel, thinking of the day my dad and I met John for lunch.

“You said that already.” Aubrey reminds me.

“That’s about all there is to it. Your dad was quiet. My dad attempted to talk about sports. Your dad made no attempt to talk about sports. I remembered they both like animals, even though one of them prefers to hunt them, and finally they had something to talk about.”

Aubrey sighs. “They could not be more different.”

I nod, but inside I know the truth. Those two men are more alike than anybody knows.

“Your mom and Lauren aren’t at odds, by the way.” She says it off-handedly while she stares out her window.

“No?” The last time I saw Lauren she was angry. Hurt. And she had a right to be. Everything she knew was upended, just like it was for me. Of course, it was worse for me because it was about me. “Well, good.” I sneak a quick glance at Aubrey. Her head’s tipped back while she yawns.

“Go to sleep,” I tell her.

“I just might,” she says, yawning again, but bigger this time.

She uses the remainder of the drive to take a nap. Every once in a while, I peek at her from the corner of my eye. Her lips are parted, her arms crossed at her waist.

Five years ago, I was immediately attracted to her. Physically, yes, but also mentally. She was smart. The pain in me reached out to the pain in her. That night she was like a mirror, reflecting exactly what I was feeling on the inside.

Maybe it’s time to tell her my ugly truth. The real reason I was at the bar that night.

The problem is that my ugly truth does not belong to only me.

I can’t be totally honest with Aubrey until I get the green light from her.





It’s possible this is the cutest town I’ve ever been to. Although that might not be saying much. I’m not exactly well-traveled. My dad likes to stick to the surrounding geography.

Sugar Creek, Arizona. Population… I don’t know. Not much, I’m guessing, based on the quaint main street. There are off-shoots, streets that lead away and have some businesses on them. The businesses look like homes, though. We haven’t stepped from the truck yet, but I’m certain there’s an unhurried pace in this town. What could there possibly be to rush to? Or from?

Isaac props a piece of paper on the steering wheel. There are only four directions on it, and he’s glanced down at it so many times he probably has it memorized. The directions scrawled on paper is old-school, but that’s because the place we’re going to doesn’t have an address.

Yep, that’s right. The Lost Place. Literally. That’s the name of the cabin. It has a name, but not an address.

I balked when Isaac told me. How will help get to us if we don’t have an address to give?

Are you planning on needing help? Isaac asked.

That’s when I told him what an emergency is, as defined by my profession. A state of need for help or relief, created by an unexpected event, requiring immediate action.

Isaac laughed and reminded me he is an emergency responder.

I could've kept going and told him about all the emergencies he is not the best fit for responding to. Instead, I shut my mouth. Because he was excited. Because he was smiling, and his eyes were smiling too. And in three days, it’s very unlikely that anything could go wrong.

Now that I see the little town, I feel better. It looks like something from a pop-up book, a small expanse of brick buildings and sidewalks, storefronts with hand-painted signs. No traces of the desert we’ve left behind. It’s all pine and green leaves.