The Promise (Thunder Point #5)(36)

She laughed at him. “As tempting as that is...I’m going home to run through my rituals that I use to get over myself. And I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You’re not afraid to trust me, are you?” he asked before he could stop himself.

She shook her head. “No, Scott. We’ll talk about it someday. Just not today.”

She packed up her laptop, purse and lunch tote, and he watched her leave. She turned at the office door. “Sorry for the meltdown. I thought I was alone.”

“You were alone, Peyton. I hadn’t planned to come back. I’ll lock up.”

“Thanks,” she said. And then she was gone.

Hmm, not true love, eh? he thought. Well, that’s encouraging.

Eight

Carrie James didn’t need a referral to an orthopedist. She already had one. Dr. Todd in North Bend had treated her before for the same problem. Her knees often gave her some trouble. Since she had to rest the knee for a couple of days, the deli was closed, and she waited while Dr. Todd made arrangements for her to get an MRI.

Fortunately, Carrie had some deli stock prepared, and with some help from her daughter and granddaughter, she could take a couple of days off. She kept her leg elevated, took an anti-inflammatory, iced her knee religiously and about forty-eight hours after seeing the doctor, the cortisone kicked in and the pain subsided a great deal. The swelling was much improved. Dr. Todd thought it would be a good idea to scope the knee and repair the meniscus, something Carrie didn’t want to do unless it became absolutely necessary. First she’d try to heal it, even if it meant wearing an Ace bandage for the next year.

Carrie thought about the conversation she’d had with Peyton just this morning. “I understand your reluctance, and it does look a lot better,” Peyton had said. “But, Carrie, if you go back to your grueling schedule and take this knee for granted, you’re going to quickly be right back where you started. Tell Gina and Ashley you need their help right now.”

“They’re happy to help all they can,” she’d said. “They’re great at making wraps, salad plates and sandwiches, but neither of them is much of a cook.”

“Even with your supervision?”

“I’m afraid not,” she’d said. “I’ll just have to get by with my deli stock, take at least a few weeks off from the heavy cooking and baking and pass along the wedding I’m scheduled to cater to one of my competitors in Bandon. I hate doing that. Brides are so easily upset by changes. And their mothers are positively psychotic.”

“What did Dr. Todd say about the knee?” Peyton had asked.

“Not a lot,” Carrie had said. “He was busy sharpening his knives.”

“He wants to scope it, doesn’t he?”

“Yes. At least. I’m going to have to be very careful because if I see him again, he’s going to recommend a total knee replacement. I’m over sixty, and I’m afraid I’ve been hard on my knees.”

“Well, yes, be very careful because even though you’re feeling better, you know how these knee injuries go. One minute you’re standing, and suddenly, without warning, you’re on the ground. You don’t want to hurt anything else.” Then Peyton had smiled. “Too bad my mom has a farm and ten grandchildren—she loves to cook. Your seaside deli might take on a slightly Basque appearance, however.”

“I would kill for some of her recipes,” Carrie had confided.

“Ah, that’s like asking for the Holy Grail. Family food is pretty sacred in Basque tradition. Next time I’m home for a big meal, I’ll bring you some things to taste.”

For a few days Ashley helped Carrie in the mornings, and when Gina was finished in the diner, she came over and helped in the afternoon. Carrie’s best friend, Lou McCain, did her shopping for her a couple of times. Of course, they were all more than happy to help, but Carrie was watching the money like a miser. Her sales were instantly down because she had to eliminate the dinners. And worse than that, she hated not being completely independent.

She was sitting at her desk in the deli, going over her ledgers on the computer yet again, when the door opened and in came Rawley Goode. “Well, hello, Rawley. Didn’t Ashley deliver your order?”

“Sure she did,” he said. “All taken care of. I had some time, so I came over to see what you need done.”

“Need done?”

“I’m sure there’s a good bit of chores that go hard on that knee. Trash? Clean up? Move things around? Deliveries? And I’m a fair cook, long as someone either tells me what to do or gives me real careful instructions.”

“Rawley, I can’t accept your help. You’re a customer!”

“Every one of your neighbors is a customer sometimes.”

“Besides, I can’t just let people in to cook and bake....”

“I can bake. I used to make my dad sugar-free deserts. Not easy, neither. Then I made ’em for Mercy when they stayed with me. Got so she liked ’em, too.”

“Listen, it’s a business. It’s licensed. Before a person can prepare food, he has to—”

Rawley pulled out his wallet and opened it. “Has to have one of these?” he asked, showing her his food handler’s card. “Why, Miss Carrie, did you think Cooper and me were just hoping no one would ever stop by and ask? Even Sarah and Landon have their cards. I went to the health department for mine when Ben was still alive, but now you get it off the computer. Simple as pie. Now, why don’t I start by emptying trash and checking the dishwasher? Then, if you’re inclined, why don’t you tell me how to make something? Start with something easy. I’m partial to your meat loaf.”