“And here I had this idea,” she said once he’d come around to the driver’s side and gotten in, “that men with trucks were really territorial about them.”
“Nah.”
She glanced around the cab. The upholstery on the seats had holes in a few spots, and there was a lot of crap lying around. Not garbage—tools mostly. But also map books and CDs—he hadn’t been kidding about not being a phone guy. And the outside of the truck had been rusty and dented in a few places. “Not a truck guy, either?” she teased.
“Nope. This is just a means of getting myself and my stuff from point A to point B.”
They lapsed into silence. She tried to think of something to say. Usually sitting in silence with strangers was awkward. Probably because in her boisterous family, someone was always talking. And Rufus. He had always been talking. And the emergency room at St. Mike’s was all about talking—and shouting.
People talking: that was the default soundtrack to her life.
Or it had been. But maybe the Moonflower Bay palate cleanser could come with a new soundtrack—or a lack of one. Because silence, it turned out, was kind of nice. Or at least this silence was. It was companionable. Jake didn’t seem like the type of guy who minded being quiet.
Which, ironically, made her want to know more about him. “So what do you do, Jake Ramsey? What kind of stuff do you haul from point A to point B in this truck?”
“I guess technically I’m a fisherman.”
“Technically?”
“Well, my dad was a fisherman until he retired recently. I went into business with him when I graduated high school. I still have the boat and the license. I just don’t go out that much anymore.”
“Why not?” He darted a glance at her. It wasn’t an annoyed glance but more of a blank look. “Sorry. None of my business.”
“I also co-own a carpentry business with Sawyer Collins, who’s the chief of police—you met him back there. It keeps us pretty busy, so I don’t fish much these days. So mostly the stuff I’m hauling is wood and tools.” He pulled into her driveway and turned to her as he cut the engine. “You were, uh, really great back there.”
“You were really great.” He had been. Solid and steady and thoughtful. “That idea to call her husband was genius. And you were cool and collected. Most people aren’t like that in emergencies.” Most bystanders, in her experience, fell somewhere on the spectrum of minorly panicked to utterly useless.
He looked out his window, so his face was turned away from her as he spoke. “I had a son who died. His mom was determined to have a natural childbirth, so we took a lot of classes, and I read a lot of books.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry.” That was the last thing she’d expected this gruff man to say. “What was your son’s name?”
He turned to her, his eyes slightly wide—like he was surprised? That couldn’t be right.
“His name was Jude.”
They stared at each other silently for a long moment. “Do you want to come inside for a drink? I have bourbon.” She looked out the window for her abandoned shopping bags. “I think.”
He kept looking at her, his expression impossible to read. What if he thought she was hitting on him? That was the last thing she was going to be doing during her palate-cleansing sojourn in Moonflower Bay. He’d been the first to suggest a drink; she was just suggesting a different location.
Just as the previously easy silence between them was starting to morph into a more uncomfortable variety, he finally spoke.
“I can’t.”
Chapter Three
On Friday, Nora hired a receptionist named Wynd. “Wynd with a y,” the woman had said, coming in carrying the Moonflower Bay Monitor, in which Nora had run classified ads all week. She hadn’t been sure that anyone actually read the classifieds anymore, but she’d figured it couldn’t hurt.
Wynd with a y looked exactly like Nora would have expected someone named Wynd with a y to look. She was wearing a floral romper thing, and her blond hair was twirled into two messy buns on the sides of her head. She looked like a young Gwyneth Paltrow going for a Princess Leia–at-Coachella look.
But she was also an experienced administrator, having been the manager of a small law firm in Grand View, the next town down the lake. She was at the end of maternity leave for her second daughter, who was almost one, and her older child was starting kindergarten in the fall. “I liked the law firm, but I think a job right in town is going to be a better fit at this phase of life.”
Wynd was also a certified yoga teacher and “energy worker,” whatever that was. But she seemed genuinely interested in health and wellness.
In other words, Wynd was dippy but qualified. Though that wasn’t really fair. Dippy was in the eye of the beholder. It wasn’t like they had to be friends. Nora stuck out her hand. “You’re hired, but there’s a catch. I’m only planning to be here for two years. My hope would be to find someone to buy the clinic from Dr. Baker, which might mean you could stay. But I can’t promise that this will be a permanent job. If you accept, we’ll be signing a two-year contract.”
“That actually suits me. My husband and I are hoping to move to the countryside sometime in the next few years to start farming. We have some land already, and we’re trying to save enough to build a house there and get things going.”
“Well, great. That sounds like an adventure. What will you farm?”
“Alpacas.”
“Wow.” She’d been expecting something more along the lines of sunflowers or organic heirloom tomatoes. “I didn’t know there was demand for alpaca meat.” She didn’t even know what alpacas were, actually. Maybe they were tasty?
“You don’t eat them.” Wynd looked horrified. “You raise them for their wool. But we’re also going to have retreats where people can come and commune with them.”
“Ah. Of course.” Well, she’d stepped in it there. Moving on. “When can you start? I’ve hired a nurse. Amber Grant—maybe you know her?” Nora couldn’t quite believe her luck. Amber the nurse had been okay with the two-year clause as well. She was interested in surgical nursing, but she needed additional training for that, so she was happy to gain some general experience at the clinic while she went to night school.
“I know of her,” Wynd said. “She used to work at Lawson’s Lager House, I think?”
“Right. Part-time while she was in nursing school. She graduated this past spring.” Amber had driven to Toronto for an in-person meeting with Nora after they’d had a great phone interview, and they’d clicked immediately. While on paper Nora might have preferred someone with a little more experience, it had been immediately clear that Amber was going to make a great nurse, and that she would be a useful link to the local community.
“I only drink biodynamic wine,” Wynd said, “so I don’t go to Lawson’s. So I don’t know her–know her.”
“Well, you’ll meet her soon enough. I’m aiming to open two weeks from Monday, but she’s going to start next week, helping me get things ready. Maybe you could join us. We can learn the ropes together, basically. We also need to send letters to all of Dr. Baker’s old patients notifying them that the clinic is reopening.”