"Oh boy. You look..." Matt scratched behind his ear, smart enough not to finish that sentence. "I don't know, Aunt Gracie, maybe we do need the extra hands to get you inside."
"That's why Mona is here," Gracie said in between pants that even she had to admit sounded an awful lot like a cocker spaniel in heat.
"Not anymore." Mona rushed to the driver's side door. "Sorry, Sis. That lunatic is demanding to see the house in Litchfield today. I need to drive over there before he climbs in through a window or something."
"Mona, no." Her sister wasn't leaving. Not with Gracie standing here. Outside. With half the Alda volunteer fire department.
No no no. This was not the plan. The plan was to get Gracie inside. Alone. With food. Water. A computer. And zero distractions until she had a manuscript bursting with zing. A manuscript with a much better ending than the one she emailed to her agent a few days ago, promising that everything was under control.
That promise would've carried a lot more weight if Gracie hadn't fallen off a coin-operated horse and landed in the ER later that same afternoon. "Mona, you can't leave me."
"I'll be back before you know it," she shouted through an open window as her car peeled away.
Matt tugged Gracie away from the spraying gravel. He wasn't holding her tight, but even the little bit of pressure hurt her ribs. Her back. Her pelvis. Her pride. Everything. A whimper slipped past her lips.
"Sorry," Matt said.
"No, it's not you. It's..." She buried her face against Matt's shoulder, unable to hold back the tears. Why couldn't anything in her life be easy? Ever? Sakes alive, she couldn't even climb on a toy horse without getting hurt.
Matt's shoulders shifted uncomfortably, probably because he could feel her tears and snot seeping through the cotton fabric of his long-sleeved shirt. "Hey guys, appreciate the help, but I think we're good here."
Still crying, Gracie flapped her fingers toward the porch. "Don't forget the casseroles," she whimpered.
She didn't have to tell the poor boys twice. They'd probably rather deal with a blazing fire than a crying woman any day. The fire truck's heavy rumble soon disappeared.
At last, peace.
Until the front door to the cottage squeaked open and clapped shut. Oh wonderful. Just what she needed. To meet the new renter with a blotchy face covered in snot. On the bright side, maybe the sight would scare him off from ever bothering her again.
"Is that the nice guy you told me about?" Gracie tried lifting her head to get a good look at him.
Matt squished her face back against his shoulder.
Clutching the back of her head with one hand, he began patting her on the back as if he were burping a baby and had no idea how to do it. Which in a weird way brought her more comfort than anything else had so far. She really did love her one and only nephew.
"So listen, Aunt Gracie. About the renter..." Matt cleared his throat, slapping her back now as if she were choking. "I know you said you wouldn't need any help, but—"
Footsteps approached, crunching over dry leaves. The closer the steps came, the faster Matt talked.
"The doctor said you're going to need help. Especially the next few days. Maybe longer. What if you fell? You could lay there for hours, and nobody would know. You could die and nobody would know. You need someone close by. Someone to help take care of you. And let's face it—my mom's not a caregiver. We all know that. You need someone who can help you up the stairs. Fix you food. Give you a bath. And that's not me. I love you, but I'm not giving you a bath." Gracie finally managed to tug her face away from Matt's shoulder long enough to gasp in a deep breath. "Considering you just about suffocated me, yeah, I'd say you're not exactly caregiver material either."
Lucky for her she didn't need a caregiver at all. Which she was about to point out to Matt when he said, "So you understand then."
The back of Gracie's neck tingled. "Understand what?"
"Why I did what I did."
The tingles grew sharper as Gracie held her nephew's gaze. "What did you do?"
When a throat cleared behind her, Matt didn't have to answer. She knew. "You little Benedict Arnold." The back of Gracie's neck no longer tingled. It blazed.
If Gracie had a will, she'd write Matt out of it first thing tomorrow. She never did care for her one and only nephew. "Look me in the eye right now and tell me the nice guy you rented my cottage to is not my ex-husband."
