Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)

Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7) Page 22

She cried out as she landed with a thud.

"Winter!" I pedaled to her side and was off my bike in a matter of seconds. Just as I'd feared, despite the clip, her pant cuff had gotten caught in the chain and had torn. I pulled away the bicycle and rested it against a tree, then did a quick visual exam. The skin on her elbow had been scraped and was bleeding, as was her knee, which appeared to be the worst of her injuries.

"Don't touch me!" She tensed as I bent down to examine her more thoroughly.

"I won't," I promised, looking in both directions to make sure no cars were coming.

Winter closed her eyes and released a shaky breath. "Does anything feel broken?" I asked, quickly transitioning into doctor mode.

"No...nothing."

"Keep still for a moment. Concentrate. Where's the pain?" "My elbow and knee--nothing's broken. I'm sure of it." She struggled into a sitting position. When I tried to help, she shook her head, telling me she wanted to do this on her own.

She sat up slowly and, bending her arm, studied her elbow first. Then she stared down at her knee. I knew it must hurt. It wasn't as if we were kids and could easily recover from a fall. As adults we land a lot harder.

"Do you feel dizzy?" I asked, afraid she might have bumped her head. She was wearing Hannah's old helmet, but I had to ask.

"No."

"Light-headed?"

"No. The helmet saved me, I think."

"That's why we're supposed to use them." I've dealt with too many preventable head injuries in children who hadn't been wearing helmets.

Winter grinned. "You're not one of those men who take delight in saying I told you so, are you?"

I grinned back. "Every man lives for the opportunity." "That's what I thought," she said, coming awkwardly to a stand.

"I'll take you to the house and patch up your wounds," I said.

Winter hobbled toward the house while I pushed both bikes. So much for that plan. Bike riding had been a disaster. "I'm sorry, Winter."

"Why should you apologize? I'm the inept one." "I should've suggested we do something else." I put the bikes in the garage, then joined her. With my arm around her waist, I led her into the kitchen and sat her down on a kitchen chair while I went in search of Band-Aids and antibiotic cream.

When I returned I had a fresh washcloth, too. Next I ran cool water into a bowl and brought it over to the table where I'd set my supplies. I dabbed at her scraped elbow and knee, applied ointment and carefully bandaged them. "I'm not a good patient," Winter said from between clenched teeth.

"On the contrary, you're an excellent patient." She smiled and our eyes met.

Once I'd finished, I took away the water and the cloth and put everything back where it belonged. I hate to admit it, but I'm a neat freak, as Hannah rather unflatteringly described me. It's a habit I developed as a child, perhaps because my brother, with whom I shared a bedroom, was such a slob. Ever since then, I'd felt a need to have order around me.

"My mother always gave me a treat when I was hurt as a kid," Winter told me when I came back.

"What kind of treat?"

"Sometimes it was hot cocoa, other times a cookie. When I broke my arm she let me sleep in her bed and watch movies all day." Her face reddened and she immediately broke eye contact. "I wasn't asking to sleep in your bed, Michael."

I hadn't taken it that way and merely laughed. "Don't worry about it."

She thanked me with a lopsided smile.

"Would you like to watch a movie?" I offered. That was the only thing I could think of, probably because she'd just mentioned it.

"Do you have popcorn?"

"Let me check." Groceries were a hit-and-miss chore with me. I was thankful to discover an unopened box of microwave popcorn in the cupboard above the refrigerator. I didn't know how long it'd been there, but it served the purpose.

While I stood guard over it, Winter went through the stack of DVDs. I couldn't remember when I'd actually sat down and watched one, although we owned quite a few. Hannah was the movie lover, everything from black-andwhite classics to foreign films to Hollywood blockbusters. I watched them with her--mainly to be with her--but movies seemed a waste of time to me.

Winter came into the kitchen, a DVD in her hand. "The African Queen is one of my favorites."

"Hannah's, too."

"I know. I'm guessing she bought it."

She had.

The popping slowed and then stopped, and the timer buzzed. I was grateful for the distraction. I didn't want to get caught up in memories of Hannah. I didn't think it was wise to drag her name into every conversation. Winter must have felt the same way because she didn't mention Hannah again.

The TV was in the family room and I inserted the movie, then sat down on the sofa next to Winter. I left several inches between us. She had her bowl of popcorn and I had mine.

It'd been probably four years since I'd seen the Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn movie. I'd forgotten what a moving love story it is. I did recall that Hannah invariably cried at the end.

As the credits rolled, Winter glanced in my direction. Neither of us had moved during the film. The same few inches still separated us.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

"I'll survive."

"I've got some aspirin." I should've thought of it earlier. If she wasn't stiff and sore now, she would be soon. She shook her head. "It hardly hurts at all."

"Well, tomorrow might be another story," I said, blaming myself regardless of her protests.

"As you might've guessed, I'm more of an inside woman," Winter announced. "I've always loved working in the kitchen and experimenting with recipes. I'm not really into sports." Hannah had enjoyed cooking, too, but as far as sports went, she was game for anything. She had the spirit of an adventurer. Never once could I remember her holding back when I suggested we try something new, whether it was biking a hundred and fifty miles on a two-day trek to Oregon or signing us up for a river rafting trip. "I might not be any good at sports, but I could whip up a dinner you'd rave about for weeks," Winter said. "I'll bet you could." I hoped she didn't hear the lack of enthusiasm in my voice. Since Hannah's charming dinner parties, I'd lost any interest in elaborate meals. Eating was just a means of fueling the body for me, not the soul. "What would you like to do?" I asked.

"Do you play cards?"

"Not anymore." I used to play poker, of course, but not since Hannah got ill. "Sorry."

"Oh." Her disappointment was obvious.

"What do you do on your days off?" I asked. "I putter around in my kitchen. I know!" Her eyes brightened. "How about if I make you dinner?" "Don't you cook all week? You shouldn't have to do it on your day off."

"But it's what I love," she said. "When I'm at the cafe I'm stuck doing the paperwork, ordering, things like that. So I seldom get a chance to experiment in the kitchen anymore. There are a few dishes I've been eager to try, but it doesn't make sense to cook for one."

"I haven't been to the store in a while." I gestured for her to search through the fridge and cupboards if she wished, knowing she'd find mostly canned soup and a few frozen meals.

"Oh, that's part of the fun," she said. "I like grocery shopping."

"Okay, then. Let's go."

She grinned widely as I reached for my car keys. This wasn't how I'd envisioned spending our Sunday afternoon, but if it was what she wanted I wasn't about to complain. From the moment we stepped inside the store, it was clear that Winter was in her element. She maneuvered the aisles like a pro, pausing now and then to throw an item into the cart. She read labels, talked to the butcher requesting a special cut, and smelled and squeezed the fruit and vegetables. It was an experience just being with her. Tagging along, I caught a bit of her enthusiasm. Passion is contagious.

"You've memorized the recipe?" I asked.

She stared at me as if I'd spoken a foreign language. "You know," I said. "The recipe for this fabulous dinner you're cooking me."

"Ha!" she said with a laugh. "I don't have any recipe!" "You said there was one you wanted to try." "Well, yes. It's something I had not long ago while I was out with friends. I've been dying to reproduce it myself." "Oh."

"Never mind--I promise it'll taste like a feast Henry VIII would've been proud to eat."

"Otherwise off with your head?" I joked, and she seemed to find that funny.

Back at the house, I unloaded the car while Winter set to work in the kitchen. She soon had the vegetables in the sink and started organizing ingredients on the counter. I saw the thick slices of fresh tuna and boneless chicken breasts and couldn't imagine what she might be planning with that combination.

"What can I do?" I asked, my hands in my back pockets. I'd never been much use in the kitchen.

She looked at me and for an instant I saw a flicker of sadness in her eyes.

"Were you thinking of Hannah just now?" I asked. It did seem odd to see another woman in Hannah's kitchen, even if that woman was there by invitation. Almost immediately I realized I'd broken one of my own rules. I'd brought Hannah into our conversation, and I'd been determined not to do that.

"Not Hannah," Winter answered after a brief pause. "Then who?"

"Pierre. He's the chef I mentioned. We used to love cooking together."

I nodded.

Winter turned abruptly away from me. "I think I told you Pierre and I...are taking a break from each other," she said. "Unfortunately it looks like it'll be a permanent one." Winter was preparing a meal, indulging in her favorite pastime--which she used to share with the man she loved. I'd done the same thing when I suggested we take out the bikes. Hannah and I had often gone cycling on a Sunday afternoon, and it appeared that Winter and Pierre had spent their time together in the kitchen, doing something they were equally passionate about.

I could picture them working side by side, offering each other small tastes of their creations, arguing, laughing, kissing.

"What exactly happened with you and Pierre?" I asked. She shrugged. "I don't know," she whispered. Her voice registered such pain that I automatically took a step closer, and stopped myself just in time from wrapping my arms around her.

"I don't know," she said again. "I can't even begin to explain it."

Like me, like Leanne...Winter, too, was dealing with loss.

Chapter Eighteen

G rumbling the entire time, Macy did as Dr. Everett had requested and drew a jungle scene. The problem was that the man had no imagination. She'd met men like him before and found them uniformly boring. He obviously didn't have a sense of humor, either. In her humble opinion, the children's doctor could use a good laugh. He took everything far too seriously.

Monday afternoon, as promised, she showed up at his office--on time. He didn't seem impressed. This illmannered physician hardly even noticed the effort she'd put into making sure she wasn't late.

In fact, Macy was kept waiting for five whole minutes. She could've used those extra minutes. Snowball hadn't eaten that morning, and Macy was concerned. He could be ill. Or mad. He seemed to think he was punishing Macy by not eating. How like a male to punish