The Paramedic's Forever Family
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Tanya Agler
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24
CHAPTER ONE
ONE MORE MINUTE on hold and Lindsay Hudson would scream so loud the spring wildflowers in bloom outside her office window would wilt. Since she’d pressed the Speaker button so she wouldn’t miss out on a live customer representative, she had answered her morning emails, restructured the volunteer orientation and counted the number of jellybeans on her desk. There were five fewer than there’d been when she agreed to hold eighteen minutes and forty-eight seconds ago. She popped a cherry jellybean into her mouth. Make that six.
A knock almost prompted her to end the call, but she had to speak to someone at the Premier Bronze Engravers today. The door opened, and her best friend popped his head in. “Want to have lunch with me?”
“This is Angela. Is this a prank call?” A voice finally crackled over the speaker. Lindsay groaned at her friend Mason’s timing.
Mason must have taken her grunt as a sign to enter. Lindsay held up a finger and grabbed her phone, taking it off Speaker. “No! I’ve been on hold for nineteen minutes. Don’t hang up. I need to speak to someone about the proof for the memorial plaque that was sent to the Hollydale Botanical Garden.”
“One moment, please.” The familiar sounds of Muzak played once more. As much as Lindsay loved Beyoncé, she much preferred belting out the singer’s tunes in her trusty truck than listening to the instrumental version of her top hit.
“Lunch with me would remove those pesky thoughts of tossing your phone out the window.” Mason’s rich laugh filled her tiny office.
She wrinkled her nose, guilty, as her next-door neighbor knew her too well.
“That new deli downtown has two-for-one pimento cheese sandwiches today.”
Considering how often he teased her about being a lifelong North Carolinian who shuddered at the mere smell of pimento cheese, he knew she despised the spread. “You want me along so you can have both for yourself?”
“That’s what best friends are for.” He shrugged and the light from the afternoon sun bounced off his thick ginger hair, making it almost glow. “I’ll buy you a Reuben.”
As hard as it was to resist that invitation, her workload prevented her from accepting his offer. “Could you bring it back here for me?”
Angela came on over the line. “If this is a bad time for you, I’d be more than happy to talk to another customer.”
“Not at all.” Where did her boss find this place? “Are you the person to speak to about the proof for the botanical garden?”
“I handled this requisition myself. A simple email would have sufficed to okay the order. If that’s all?”
The representative’s smugness took Lindsay by surprise. “No, that’s not all. You’ve misspelled several of the names.”
“That must have been a mistake on your part. That will result in a delay of two to four weeks for the new proof and the finished product. Send me the correct spellings, and I’ll email you the updated version in which it was received in the queue.” Angela’s well-modulated, even voice gave no sign she was the guilty party.
Lindsay shuffled papers until she came upon her original document. “If the mistake is on your end, I expect we can still receive the plaque at the scheduled time. Its unveiling for the memorial garden is a major event. Just today we had confirmation of attendance from the mayor and a prominent state representative.”
“We are not responsible for others’ mistakes. We fulfill our orders with what we’ve been given.”
“I didn’t spell my last name wrong.” This argument was going nowhere fast. “I have my invoice here, which I personally scanned and faxed to you. Somehow, someone, I’m not saying it was you, swapped the d and the s of one of the paramedics’ last names. It’s Hudson, not Husdon.”
Lindsay stole a glance at Mason’s genial face. A muscle in his firm jaw twitched, so imperceptibly that someone who didn’t know him as well wouldn’t have noticed. Tim had been his partner prior to the accident that claimed her husband’s life two years, two months, and six days ago. Not that she was counting.
“Um, I see your point. However, spring is our busy season, and we can no longer guarantee our original date.”
“Do you know what this order is?” Lindsay cut to the chase. “The Hollydale Botanical Garden was chosen as the site for a monument to the first responders who’ve lost their lives in western North Carolina. My boss, who’s on vacation at the Outer Banks, chose your company based on your competitive bid. If there’s no plaque during the dedication ceremony...”
“It was an honest mistake on our part. We’ll rush the revised proof back to you.”
“You do that. Have a nice day.” Lindsay ended the call.
Mason folded his arms and leaned against her office door, the twinkle in his blue eyes more mischievous than his relaxed stance would suggest. “Remind me never to argue with the head botanical horticulturist. She’s feisty.”
“She’s also hungry, but I don’t have time for lunch downtown.” Lindsay rose from her chair and donned her green blazer. “Before you head out for the sandwiches, I want to show you the memorial site.”
He shook his head and straightened. “I know better than to stand between you and your Reuben. I’ll be back in a few.”
He opened the door, but she ran ahead of him.
“Hmm. It’s getting late. Don’t want the deli to close before I place my order.”
“You don’t wear a watch when you’re off duty.” Pointing out the obvious, she grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the employee exit.
His indigo tie-dyed T-shirt and jeans were rather casual compared to the average wardrobe of the garden’s visitors, but he’d have stood out in a crowd whether he wore a dress shirt or his black-and-blue paramedic jacket.
“It’ll only take a couple of minutes. You’re coming to the dedication ceremony, aren’t you?”
Mason halted, and the door almost collided with her forearm before she scooted out of the way, leaving them inside the administrative building. “I haven’t thought much about it.”
“You have the same expression as Evan when he’s lying.” Lindsay faced Mason and folded her arms, beaming the same glare she’d give her four-year-old son.
“I’m not lying. I volunteered to work that day so other paramedics could attend.”
“What? I can’t believe you’d do that without talking to me first.” Her mouth fell open and she marveled at him standing there so cool and nonchalant. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“Because I knew you’d respond like this.”
“You don’t know everything about me, Mason Ruddick. You don’t know the half of how upsetting this is.” She pressed the metal bar with a little too much force and the door flew open.
Bright April sunshine didn’t match her mood at this second. No one else could aggravate her as much as Mason. She needed a new best friend, someone who’d keep her patience on its usually even keel. A field of wildflowers in bloom drew her attention, and she walked that way, appreciating a minute of beauty before she resumed her day.
“What type of flowers are they?” he asked. She’d sensed Mason had followed her even before his low, husky voice had called to her.
Lindsay remained where she was, resolute she wouldn’t give in and turn around. Mason needed to get it through his head how important his attendance at this memorial was, and she needed a minute so she’d come up with a logical retort rather than get distracted by his charm.
A visitor to the garden arrived and echoed Mason’s question, leaving her no choice but to turn around and answer. “Those blue-lavender stems are crested dwarf irises while the light purple flowers are wild geranium. The white trilliums are particularly striking.”
“Those fragile-looking ones? Are they easy to grow? My husband and I just downsized and moved into a new home. I finally have the time to start the garden I’ve always wanted.”
Lindsay faced the visitor, whose green visor shielded her eyes while she held out a notebook and pen, waiting for the answer. “We should be past the last frost of the year, although that’s been recorded here in the mountains as late as May. It’s important to triangulate the best place in your yard with access to sunlight and a good water source. If you join our annual membership here at the garden, you can show that pass at Farr’s Hardware in town for a ten percent discount, the same for Jasper and Jules’s Garden Center.”
Mason cleared his throat and, despite herself, Lindsay glanced his way. “So those of us who want to impress our neighbors, the ones who are adept at gardening, should grow trillium to get back in their good graces?”
“Notice the other flowers in that field. They balance out the smell. Trilliums are beautiful, but there’s a distinctive odor to them, a bit like rotting meat.” Lindsay kept her smile calm and determined.
The woman shoved her notebook in her handbag. “Thanks for your help.”
She scurried away, and Lindsay glared at Mason. “I wish I could say the same to you.”
“What did I do?” His eyes widened, and he flashed that boyish grin that always sent her twenty-month-old daughter Chloe to the moon.
“That woman was excited about gardening and I let my emotions get the best of me.” Lindsay headed for a nearby wooden fence that led to a shortcut to the greenhouse. She intended to spend her afternoon there checking on the progress of the petunias and other summer bedding plants and fixing the ancient irrigation system.
Mason’s footsteps beside her proved he wasn’t giving up yet. “Do you want extra Russian dressing on your Reuben, like always?”
“Are you coming to the dedication? Tim would have been there for you if the situation had been reversed.”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his jaw clenched. “I don’t deal in ‘what-ifs.’ I’ll see you later.”
Lindsay watched him walk away. Mason rarely made up his mind with such vehemence. What was going on in that head of his? Somehow, she’d find out the answer, while taking care to make sure their friendship remained intact. It was one of the few things that had kept her from staying in bed for the past two years.
MASON FLICKED ON the kitchen light in his rental home and trudged over to the refrigerator. He placed the to-go box holding two pimento cheese sandwiches next to the storage containers of chopped carrots and bell peppers. He hadn’t liked the abrupt way he’d ended it with his next-door neighbor and all-around best friend, Lindsay, earlier today, and that uneasiness had carried over to his solitary lunch, where he hadn’t been able to savor his one weakness to his organic lifestyle.
Now he had dinner, but no appetite.
Would she still appear tonight at the fence separating their adjoining yards, monitor in hand in case either Evan or Chloe got out of their beds? If so, he’d mend, well, fences with her. Somehow, they’d get through this. He’d work during the dedication ceremony so others in the department could witness her cutting the ribbon, doing double duty as the horticulturist in charge of the garden and the widow of one of the paramedics listed on the plaque.
Problem was, he couldn’t bear seeing Tim as just another name and statistic. His throat tightened. This was too much to consider tonight. He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. Time with his future chopper would help. Building a motorcycle from the ground up had always been his perfect antidote to the worries lingering within. This was exactly what the paramedic ordered.
Mason ran upstairs, eager to change into his old clothes. Halfway up the stairs, his phone rang, and he checked the screen in case the chief needed him. Hmm. What did Bree want to discuss at three in the afternoon Nashville time, four here? She should be at work.
He answered as he reached his bedroom closet. “Hey, sis. Can I call you back? It’s my day off and I want to finish part of the bike’s electric panel.”
He switched to Speaker and threw the phone on the bed, shrugging out of his tie-dyed shirt and replacing it with a long-sleeve shirt already stained with oil.
“Do you have a minute now? This is important,” his sister said.
The wobble in Bree’s voice was unlike her feisty and fun self, and he sat on the edge of his mattress. Mason reached for the phone and switched off Speaker. “Bree? What happened? Are you okay? Was Tris in an accident or something?”
“Tristan’s fine. It’s the or something.” She paused, and he held the phone pressed next to his ear.
“You don’t sound happy.”
She and Tristan were married four years ago, with college graduation one day and their wedding the next.
“Bree?”
A sniffle turned into wailing, and his brother-in-law came over the line.
“Hi, Mason.” Mason heard his sister still crying in the background. “Bree found out she has thyroid cancer. The doctors think they discovered it early.”
Mason’s heart stuttered, and a wave of nausea roiled his stomach. He clenched his phone and listened to his brother-in-law trying to sound optimistic while outlining the course of treatment, but the worry in his voice came through. Mason’s mind wandered, knowing too well what Bree was facing. Most likely, they’d remove her thyroid and then scan to see if the cancer had spread.
Bree came back on the line, and Mason composed himself, tamping down the concern for her sake. “Have you told Mom and Dad yet?” They’d lost one child to cancer already. How they’d take this development was beyond him.
“I’ve only told Grandma Betty and you.” Bree blew her nose, and he waited for her, itching to do something when he was three hundred miles away.
“Do you want me to fly to Nashville? It might be easier to deal with this if I’m at your side.” This meaning all of it: telling Mom and Dad, the surgery, the recovery. He hadn’t asked for any vacation time this year. He could pop to Nashville for a couple of days to start with, and no one would miss him.
“I love your visits, but no, I’ll be okay for now. We’ll visit later. I’ve got the treatment to get through and...when I’m on the road to recovery, that’s when I want to see you.” Bree sounded more like her usual self the longer she kept talking. “I’m glad I could get the words out. Thanks for listening. Really glad you answered. I’ll talk to you again soon. Love ya.”
“Right back at you, sis.”
He held onto his phone and sat there remembering the day she was born and the day he served as an usher at her wedding and many of the days in between. He couldn’t bear to lose someone else close to him. Everything blurred, and he forced himself not to drive to Nashville that second. The prospect of deserting his next shift and his new partner held him back.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when he eventually tugged on his oil-stained shirt. Mason headed for the garage; an image of Bree laughing merged with the faint memory of his other sister Colette during her brief battle with leukemia from so long ago.
He switched on the light and stared at the motorcycle. Processing Bree’s news with a wrench in hand might be for the best. After Tim died, he’d dismantled the original bike until little piles of parts surrounded him. Since then, he hadn’t even cracked the door to his workshop for six months. Tonight, though, he couldn’t wait to install that breaker box underneath the transmission. Ever since he’d finished constructing his first bike way back in high school, he’d been hooked. Too often, on the online loops for fellow enthusiasts, he read about bikers starting similar projects only to give up and move on to easier pastures. He hadn’t put the past eighteen months of his life into this for it to grace someone else’s garage or be scrapped for parts.
Mason gathered the pieces for this next step, a welcome distraction until he’d talk to Lindsay later tonight. He stopped and breathed out the shakiness from Bree’s news. Once his fingers were no longer trembling, he started working on the electrical system.
Perhaps this would be his therapy in light of Bree’s diagnosis. Motorcycle sessions, along with confiding in Lindsay, the steadiest woman around, kept him together in a profession where burnout was legendary and stress propelled many paramedics into other careers.
He’d lasted eight years already.
Putting the thought aside, he concentrated on the intricacies of the panel. Mason crossed the length of his garage and picked up his drill, giving it a whirr for good measure. He examined the circumference of the bit and found it too wide. He rifled through the box until he located a smaller bit and then tightened the chuck. In no time, he’d mounted the breaker box and examined the plans tacked to the wall of his garage. The gray lines of the sketch reminded him of the charcoal flecks in Lindsay’s serious eyes.
Those eyes had reflected hurt at his decision not to attend the dedication ceremony. While Tim was alive, they’d shared barbecues and birthday cakes, her on Tim’s arm and him squiring a different woman every couple of months. Back then, she’d been gracious and greeted each of his dates as a long-lost friend. Then came the helicopter crash that rocked both of their worlds.
He regretted not being the person who informed her of Tim’s death. Instead, he’d been the one who held her while the baby still inside her kicked lively unaware she’d never lay eyes on her father. About six months after Chloe was born, he’d spotted Lindsay on her patio trying to uncork a wine bottle with a screwdriver, muttering to herself. That was their first real one-on-one conversation. Since then, he’d come to appreciate how much of an open book Lindsay was, much more than himself. He let people see what he wanted them to see, whereas she wore her heart on her sleeve.
Mason found the signal flasher and checked the plans again. This was a tricky part, requiring he use his welding skills for sure. After donning his protective gear, he installed the rest of the switch housing hardware and stepped back, blinking at the quiet surrounding him. How long had he been lost in his work, anyway? He searched for his phone and couldn’t find it anywhere.
His neck ached, and he rubbed it. The garage windows no longer had light flooding in, and he crossed the path leading to his house. Entering the back door, he then found his phone on his bed with four text messages waiting for him. If one of them was his boss...
Nope. They were all from Lindsay, wondering where he was, a sign she was still upset with him since she’d normally have knocked on the garage door. Checking the time, he winced. He should have been on his side of the fence thirteen minutes ago.
His stomach rumbled, and Mason stopped at the fridge. He tucked a bottle of beer and Lindsay’s favorite Riesling under his arm before grabbing the to-go container of pimento cheese sandwiches and heading out the door, closing it afterward with his foot.
He hurried to the fence and found Lindsay going inside, about to close her patio’s sliding door.
“Wait!” Mason ran up to the fence separating his yard from hers.
Lindsay halted, raising her head so her short honey-brown hair framed her face. She came forward to open the gate for him and then retreated to her patio.
Seconds ticked by as she seemed to be composing herself. She stood, a good eight inches shorter than him, the difference more pronounced since she wore her flip-flops while he was in his work boots.
“When you’re done counting to twenty, I could use a chat with my best friend.” Mason kept his voice soft enough so as not to possibly wake Evan and Chloe.
Lindsay sent him a slow-burn glare. “Best friends don’t ignore text messages.”
“I forgot to bring my phone in the garage with me. I left it upstairs in my room.”
“What if you’d hurt yourself while you were working on your bike?”
That slow burn became a forest fire, and he squirmed.
He placed the container and beer bottle on her patio table flanked by two yellow Adirondack chairs, his last anniversary gift to her and Tim.
“But I didn’t.” He held up the Riesling. “Are we sitting tonight instead of talking at the fence?”
She disappeared and returned a second later with a corkscrew. She twisted it until the cork came out with a soft pop.
“I should take this bottle inside with me and share it with Aunt Hyacinth, who’s reading Evan and Chloe bedtime stories.” Lindsay pursed her lips together, but then her expression relaxed. “I sometimes lose track of time, too, while I’m gardening, but I’m out in the open. No one would have seen you if the motorcycle had fallen on you...or something.”
She scooped up the bottle and her glass and took two steps toward the sliding glass door. He jumped to his feet.
“Bree has cancer.”
Once again, she halted. Slowly, she returned and placed the wine with his offerings. She hugged him then, her lavender and freesia scent a change from the oil and other stinky fumes of his garage. He melted into her softness. As soon as he realized what he was doing, he jerked back. He had no business finding Tim’s widow soft, even if Lindsay was his closest friend.
“How long have you known?” Her pink lips formed an O. “Was that why you wanted to have lunch with me today?”
“No. I didn’t find out until I arrived home and got lost in the garage so to speak.” Speaking of food, his stomach grumbled again, loud enough for her to arch her brow. “Sit awhile?”
“Of course. It’ll help to talk to someone about your sister. She’s my friend, too.”
While she poured the Riesling, he devoured one of the sandwiches. Once he swallowed it down with a sip of his stout, he updated her on Bree’s condition until a bark interrupted him.
He glanced at Lindsay, who paused with her glass halfway to her lips. “Did your aunt bring her boxers with her?” he asked.
“Her dogs are at her house.” She rose and scanned the area. “The noise sounded like it came from your driveway.”
Out of nowhere, a small black dog appeared and snatched the second sandwich from the to-go container.
“Goliath!”
His grandfather’s voice reached him, and then he came into view, puffing and holding a bright green leash. “There you are.”
“Grandpa Joe?” Mason reached in his pocket for his phone.
“Nine thirty. You really should start wearing a watch on your days off,” Lindsay said.
Grandpa Joe boomed out a hearty laugh and clipped Goliath to the leash. “That’ll be the day.”
Yeah, the day I settled down, which would be never. “What are you doing here this late?” He frowned. “Does Grandma Betty know you’re running out to the store for a pint of ice cream again?”
Ever since Grandpa Joe had a touch of angina last year, his grandmother had placed him on a strict diet of heart-healthy foods. But every other week, Grandpa Joe showed up with a pint of butter pecan from Miss Louise’s Ice Cream Parlor for himself and rainbow sherbet for Mason. Mason still hadn’t worked up enough courage to tell his grandfather that nine-year-old Mason loved the stuff while he only consumed it now to not hurt his grandfather’s feelings.
“Your grandmother is the reason I’m here.”
Mason folded his arms and huffed out a breath. “Your concern is really kind, Grandpa, but I’ll be fine, and Bree will be fine. I’m not four anymore.”
“Exactly. That’s why Betty sent me here after we talked to your sister.” His grandfather glanced at Lindsay, then at him. Mason could have sworn he saw a glimmer of a smile, but it must have been the moonlight that was throwing him, especially since the corners of Grandpa Joe’s mouth now turned downward. “My wife is overly worrying of me and thinks I can’t live without her.”
That sounded ominous to Mason on several levels. If his grandparents, who’d celebrated their fifty-sixth wedding anniversary last June, were splitting up, what hope did any couple have of making it in this world? Just one more reason he stayed the course of being a confirmed bachelor.
“Where’s Grandma Betty, and why aren’t you with her?”
“After she arranged for a leave of absence from the community center, she caught the first plane to Nashville to be with Bree. I stayed behind for my job and for Goliath, but she’s worried something might happen to me, so she made me promise to stay with you until she returns.” Grandpa Joe came over and slapped him on the back, the impact of which sent Mason stumbling. “I bought groceries. Nachos, pizza and ice cream. It’s going to be great. It’ll be like I’m thirty again, until Betty comes home. We’ll be bachelors together.”
Lindsay let out a sudden burst of laughter. She held up her glass in Mason’s direction. “Two bachelors out on the town. I’m glad I have a front-row seat. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
