Snowflake's Gift (Delos Series Book 6) Read online

  Nodding, but not wanting to get into the unpleasant details of his release, he simply said, “Yes, I’m Sue’s son, Nick. Where are your boxes? I’ll carry them in for you.”

  Holly had a beautiful mouth, he decided. She was maybe around his own age, slender, wearing a set of tan, corduroy jeans, and a long-sleeved pink tee, plus hiking boots. Holly looked outdoorsy, not like someone who ran a charity. Looks were deceiving, as Nick well knew.

  “Oh … the boxes. Sure, they’re in the back of the van. Just open up the doors,” she said, following him.

  Nick opened the van’s squeaky, protesting doors. The vehicle was badly rusted, probably at least ten-years-old, the fenders eaten away by the salt used on the roads every winter. He assumed the van was well-used as a charity vehicle, and that Holly probably didn’t have much spare money to put into it. He picked up two large, sturdy cardboard boxes. Holly waited patiently for him to bring them out, then picked up the other two.

  “I can get them,” he protested over his shoulder.

  “Oh no, that’s fine, Nick. I can carry them!” She flashed him a wicked grin. “I’ve been doing this for the past four years, since I was twenty-two.”

  He hesitated, waiting for her to catch up, and then opened the back door to the diner. She went to a prep table he’d just wiped clean and set the boxes down. She certainly looked twenty-two—so fresh and untouched in her tailored jeans and pink tee-shirt.

  Unlike himself. He’d seen the changes to his face when he shaved—he was gaunt, his green eyes murky and dark. He was beginning to resemble those Taliban soldiers with their lifeless gazes. That realization alone scared the hell out of Nick. He didn’t have the guts to tell his parents that he felt like a robot, totally numb, without feelings. He’d been that way for the last three years of his deployment.

  “Did you just get home?” Holly asked, going to one of the huge refrigerators and opening it.

  “Yeah, two weeks ago.”

  She turned, smiling at him. “Thank you for your service, Nick. And Snowflake, thank you for yours, too,” she said, ruffling his fur. Then, she quickly washed her hands with soap and water and began to sort through some huge, plastic containers inside of the refrigerator.

  “Thanks,” he said, moved to hear her appreciation for him and his dog—who really did the lifesaving over there.

  “I imagine it was a shock coming back from Afghanistan,” she said, taking six, half-gallon round plastic containers out of the fridge.

  Frowning, he stood awkwardly, not sure what to say. “It always was,” he managed.

  “Your mom is an angel. I hope you know that.” She tucked the containers in the first box, going back to the fridge for more. “When I got here at twenty-two, I was pretty lost. I was having a coffee here at the diner, and she came out of the kitchen to ask me why I looked so sad. I was a stranger who had stopped in after having recently lost my parents in a car accident. The driver was texting while the car was going eighty, and he ran them off the road. Their car turned over and they died. The other driver survived without a scratch.”

  “God, I’m sorry,” he said, really meaning it. He saw her eyes cloud with grief.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, stopping for a moment after shutting the second fridge. “Your mom asked me what I wanted to do with my life and I told her I felt so lost, I had no idea. She pointed out that there were a lot of elderly people, shut-ins, here in Hamilton, and she was doing her best to bring them leftovers from the day’s cooking, but she couldn’t do it all by herself. And the shut-ins couldn’t come to the diner, although Sue does feed those who can walk over here for a decent meal. Your mom doesn’t charge them a dime. You’re so lucky to have her.”

  “I remember her telling me when I was overseas that she was trying to get the elderly to come over here. She’s a strong believer that we’re all family, Holly, and my mom considers all the people of Hamilton her children and her responsibility.”

  He watched as Holly nodded, moving quickly and confidently, filling all those boxes full of food as they chatted.

  “Oh, that’s so true, Nick! We sat there for hours talking, planning, and figuring out how we could feed Hamilton’s elderly and the poor children who weren’t getting three meals a day.”

  Hearing her made him yearn for his younger days, before he’d joined the Army. He’d been as idealistic, hopeful, and brimming with energy as Holly was right now. But that was then …

  “Mom did mention in an email that there was a Delos charity coming to town. Is that your gig?”

  “Sure is! Your mom knew about Delos. They have a shut-in program here in the U.S. for the elderly who can no longer shop or cook for themselves. Shortly after speaking to your mom about Delos, I flew to their Alexandria, Virginia headquarters and talked to Dilara Culver, their CEO. She’s just the best role model in the world! We spent two hours in a boardroom with her staff, who helped me organize and set up the plan so I could feed the needy here in Hamilton. I came back here with a mission.” She moved to another table holding ten loaves of bread, which she placed in another box.

  “Does Delos pay you to do this?” he wondered. Charities usually consisted of volunteers.

  “Indeed they do. I get a monthly check based upon how many people I’m feeding on a daily basis. They give me another check for my work hours, which also helps pay other business expenses, like part-time employees and the cost of certain fresh vegetables and fruits. Your mom volunteered her diner and Delos sends her a check monthly based upon what she’s giving the elderly. I think that’s more than fair for everyone. I come in every five days about this time to pick up the containers of food. Your mom has me sign a paper listing all the items, their cost, and I send it back to Delos. I just love working for Delos.”

  “Do you have help?”

  “Well,” she hedged, “yes and no. When my folks died, they left me enough money in their will for me to buy that old motel at the edge of town.”

  “Oh, the Kingston Motel?”

  “Yes, it looks a lot different now. Dilara sent in a construction engineer and she, and her team, went through the entire two-story building, redesigning it for things that I’d need for the charity. By the end of the reconstruction, I had ten rooms left over. Dilara suggested I rent them out to people who couldn’t afford the usual rent for an apartment.” She smiled. “As you know, Hamilton is a tourist town. It’s our only source of income. There were a lot of people who couldn’t afford the usual rents, especially during the long, winter months when their money dried up after summer jobs were over.” She shrugged, “What could I do? If someone can pay the low rent, I let them live there. For those who can’t, I ask them to pitch in and help me, either in our kitchen, or around the charity. I always need help making a huge pot of soup every day, and cooking meat when I can get my hands on some. There are three people who do upkeep on the building, clean it, pick up trash, and one guy who’s a jack of all trades. He takes care of the plumbing and electrical matters when they arise. Everyone gets paid for their contribution.”

  “It’s very kind of you to do all this,” he said, not quite believing someone as selfless as his mother could actually exist. Holly reminded him of a youthful fairy godmother, and his heart warmed to that image. She was cute, pert, and bursting with life. Nick wished he could absorb some of her idealism, but he knew it had been burned out of him forever. “Do you have any rooms to rent right now?”

  “Funny you should ask,” she said, picking up one of the boxes and holding it, “I do have one apartment available. Could you open the door for me? I have to get all these boxes out to the van.”

  Nick wondered where the hell his manners had gone. “Sure, hold on,” he said, quickly moving to the screen door and pushing it open. “Tell you what,” he offered, as she walked down the concrete steps, “I’ll bring the rest of the boxes. They’re heavy and you shouldn’t be hefting them around. You’re just a little thing.”

  Laughing gaily, she turned at the bottom of the
steps, grinning up at him. “Little but mighty, Nick Conway. Don’t you ever forget that! I might be small, but I’m all heart.”

  There were so many replies to her statement he couldn’t speak, so he just shrugged and said, “You take the box with the bread in it. I’ll get the rest. And I’ll accept no arguments.” He turned and heard her lilting laughter drift across the parking lot. For the first time in a long time, he found himself smiling, and even more amazing, he felt warmth flooding his chest. It was such a strange awareness that for a moment, Nick froze, holding the big box in his arms as he stood on the steps.

  Was it possible? Could Holly’s winsome smile and the deviltry dancing in her eyes make him feel something again? Stunned, Nick stood there for a moment trying to absorb what had just happened. Ever since Afghanistan, he’d been numb. Now, this red-headed, elfin sylph with her warm, down-to-earth grin seemed to hold a key to a reserve of feelings he hadn’t known still existed. Could he escape the paralyzing, icy darkness of a prison that had held him captive for years?

  *

  Holly tried to focus on making the ten plates of food for her shut-ins in her charity kitchen, but she couldn’t help but wonder if Nick Conway felt that charge that had leapt between them from the moment they met. She swore she felt as if lightning had struck her dumb for a moment because he’d looked at her so intently. It felt as if he already knew all about her. That was wild! And totally unexpected!

  As she scooped out big dollops of warm, macaroni and cheese into each of the ten aluminum containers, her thoughts refused to settle down. Yes, she’d known that Sue Conway had a son in the Army. Yes, years ago she’d shown Holly his photo. At the time, Holly had thought that Nick was terribly handsome, but the man she’d met less than an hour ago was very different. He looked much older than his age, his eyes resigned. Now, he had lines at the corners of his eyes and slashes on either side of his mouth.

  It wasn’t surprising, of course. Not after all that time in war zones. His physique was impressive, though—he looked more like a surfer dude: lean, hard, and exquisitely honed, setting off a happy dance for her hormones.

  As she finished her ten aluminum plates, she put the empty plastic food containers in the sink, turning on the water to wash them out. Normally, Myra Berringer, a woman in her fifties, did the kitchen work here, but she was out sick today, resting in her apartment. Holly had quickly organized the mac and cheese, coleslaw, a fresh, warm roll, and steamed green beans with onions and bacon in each aluminum container. Sue Conway’s cooking was beloved by everyone in Hamilton and her shut-ins could hardly wait to see what surprises and goodies she’d concocted for their evening meals.

  Best of all, Sue had made a special pan of pineapple upside-down cake just for them, and Holly quickly put it in another small container, snapping down the plastic lid on each one. Luckily, before Myra went to lie down, she’d put out ten, large paper sacks, with napkins, salt, and pepper in a small zippered bag for each elder.

  Holly gathered together a large, plastic urn of fresh, hot coffee and another one filled with hot tea. In ten minutes, she’d brought all of it down to her white van parked just outside the kitchen door. It was 4:45 p.m., and she’d be right on schedule for her first shut-in, Beth Bolton, at five p.m. It took her nearly two hours to give out the ten hot meals to her ten shut-ins because each stop involved more than dropping off food. She would stay at least five to ten minutes, chatting with each elder, finding out about their state of health, and any issues that might have arisen since she’d last seen them. Once that was accomplished, Holly would hug her shut-in, tell them goodbye, and to stay out of trouble, which always got them to laugh.

  Holly cared deeply for her elderly clients. She’d known them ever since she’d arrived here. They were her cosmic family. Tomorrow, a registered county nurse, Hilary Carter, would be coming to town to give each of them a medical checkup. This was done every three months. Holly had all their medical information in a big file drawer in her office. She would bring them along, listen to the nurse, check all prescriptions, and miss nothing if she could help it. There were a million small details to pay attention to on a health visit, and it was times like this that she wished she still had her driver, Oscar Duarte, but he’d passed quietly in his sleep two weeks ago at the age of seventy-five.

  She really needed a new driver. Nick had asked about renting out an apartment here at her charity. Maybe he could drive and help her daily with her shut-ins as trade for a room. He had looked hopeful when she’d told him she had an opening, but she hadn’t really had time to give him any details.

  Nick, she realized, was haunted. It was the only word that truly fit him, the look in his eyes, the energy around him. He was tense, as if waiting for a bomb to go off nearby. As she made her stops, she stole moments trying to feel her way through this enigma of a man. Holly couldn’t explain why she was so drawn to him, either. She had to admit it—she was always a sucker for an underdog who was having trouble coping with life. It brought up a lot of painful memories for her.

  But there was much more going on. She was no longer in a relationship. A year ago she broke up with her boyfriend because he was disgusted by the elderly people she cared so strongly about. James Westmore was an accountant in Hamilton, twenty-eight, and superficially sophisticated. He often looked down on the poor and helpless, especially older people, impatient with their physical and mental slowness. She’d often seen disgust on his face, and Holly hated his coldness toward everyone, regardless of their age. He wasn’t exactly a good lover, either, and her lips turned up over that last thought. He was a taker, not a giver. He wanted to be pleased first, and she always came second. This was not what Holly wanted in a man. She wanted a full partner, not to be a slave to a man’s selfish whims. She had walked out on him and never looked back.

  What kind of lover might Nick be? She sensed that he would be a tender lover who would treat her as his equal. Maybe she saw it in his eyes—she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was her woman’s intuition, which was pretty good most of the time. The fact that his eyes turned gentle when he gazed at Snowflake, his dog, was a good sign. A man who loved his dog that much was one she’d like to know better.

  There was so much unsaid and unknown about Nick, and her curiosity about him was eating her up. Holly had made her last stop and was on her way back to her base of operation, giving her time to think more about this quiet, intense man. Sue had never said much about her son, perhaps because Nick wasn’t sharing much of anything with his mother. Her own background gave her more wisdom about combat, PTSD, and what it did to a human being than she’d ever wanted to know.

  Chewing on her lower lip, she placed the van in park, locked it, and climbed the stairs up to her second-floor apartment. It was dark, the stars so bright she felt like she could reach out and touch them. Unlocking the door, she saw that the lights in the kitchen on the first floor had been switched off. Myra had probably come in, despite feeling ill, cleaned up, and shut them off. Holly would check in on her before she fell into bed, exhausted.

  Throwing her keys in a glass bowl sitting on the foyer desk, she hurried to her bedroom to change her clothes and get comfy. Her favorite attire after hours in the cold season was an old pair of gray gym pants and a long-sleeved gray top. Then, on went her soft, wool slippers that hugged her ankles. She walked out to the kitchen, letting down her hair, and fluffing the curly mass into a casual, loose shape. Her glance at the wall phone showed that she had one message. This was her personal phone, not the office line downstairs.

  Picking up the receiver, she pressed the message button.

  “Hi, Holly. This is Nick Conway. It’s seven p.m. here and I’m done for the day at my mother’s diner. I’d like to talk to you about that apartment you have available. I forgot to ask you if you’d allow Snowflake, my dog, to live there with me. Could you give me a call and we’ll sort this all out?”

  Holly quickly wrote down his number on a magnetic pad that hung next to the phone. She tried not to be a
ffected by his mellow voice, but she was. Looking at her watch, she saw it was nearly 7:30 in the evening. Should she call him now?

  Her heart made the decision for her and she resolutely picked up the phone. Her palms became damp as the phone rang several times before it was answered.

  “Nick? This is Holly. I’m returning your call from earlier.” She sounded a little breathless, her fingers tightening a bit around the phone.

  “Hi, Holly. I guess I didn’t expect to hear from you tonight.”

  Every part of her body relaxed beneath his low voice. She could now see why he was a dog handler. It was as if nothing got under his skin. “No, I just got done feeding my shut-ins and saw there was a message on my phone. Are you still interested in that corner apartment?”

  “Yes, I think I am. But it depends upon two things. First, Snowflake has to be allowed to live with me. And if that’s okay with you, then I need to know how much the rent is a month.”

  “I think every one of my tenants has a cat or dog,” she said, “so Snowflake won’t be an issue at all. I find people actually calm down and their blood pressure lowers when they live with an animal.”

  “Oh, good.”

  She heard the relief in his voice and added, “We talked a little about how I do a trade for services so tenants don’t have to pay as much for monthly rent.”

  “Yes, you mentioned that.”

  “As it happens, Oscar Duarte, my driver, passed away two weeks ago and I desperately need someone who could drive me around and help me deliver the food to my ten shut-ins after I prepare the food here. It’s seven days a week,” she said. “Would you be interested in that kind of a job?”

  He was silent, mulling it over, then said, “Yes, I think I could handle that. How much would the rent be?”

  “Well, the rent on that apartment is a hundred dollars a month. Delos gives me a yearly budget and I was paying Oscar ten dollars an hour. I could pay you twice a month. Your check may vary because my shut-ins sometimes need more attention, or I have to go back so we can take them to the doctor, the hospital, the eye doctor, the dentist, or to the town’s orthopedic clinic, for example.”