Chapter Five #2
Maybe so, but Ethel had been without it for quite a while already. Chloe was about to suggest that Sarah check on it, but decided she’d said enough already. At least, about Ethel. “I hear that Sam Darnell hasn’t been eating well.”
“We can’t force him to do something against his will. Nor do we have the time to spoon-feed him. However, we offer him a healthy plate of food at each meal. If he doesn’t like the taste, it’s not my fault. Besides, his family should bring him other options—just like you did with that muffin today.”
So Sarah had talked to Merrilee, the aide at the desk. Or maybe she’d seen the muffin in Sam’s room and he’d told her who’d brought it. Either way, she’d known that Chloe was here today. Had she come looking for her?
In the scheme of things, Chloe supposed it didn’t matter. “Sam and his wife never had children. And his nephew lives out of state. Since Nellie died, he has no one nearby to worry about him. Maybe, if someone sat with him during meal-time—”
“He isn’t the only patient on this floor.”
No, he wasn’t. But something told Chloe the old man was different from the others in the nursing facility. “Another thing you might consider is sending him back to his apartment. In a more homelike setting he might get better—and stronger.”
Sarah clucked her tongue. “Aren’t you full of helpful ideas. You’re suggesting that we take a gamble that a move might help. And I can’t do that. What if he fell and broke a hip? Besides, he can’t very well return to the assisted-living complex when he’s resistant to any kind of assistance.”
Chloe was tempted to go over Sarah’s head and report her to the administrator again for her lack of compassion and her complete disregard of the feelings and wishes of the patients.
But a lot of good that had done last time.
So she decided not to bother. After all, she only had the training of an aide—even though she felt more qualified than the third-floor nurse in charge of the patients she’d come to know and love.
Maybe, after she graduated from nursing school, she’d have more knowledge and would feel better about challenging the woman and facing the powers that be.
Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t step up to the plate and be an advocate for both Sam and Ethel.
Especially when it seemed that Chloe was the only one they had.
The sun had begun to set by the time Chloe arrived home. After parking the old ranch pickup near the barn, she made her way to the porch. As she placed her hand on the railing, it wobbled. She made a mental note to ask Joe to fix it—if he knew how.
However, she hated to overload him with chores to do.
She and Tomas might need the help, but she didn’t want to ask too much of the man.
Even if he didn’t figure out who he was and hightail it out of here in the first rental car he came across, he was still recovering from a pretty serious head injury.
She reached for the doorknob and let herself inside. The moment she stepped into the living room, the spicy aroma of meat, tomatoes and cumin filled the air.
Apparently, Joe had been busy while she’d been gone. She wondered what he’d found to cook, especially when, after looking into the pantry earlier, she’d decided that she would have to go to the market in order to come up with an appealing menu for dinner tonight.
She placed her purse on the hutch near the front door, then scanned the living room, where several red and green plastic storage containers were stacked near the hearth.
Oh, good. He’d remembered to have Tomas bring in the Christmas decorations. Chloe might not be able to go home for the holidays, but she could at least make the best of it here on the Rocking C, just as her mother always had.
No matter where in the world her parents were stationed or who was gone on deployment, Chloe’s mom, an army nurse, made sure that Christmas was a special time of the year and always did things up big.
And because of her efforts and the decorations they’d transported from house to house, the spirit of the season, had always been magical and had brightened their home.
In fact, because of the transient nature of her and her husband’s military careers, Captain Louella Dawson took great pains to always maintain their family traditions, including a passed down recipe for hot buttered cranberry and orange scones.
Granted, her mother’s skill as a combat medic was more laudable than those of being a cook, but that didn’t stop her. And those scones, which had been a family recipe for longer than anyone could remember, had become as much a part of the Dawsons’ winter wonderland as Santa Claus himself.
When Chloe had talked to her parents last week, they’d been thrilled that two of their three children would be with them for the holidays.
As much as Chloe would have liked to have been one of those kids, she didn’t have the money for airfare to Fort Drum in New York, which was where her parents were currently assigned.
And even though they would have gladly shelled out the money for her travel, Chloe needed to be independent and demonstrate that she was capable of managing her own life—as well as her diminishing bank account—even if that meant being alone during the most wonderful time of the year.
Well, maybe not alone.
“I’m back,” she called.
Joe really ought to be in bed, resting, but the smell coming from the kitchen told her he’d kept himself busy—too busy—while she’d been gone.
“I’m in here,” he said.
She followed the sound of his voice, as well as the mouthwatering aroma, and found him standing at the stove, peering into a pot.
She probably ought to chastise her patient for overdoing it, especially after he’d assured her that he wouldn’t, but she was too hungry and too impressed with what he’d done to make a big deal about it.
“You obviously know how to cook,” she said, as she entered the kitchen with the grocery bags in hand. “Maybe you worked in the mess hall when you were in the service.”
He turned and flashed a handsome grin. “Marines call it the chow hall.”
He certainly seemed to remember some things—like military terms.
“Is cooking another memory?” she asked.
He shrugged, then cocked his head as if he was thinking over the possibility. “No, just common knowledge, I guess.”
“Nevertheless, something sure smells delicious.”
He wiped his hands on a dish towel, then took the bags from her and placed them on the counter.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Just messing around.”
“You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I must’ve rested too much this morning. I don’t think I’m used to sitting around doing nothing all day.”
Chloe looked at the way his biceps filled out the borrowed Future Farmers of America T-shirt she’d found in Dave’s drawer.
Ever since she’d seen his bare chest, she’d found it impossible to stop thinking about his chiseled torso or the way his muscles rippled. He certainly looked like a man who was used to action and lots of it.
In fact, she could easily envision him lifting weights, running or kickboxing if he needed an outlet for his energy. But she never would have expected to see him in the kitchen, creating something that smelled so good that her stomach was growling.
“So you decided to do some cooking?” she asked.
“Well, I started to, but then I realized I didn’t have all the ingredients I needed.”
“You should have called me on my cell. I could’ve picked them up while I was at the market.”
Joe turned off the fire on the stove. “I didn’t want to bother you.
Plus, I didn’t know if the stores in Brighton Valley would carry what I needed.
Besides, when Tomas and I brought in those Christmas decorations earlier, he mentioned that his wife had bought more than they needed last weekend.
She was going to make some of the dough tonight, and he promised to bring some to me tomorrow. ”
The small town didn’t boast a mega supermarket, but they usually kept most staples in stock. “What is Tomas supposed to bring you?”
“Masa. It’s a corn dough made from hominy.”
“What exactly are you trying to make?”
“Tamales,” Joe said simply, as if he was making something as ordinary as a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“You actually know how to make tamales?”
“Strangely enough, that’s another thing I know how to do.
Don’t ask me why because I doubt that I used to make Mexican food as a sergeant in the Marines.
But when I saw all those ornaments and the nativity set, all I could think of was tamales.
I must associate them with Christmas. So I decided to make some.
We can eat a few tomorrow, then freeze whatever is left and have them as part of the holiday meal. ”
“That makes sense. I associate cranberry-orange scones with Christmas because it was a holiday tradition for my family. But...” Chloe trailed off, not wanting to risk offending her guest, who was eager to have at least a small tidbit of information from his past.
“But what?” he asked.
“Well, it’s just that most of the families I know who make homemade tamales for Christmas are Hispanic. But Wilcox doesn’t really strike me as a typical last name.”
“That’s something I thought of, too. But, let’s face it. My coloring would indicate that there’s some ethnic blood running through my family tree. Also, when Tomas was here earlier, he said something in Spanish. I not only understood him, but I responded.”
“In Spanish?”
“Yes, so either I was adopted or my mother was a lovely little senorita who married Mr. Wilcox, which is what I’m leaning toward since I obviously grew up with that heritage.”
Chloe bit her cheek so that she wouldn’t reflect how sad she felt about him not having any idea who his family was, especially at this time of year. She might live far away from the Dawson clan, but at least she knew where she belonged. Joe didn’t even have that.