"She seems to be doing that more often. I don't know if the shelter staff are spending more time with the dogs, or if people are just abandoning calmer dogs." I checked myself. "Not to sound harsh, but that's kind of how it goes. They can't really choose which dogs they take in."

  "I know what you mean," Bristol said. "It's definitely easier to pair customers with calm dogs, although I've met a few who prefer lively ones."

  "Lively is quite an understatement with some of these dogs." I winked.

  Bristol glanced back to the cafe, where the security truck driver was heading out the door.

  "Do you know that guy?" I asked.

  "Yeah, he's my uncle," she said. "Uncle Clark. He's the best. He's actually living with my mom and brother and me now, helping Mom pay off the mortgage." A Lab mix dropped a toy on her lap, and she tossed it back to him. She didn't meet my eyes. "I didn't tell you this in my interview, but my dad died young of a heart attack. It was kind of a freak thing, you know? And my brother has polycystic kidney disease, so he's on dialysis three times a week. So my mom works all hours, sitting in homes with the sick and elderly. Uncle Clark stepped up when he found out she wasn't making enough money to keep the house. He stopped renting his apartment and now he pays that rent to Mom so she can cover mortgage payments."

  My respect for her uncle Clark just shot to the sky. And for Bristol.

  "Is that why you work, too?" I asked gently.

  She set to work organizing a toy bin that was already pristine. "Mm-hm," she said, clearing her throat. "For a while I'd thought about getting a graphic design degree at an art college, but things didn't work out in time." She glanced up at me. "I'm so thankful for this job, Miss Hatfield. Mom is too. 'Every little bit helps,' she always says."

  As tears sprang to my eyes, it was my turn to pretend to focus on the dogs. This twenty-something was so devoted to her needy family, she'd given up her own dreams to help them out. Auntie A would be so impressed by Bristol's loyalty to her blood kin—something she'd stressed with us. "Everyone else in the world will let you down, but your blood will never turn their backs on you," she'd said. Then she'd add, "And Hatfield blood runs thicker than most."

  Bo walked over and peered in. "How's it going over here? Was there a reason you were dropping in, Macy?"

  I stood. "Nothing pressing. I just came over to pick up a macchiato since I'm dragging this morning. I'm too lazy to make my own coffee." I grinned. "I was just chatting with Bristol while you were busy."

  Bo prepped an extra-frothy cinnamon macchiato for me and we settled at one of the tables. I loved the way he'd furnished the cafe—shoot, I loved that he'd renovated it on his own with no input from me. Interior design stressed me out, and Bo knew that.

  Plus, he wasn't suffering for income since he'd cashed out as vice president of the coffee bean distributor Coffee Mass, so he'd hired an interior designer who'd come up with a very natural, relaxed look for Barks & Beans. I tapped at the worn, thick wood table that seemed to harbor all manner of interesting tales. A gas fireplace flickered against the white brick wall and added a cozy feel.

  I pointed to the fireplace. "That definitely takes the chill off. I might need to get one for my part of the house."

  "That's a good idea, given how drafty it is. I still remember how ice would form inside my windowpanes in the wintertime. That's why I had the renovation crew swap those old windows for energy-efficient ones in your section, too." Bo took a sip of his house coffee before dropping his voice. "Say, what's up with Bristol? You both looked kind of teary in there."

  I glanced over and could tell that Bristol was still watching me. "We can talk about it later, but it's nothing bad. Let's just say we lucked out when we hired a sweetie like her."

  I stopped back by the cafe around three to chat with Bo about Girl's Day Out, the upcoming town shopping event we were participating in, but he'd just headed out for a late lunch. Business had been steady all morning, despite the icy sidewalks and roads.

  I sat down at a table to keep an eye on things while Bo was gone—something I didn't always do, but today was busier. Bo had been training me on how to make some of the coffee drinks, but I only felt confident enough to run the register at this point. That could still help if things suddenly got hectic.

  Kylie, our barista with a sprawling dragon tattoo and combat boots, dropped by my table and handed me a pale green macaron with white filling. "Charity made a batch this morning and she wondered what you thought of them. This one is mint."

  Charity, our resident baker-slash-barista, never stopped looking for scrumptious new ways to add pounds to the townspeople of Lewisburg. How she found time to experiment in the kitchen, work at Barks & Beans, and foster her four year old grandson was beyond me. The white-haired, cherubic-faced woman gave me a wave from her spot behind the coffee counter.

  I took a bite and sighed with delight. "Great day in the morning! That flavor is absolutely perfect. I love the light touch of mint that doesn't overwhelm the vanilla. Not to mention the texture—the cookies are thick, but not heavy, and the filling is so creamy."

  I shot Charity a thumbs-up and took another huge bite.

  The woman at the table next to me leaned over. "I'll have whatever she's having."

  Kylie grinned and headed over to grab another macaron. Once again, Charity had done us all proud.

  I had just stood to congratulate Charity on her culinary coup when Bristol burst from the dog gate and raced over to my side.

  "Mom called and she's coming to pick me up—I'm sorry, but I have to leave early." Her voice cracked. "My uncle was in a wreck not far from us, just over that big hill. Black ice, they said. The other driver was killed. He's at the hospital. I have to..." Tears began coursing down her cheeks.

  I placed a hand on her back. "Go," I said firmly. "I've got the dog room, no worries. I'm glad I was here so you didn't have to track me down. You watch for your mama, and I'll take over now." I pulled her into a hug.

  When Bristol sat down on a barstool to wait for her mother, Kylie and Charity walked around to comfort her. I was pleased to see our Barks & Beans employees getting along so well, like a little family.

  Bristol hadn't said how injured her uncle was, but I was sure it was serious if the other security truck driver had been killed. I would've thought an armored truck like that would survive a wreck pretty well, but it was a very steep hill with a sharp drop-off. It was basically the side of a mountain.

  I'd moved into the dog petting area when Bristol's mom pulled up outside. I'd gotten to know Della Beth Goddard in a Bible study at church, and I'd been instantly impressed with her empathetic personality and soulful dark eyes. She was the kind of person who could pick up on how you were really feeling without having to guess. She folded her daughter into a hug, then they headed off to the hospital. There was a lot of love in Bristol's family, that much was evident.

  Bo walked in the door and glanced my way. He walked straight over to ask if something had happened, so I filled him in. As we spoke, I absently watched the coffee bar, where a dark-haired woman was waiting on her drink at the counter. Her back was to me, but something about her drew my eye...

  "Let's go visit them at the hospital tonight," Bo said. "Summer left me over half an apple pie—we could bring that to them."

  "That's a great idea. I'd like to know how Bristol's uncle is faring." The small dog at my feet suddenly stood and started pacing, letting me know he had to be walked. I leashed him up, taking a final glance at the woman at the counter so I could figure out what seemed off about her.

  She was already walking out the door, so again, I could only see her backside, but I realized what had pulled my attention to her. The woman's vibrant purple suede boots were covered in mud. Not just dried mud, either. They were wet partway up, like she'd been walking through snow. Or maybe she'd fallen into it, poor thing. Bless her heart. She was probably stopping in to warm up those wet feet. I hoped she'd get home soon to dry them off.

  I took my leave from Bo, donning my coat and gloves before walking the dog out the side door. Bo had thoughtfully designed a fenced dog run that ran alongside the house.

  The little dog's thin, wiry hair could hardly withstand the cold, so I tried to hurry him up with my repeated commands that he "go potty." He finally gathered up the courage to do so, leaving me a shockingly large mess to pick up. We kept plastic bags and a trash can outside for just such an occasion. I walked the shivering dog inside and unleashed him with his shelter friends before heading back out for cleanup duty.

  I supposed some women would think I was going nowhere in life, owning half of a doggie cafe and occasionally doing pooper-scooper duty. But there was nothing more relaxing to me than hanging out with dogs. It had been that way since I was a kid. Starting around age six, I'd always had a dog—most often strays that I'd cleaned up and finally cajoled Auntie A into letting me keep. And although I'd had a lot of fun playing with Bo, I'd considered my dogs my best friends. Dogs were easier to talk to than girls my age, who'd seemed interested in things I wasn't. I'd shared some of my deepest philosophical ponderings with my mute dogs, who always seemed enrapt as I spoke.

  Also, dogs were the only ones I could talk to about how my parents had died in a creek flood. Dogs didn't start crying, they didn't try to say things to make it better, and they didn't make awkward gestures to comfort me. Their very presence comforted me.

  Not that Auntie A wasn't good at being there for me. She told me stories of my parents' courtship and how they truly loved each other. She shared Mom's recipes and Dad's quirks, and she held me on those nights when I'd wake up crying.

  But along the way, dogs had become a necessity to me. And now that I was surrounded by them, I'd discovered the job that made me feel I'd never have to work another day in my life.

  I hoped Bristol's position at Barks & Beans would prove to be a good stepping-stone for her future career. From what I could see, she was already a hard worker. I hated that her day had been so traumatic, and I determined to do everything I could to lighten her load. Tonight, Bo and I would visit the hospital and get a better grip on what we could do to help the Goddard family.

  3

  I called Bristol around suppertime to let her know we'd be dropping in with pie, and she seemed extremely grateful. She shared the unfortunate news that her uncle was in a coma and the doctors weren't certain how long it would last.

  After fluffing Coal's pillow, refilling his food bowl, and turning on the TV for some background noise, I headed out to meet Bo in his truck around seven thirty. We talked on the way to the hospital.

  "Crazy how things can change in a minute," I said. "I mean, we saw Clark just before his wreck, and he was right as rain. Now he's in a coma."

  "It's awful," Bo agreed. His grip on the wheel was tight, and he drove a little slower than usual, probably watching for black ice. "It's weird, though. Clark grew up around here, and I've talked to the other driver before—Christian something or another. He was from Summers County. Those country boys would've known to slow down as they topped that hill."

  I nodded, thoughtful. "You're right. Everyone around knows the sunlight hardly hits that part of the road, thanks to those tall trees on both sides and the angle of that hill. We all watch out for that spot."

  Bo pulled into the hospital. "It must've been a doozy of an accident, too. For Christian to be killed..." His voice trailed off as he got out and came around to open my door. Auntie A had made sure he learned the ways of a southern gentleman.

  "I know." We fell silent as we walked into the quiet hospital. Bristol had told me where Clark's room was, so we took the elevator up. When we got out, we immediately caught sight of Bristol, her mom, and a teen guy I assumed was her brother, sitting on the couches at the end of the hallway.

  Bristol looked like she'd dozed off, curled up at the end of the couch with a crocheted blanket draped over her legs. Her mom recognized me and stood.

  "Macy," she said. "And this must be your brother, Bo?"

  "Yes, he is. Bo, this is Della," I said by way of introduction. I stepped closer and gave her a hug. "I'm so sorry to hear of your brother."

  As she pulled away, her eyes glistened with tears. "I know. We're all in shock. And Christian..." She cleared her throat, making an obvious effort to overcome her grief. "He was such a good man. It's unreal that he's gone."

  The teen boy stood and slowly walked over to Bo. "Hi, I'm Ethan, Bristol's brother."

  Bo smiled and clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder. "Nice to meet you."

  Ethan turned to me. "Bristol's told me so much about your cafe and the dogs—it sounds like a blast."

  It was obvious Ethan was in pain of some kind since he clutched at his side. I was about to tell him to come and visit Barks & Beans sometime, but I realized he probably rarely got out with his kidney disease. The fact that he was here tonight for his uncle showed the depth of loyalty—or maybe gratitude—he felt toward the man.

  Bristol roused and blinked up at us. "Oh! Miss Hatfield, Mr. Hatfield, I'm sorry—I was a little out of it there. Thanks so much for coming."

  As she stood, I held out the pie. "We came bearing gifts. Our friend Summer—you know, her, Bristol, from the shelter?—made this pie. Delicious as it was, we weren't able to polish it off. It's all yours now."

  Della took the pie and set it on the side table. "Thank you. How thoughtful. I'll get some forks and plates from the nurses' station." She headed down the hallway.

  Bristol motioned for us to have a seat, so we each settled into chairs. Ethan eased back onto the couch, moving like an old man. My heart went out to the chronically ill teen. I didn't know much about polycystic kidney disease, but the fact that he was on regular dialysis told me how severe it was.

  "We've been hearing bits and pieces about what happened," Bristol said, tugging at her green plaid shirt, which had ridden up over her beltline. "The police came—a detective, actually. I forget his name."

  Ethan glanced up from the complex-looking word game book he'd just cracked open. "It was Detective Charlie Hatcher," he said.

  Bristol nodded. "Yes, that's right. Anyway, the detective said the security cameras got bashed up when the truck went over the embankment, so they haven't been able to retrieve any footage of the crash. It's clear the back doors were jarred open, though. So the armored truck company—Stevens Security—is checking to make sure all the money is intact."

  Della returned, carrying paper plates and plastic utensils. She began divvying up the pie.

  I stopped her when she cut one piece really small. "Don't give us any. We've already stuffed ourselves on pie the past couple of days. Cut some bigger pieces for the three of you."

  "You're a sweetie," Della said, holding my eyes for a brief moment. I could tell with Della, those weren't idle words. She really thought I was a kind person, which was quite humbling. So often in life, people attributed bad or selfish motives to others. It was nice when someone seemed to peer into your heart and know that your only intent was to help.

  Bristol leaned against her mom. "I was telling them about the wreck," she said. "Have you heard anything from Les Stevens? Was anything taken from the truck?"

  "Les Stevens owns Stevens Security," Della explained as she handed her children pieces of pie. "And no, he hasn't called me yet, but he texted that he hopes to stop by tomorrow to see Clark."

  "That's mighty nice of him," Ethan said, his voice full of sarcasm. "Now let's just hope the Stevens insurance plan will cover Uncle Clark's hospital care."

  "Ethan!" His mom scolded. "Mr. Stevens has been nothing but kind through the years. He pays what he can afford to pay his employees."

  Ethan spoke under his breath. "Meanwhile, he lives in a six-bedroom house, and he's single."

  Bristol shot her brother a look. "Anyway. The doctors haven't said too much, except that they think Uncle Clark was knocked out on impact and slipped into a coma then."

  "They said the driver's side was totally crushed." Ethan's incredulous look faded as he took another bite of pie. "This is delicious," he added.

  Della cringed. "Let's not talk about the wreck anymore. And this pie is lovely. Thank you all so much for stopping in. How did things go at the cafe today? I heard you were busy?"

  Conversation turned to lighter topics for a few moments, but I could tell Della was anxious to check on Clark. I suggested she do that, and she let me follow her into his room. Monitors beeped steadily beside Clark's bed, and his eyes were closed as if he were asleep.

  "I just can't believe it," she said, her voice wavering.

  I squeezed her arm, wishing I could infuse her with fresh strength. "I know."

  She turned to me. "There's no guarantee he'll ever come out of this coma. Then what will we do? I work hard, Macy, and so does Bristol, but it's just not enough to cover our mortgage and Ethan's health costs. Clark was such a blessing to us—he gave us so much I can never repay."

  "That's what family is for," I said, my own emotions rising to the surface as I thought of how Bo had renovated the cafe, then offered me partnership in a ready-made business that was tailor-made for me. "I believe he knows you're there for him, Della. Be sure to talk to him when you're in here. You never know what he's picking up on."

  She sniffled, releasing my hand to grab a tissue from the box on the bedside table. "You're right. I need to keep it together for the kids."

  "Well, we should probably get back home and leave you all alone," I said. "I'll cover for Bristol tomorrow, and for as many days as she needs me to. We'll be praying Clark comes to quickly."

  "Thank you," Della said, turning back to her unresponsive brother.

  I walked out the door, struggling again to keep my own tears in check. If Bo were lying in that bed, I couldn't imagine what a disaster I'd be. Della was managing to keep a level head, probably for the sake of her children. I was sure that was taxing, trying to keep such strong emotions tamped down.

 

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