Just One Night. Nancy Warren

closed for the night. One foot in front of the other, he reminded himself. It was only pain, he could get through it.

      A car slowed beside him and he paid no attention until the window closest to him slid down and a voice said, “Rob, I found you.”

      He turned to see Hailey behind the wheel of a small gray SUV, looking as perky as ever in a blue raincoat. “Why were you looking for me?”

      She pulled over and parked because it was that kind of a neighborhood—parking spaces were plentiful. She got out, popped a blue umbrella and then reached into the back of her car and took out his grandmother’s walking cane.

      For a second Rob experienced a pang of grief so sharp it numbed the pain in his leg. That cane had been supporting his grandmother for years. Of course she’d resisted the thing like crazy and then had come to rely on it in her later years.

      Hailey came around the back of the car and offered him the worn black handle. “Here.”

      He wrapped his hand around the handle and tried out the cane. It was a little on the short side but he wasn’t going to complain. Strangely, clutching the spot where his grandmother’s hand had gripped made him feel better, connected to her in some sentimental fashion that still comforted. “How did you know?”

      “Doc called me. He said you could use your grandmother’s cane.” She seemed a lot warmer than last time he’d seen her. As though she genuinely cared.

      “My doctor called you?” His shock must have shown because she laughed. “So much for doctor-patient privilege.”

      “Your grandmother had quite a network. They all know each other and their business. And their friends’ business, and their friends’ grandsons’ business.”

      “He told me to go get crutches.”

      “I know. And he told me you wouldn’t. He said to tell you to use the cane on the opposite side to your bad leg.”

      He switched the cane to the other hand. “Huh.”

      “Where are you going?” she asked him. “Do you want a ride?”

      He shook his head. Under the blue glow from her umbrella, her eyes were as blue as the sky would be if you could see it. “Only tourists use umbrellas,” he informed her.

      “And people who actually care about their appearance.”

      “I’m heading for that coffee shop over there,” he said, hoping he sounded casual, as though he’d be there in a couple of minutes, no biggie.