He began to run. Slamming through her doorway in time to hear the code called.
Time of death: 3:45 p.m.
Carolyn.
Ben closed his eyes tightly.
Oh, Carolyn. He’d let her down. Let them all down.
Sorry. So very sorry.
Not his fault. That’s what his parents had said over and over again. But how could anyone forgive him when he couldn’t forgive himself?
Chapter Four
Ben lifted his head. What was that noise? He rubbed his eyes against the morning sun that streamed into the room through the open blinds, taunting him for sleeping in. His watch showed 8:30 a.m. Something besides the twitter of birds outside his window had roused him from a deep sleep.
He’d slept solid and slept in, which hadn’t happened since before... It hadn’t happened in a long time.
Disoriented, he glanced around. His gaze took in the Spartan room, furnished with only a small bureau, a single chair and a small beat-up maple desk. No, this sure wasn’t his lux covenant-controlled condo in Denver with its “no noise before 9 a.m.” policy. Then he spotted his open suitcase in the corner. Paradise. He was in Paradise.
Perched on the edge of the mattress, he paused to listen. There it was again. Someone was at the door. How could that be? He’d rented a cabin located in a remote area five miles from town for a good reason.
Running a hand through his hair, he stepped into jeans and scooped a discarded shirt off a chair. As he shrugged into the cotton T-shirt, pain zinged through his arm. He’d forgotten about the stitches in his triceps.
Oh yeah, wide awake now.
He stumbled through the living room, nearly running into several half unpacked boxes. The place was a mess. Could he possibly get maid service in the middle of nowhere?
He opened the door and paused. The elderly man standing on the other side of the screen door grinning up at him looked familiar. A moment later, Ben made the connection. It was the gentleman who’d collapsed in the café, and he looked no worse for the trauma of yesterday’s incident.
“Dr. Rogers, did we wake you?”
We? Ben glanced past the nicely dressed gentleman to see his smiling silver-haired wife peeking around her husband’s shoulder.
“No. I mean, yes. I overslept.” He shook his head to clear the last cobwebs. “First night in a new place. I guess I’m not used to the altitude either.” Ben paused. “Can I help you, Mister, ah...”
“Carter. Orvis Carter. This is my wife, Anna.”
“Morning, Doctor. Did you know you have a hole in your porch?” Perplexed, Anna Carter glanced at the splintered wood surrounding the gaping hole in his porch.
“Yes, ma’am. Found out the hard way.” Ben raised his gauze-wrapped arm.
“Oh, my, my, my,” Anna crooned. “Well, no worries. Our son is a carpenter. We’ll have him stop by and fix that hole.”
Ben narrowed his eyes, focusing on the couple. Exactly why were the Carters at his door? How had they even found his door? And why did he smell warm cinnamon?
His stomach growled loudly in hungry response. As if reading his mind, Anna stepped around her husband and thrust a large white bakery box and a thermos into his hands.
“These are yours,” she said. “Our daughter-in-law Patti Jo owns the café, and she made them up special just for you. Oh, and she roasts her own coffee beans, as well. You won’t taste a better cuppa than her Mountain Blend.”
They’d driven all the way to the cabin on a Saturday morning just to bring him fresh pastries and hot coffee? Ben immediately regretted his cranky disposition. He paused, lacking words to respond to the unexpected kindness.
“You do like baked goods, don’t you, Doc?” Orvis said, looking concerned.
“Yes. I’m a huge fan of baked goods. I eat them all the time.” He shook his head. Apparently his social skills were as rusty as his bedside manner.
“I know it isn’t a proper thank-you for saving my life but, well, Patti Jo does make the best cinnamon rolls in the county, and up here we take our baking pretty seriously.”
“Please, tell her thank you.”
“Oh, and we put some plastic bags in there,” Anna said. “You just tuck the leftovers into the freezer. They keep for a long time.”
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