“Really?”
“Yes. I mentioned at dinner one night that you’d asked me to contact a few businesses about buying an ad. Greg knows Lou from way back and remembered how he likes to entertain customers with obscure facts. He said including a trivia tidbit in ads would attract readers—and potential customers—especially if Lou ran a special on one of his more eclectic items.”
“Well, it’s a very creative idea. I love the copper hummingbird feeder he’s featuring in the first ad. Who’d expect to find such an item in a bait and tackle shop? Tell Greg I said thanks for the suggestion.”
“I will.” She retreated to her desk and picked up her purse. “Be back soon.”
As Rachel pushed through the door, Marci exhaled and sank back in her chair.
Such a sad situation.
At twenty-two and twenty-three, Rachel and Greg had their whole life ahead of them.
Yes, they’d had a serious setback.
Yes, they’d need to alter the plans they’d made.
Yes, they’d been given a tough row to hoe.
But if they stuck together—and accepted the help that was available—they could weather this storm.
Unfortunately, as far as she could tell, neither of them was ready to admit they needed outside assistance. Pride, embarrassment, insecurity—whatever their reasons, they were hunkering down and trying to get through this alone.
Or Rachel was.
Greg appeared to be on the verge of giving up.
What a mess.
And despite the save-the-world gene her mother always claimed was embedded in her DNA, there was nothing she could do about it except pray—and watch for any opportunity that came along to offer a helping hand.
With a quick glance at her watch, Rachel pulled into the driveway of the tiny bungalow she now called home.
She had twenty-two minutes left on her lunch break—even if lunch wasn’t on her noon agenda. Checking on Greg was more important than food.
Not that she’d tell him that. He’d probably go ballistic if she did.
And she wasn’t up for one of his angry tirades today.
She surveyed the sweet, furnished rental cottage, with its rose arbor on the side and hanging fern on the front porch. It was just the kind of home she’d envisioned for them when she’d been a smitten college student in Austin and he’d been a strapping army cavalry corporal.
How could she not have fallen in love with the charming military man who’d painted such a rosy picture of their life together in this idyllic town—especially after he’d made the hour-and-fifteen-minute commute from Fort Hood to spend time with her every chance he got?
It had felt like a match made in heaven.
Until the vows they’d taken on that sunny October day a year and a half ago had been put to a harsh test.
She choked back a sob.
In hindsight, her parents’ advice to wait awhile before getting married seemed spot-on.
As they’d pointed out, if it was meant to last, what was the rush? Why not plan a wedding a bit further down the road, after she finished school and her love-at-first-sight romance with Greg had sustained a few challenges?
But no. From the day they’d met at a party given by a mutual friend, she’d been convinced Greg was her soulmate.
Rachel pulled the key from the ignition and clenched her fingers around it.
Maybe the man she’d fallen in love with was still inside his body somewhere.
Maybe.
But if he was, he’d retreated behind a barricade she hadn’t been able to breach.
And after four depressing months in a town that wasn’t living up to its name, she was running out of ideas.
Yet short of going home and admitting she’d made a mistake, all she could do was hang in and pray their situation would improve.
With a weary sigh, she pushed the door open and circled around to the back of the house. Jolted to a stop at the shovel and empty rose container.
Had Greg read her note and actually planted the bush instead of wadding up the slip of paper and tossing it in the trash?
She hurried to the back of the yard and the in-progress garden where she spent her happiest hours.
The bush was there, in the spot she’d marked.
Her spirits took an uptick.
Was it possible they’d turned a corner?
Trying not to get her hopes up, she continued to the back door, unlocked it, and walked in.
“Greg?”
Silence.
A niggle of unease raced up her spine.
“Greg, are you here?”
More silence.
It was a foolish question, anyway. She had the car, and he wasn’t inclined to do much walking, despite the urging of the physical therapist.
Dread pooling in her stomach, she walked down the short hall, stopping on the threshold of the master bedroom.
He was lying on his back in the dim room, fingers linked over his stomach, eyes closed.
His body was so motionless, her lungs locked.
Had her fears finally come to pass? Had he crossed the line and decided to escape from his problems once and for all?
No.
His chest was rising and falling.
He was still with her—in body, if not spirit . . . or heart.
Fingers curled into tight balls at her sides, she refilled her lungs. “Thank you for planting the rosebush. It will be much happier in the garden than in that pot.”
Several endless, silent seconds ticked by.
“What are you doing here?”
“I live here.” Her attempt at humor had zero impact on the rigid set of his mouth.
“I’m not in the mood for jokes, Rachel.”
He never was—unlike the old days, when his ready laugh had brightened her world.
“I had an errand to run on my break and decided to swing by and have some yogurt.” Not far from the truth. She did need to eat some lunch. “I noticed the rosebush as I walked around the back. I appreciate your . . .”
“I didn’t plant it.”
At his harsh cutoff, she blinked. “What do you mean? It’s in the ground, exactly where I asked you to put it.”
“Our neighbor did it.”
“What neighbor?”
“Ned’s grandson. I think he said his name was Ben.”
She tried to make sense of that. “Why would he plant my rosebush?”
“Because your husband couldn’t!” He pushed himself upright and
