A Second Chance

"So, you never got married," John stated.

"That was my way to punish my father for what he did to us. He introduced me to one man after another, and I refused to marry any of them. They were all cut from the same cloth. Rich, arrogant, egocentric, over-confident..." Molly blew her nose with a tissue. "So, I used my college Trust Fund account to keep traveling around the world. Trying to forget you."

"You gave up a lot to protect me."

"It wasn't just to protect you, even when that was a big part of it. I was fighting my own battle for my freedom." She shrugged. "I knew how much I had pissed my father off when he died and the only thing he left me in his will was the inn and a small trust fund with a monthly allowance. The rest of our fortune went to my sister, Joan, and Uncle Marcus, his brother."

John nodded, lost in his thoughts. For years he'd nursed his anger, his pain, his loathing because that was the only way he could go on without her. He had to believe that she'd left him without a backward glance, that she had never mourned all they had lost. In his mind, Molly had cowardly gone on to live a glamorous life, leaving him to muddle through alone.

One glimpse into her eyes had shown him a truth he had never allowed himself to consider. Molly was still raw, still bleeding. She was broken inside, just like him.

"The only good thing I got from my marriage with Ginger was Red. She was a good-for-nothing. She couldn't cook, she couldn't do laundry, she couldn't thread a sewing needle, she couldn't play children's games with Red. She wasn't even good in bed."

Molly laughed. "I went to see you after the divorce. But you shut me down."

"It wasn't personal, Molly. I shut down every woman that visited me. I wasn't myself at that time. The last thing on my mind was getting in a relationship again. I focused on raising Red, and repairing the damage his mother had caused him with her cheating. He was only fourteen at that time."

"You should be proud," Molly said. "Red grew up into a fine man."

CHAPTER 4

The next morning, Molly joined Laura in the kitchen.

"Mind if I have a word with you?" Molly asked her niece, Laura, bringing two cups of mint tea.

"Of course not," Laura motioned her aunt to the screened-in back porch at the rear of the large inn.

The morning was pleasantly warm.

"What's with the frown, Auntie? Everything okay?" Laura asked and then sipped her tea.

Molly sat in a cushioned wicker chair, opposite her niece. "I want to talk with you about this plan of yours to fix me up with John."

Laura brow lifted. She glanced at her aunt with the kind of understanding that required no words. "John told you," she said finally.

Molly nodded. "Yes, he did. But I knew it all by myself too."

"Kat devised this plan to help John. You know he has socially withdrawn from women since his divorce. So, when she told me what she was trying to do, I thought about you. You're alone too. You never got married. I think it would be a good thing for both of you," Laura explained to her aunt.

Molly played with her hands, which she only did when she was nervous. "Look, I don't want to mess with your plan, but... Are you sure John is ready to move on?"

Laura fought to suppress a smile. "Are you ready to take a chance on him?"

Molly shrugged. "I don't know, darling. What if things don't work between us?"

Laura squeezed Molly's hand gently, "What if they do?"

"I'm not sure which option terrifies me more, sweetie." Molly finished her tea in silence, stood up, and went back to the inn.

****

John Harding began his day as he had begun every day since he was a teen, milking cows.

Of course, a few things had changed over time. As a child, he'd followed his father from cow to cow while he swabbed off udders and attached milking machines. His dad would pour the milk from the machine into a pail, change the filter, toss the used one to a barn cat, and then methodically hook up another cow before dragging the full pail to the milk house and emptying it into a cooler.

In the intervening years, a genius had come up with the idea of bringing the cows to a milking parlor and pumping the milk from the machine directly to the cooler.

The new way was worlds better than the old one, but it still meant bending to hook up the milking machine.

When he was done, John stretched his back, climbed on his horse and went for a ride.

The sun was high in the sky, spreading golden fingers of light across the fields when he came back. There was a bite in the air this morning. He smelled snow in the future. Better repair the hole in the barn roof while he still could. He tied his horse to a nearby fence and set up the ladder.

"The farm is getting old, just like me," he thought.

He climbed up the ladder, carrying the necessary tools and materials to repair the roof.

He had just reached the top of the ladder when a car turned into his lane. The crunch of gravel beneath tires grew louder as the vehicle came closer.

John didn't have many visitors since he divorced his cheating wife years ago. He had been lonely, though he would never admit it. He had a farm to run and little time for fooling around. Not that he was the fooling-around type.

His fingers clenched on the hammer reminiscing of times when his life had been full of fun, and so had he. His talk with Molly had brought back all those memories. Then, one day, life wasn't happy anymore. His wife had cheated on him. She had fallen in love with another man. Maybe she never loved him. His throat went thick; his stomach churned. The hammer came down harder and harder, like trying to bang away every hurting thought.

He had never felt so humiliated, disgusted, and appalled in his whole life. He slammed the hammer onto a nail with undue force.

When John began to remember, when he felt lonely and depressed, he turned to the farm, to his work. Over the past years, this place and his responsibilities to it had saved him more times than he cared to count.

The sudden and strident sound of honking car horns drew his attention. He leaned trying to get a glimpse of the visitor.

Molly climbed down from the car, looked up, and waved at John. "Hi, John. I decided to visit you. I hope you don't mind. I thought we could have lunch together. There are too many leftovers from Thanksgiving, I also found some photos of us in an old shoebox."

John looked down, "Sure, Molly, just let me finish here..."

Molly moved closer to the ladder, stepping behind the horse.

"Molly! Come around to his front. Let the horse see you. One kick and he'll break all your ribs in one blow."

However, the warning came too late. The horse kicked the ladder and John fell to the ground.

Molly screamed when John hit the ground. His hands took the brunt of the blow. Still, the force with which he'd fallen brought his head forward, and his temple connected with the ground with a sickening thunk. He lay still.

Molly's heart beat so fast she couldn't think, could scarcely breathe. She took one step and John turned over with a groan and moved on his own.

She knelt at his side and he reached up to touch his forehead.

"Don't move," she touched his wrist, and John let out a hiss of pain and jerked his arm in toward his belly.

"Where does it hurt?" Molly asked John.

"Where doesn't it?"

"Where does it hurt the most?" she clarified.

He tried to sit up and collapsed again. "My wrists. Damn!"

"Please, don't try to move." She glanced at the hands he cradled protectively against his body. They were scraped, but they hadn't started to swell. Yet.

She lifted her gaze to his face, which was another story. "You've got a goose egg on your forehead the size of Manhattan."

"Well, that explains the headache. I hate New York. Big noisy, smelly city."

Her lips twitched.

"I'll drive you to the hospital," she offered.

"No, thanks. I'll be fine."

"Dam it, John! This is not a time to be stubborn! You can't drive yourself. Let me help you up." She reached for his arm and he flinched.

"I don't need your help or your pity, Ginger!" he growled.

Molly gasped at the fury in his voice and on his face. Molly's eyes glanced at the knot on his head. "Do you know who I am? What month is this?"

"You're Molly Carter," he said squinting his eyes as he tried to focus on her face. "And it's November. I haven't lost my mind, Molly, not since I married that slut, anyway."

The memory of how he'd managed to survive the death of so many dreams made him uncomfortable. He felt naked.

"I'm sorry, John. I'm sorry I wasn't a good friend to you when you needed me. I should have been there for you. I should have come here more often."

"Why would you? I pushed away every woman that tried to come close to me."

Obviously, John hadn't forgotten his ex. He hadn't forgiven her, either. Molly could hardly blame him after what his ex did to him.

John struggled to stand, the task made difficult by the fact that he couldn't use his hands. Molly stood there a moment, and then said, "Let me help you."

As soon as John gained his feet, he strode away. He walked around the side of the barn, presumably in the direction of the house and his truck. Molly rushed after him.

He reached for the door handle of his truck, and then released it with a muffled curse. Molly crossed the remaining distance to her car, opened the passenger door, and raised a brow in his direction.

"Man! You're certainly stubborn. Stop acting all macho and let me help you, John! Now is not the time."

He sighed, defeated, and came around the front, frowning at her car the entire way.

"I'm not sure if I'll fit in this tiny car. Ever hear the term American made?" John asked.

"Ever hear the term bite me?"

He blinked, and for a minute, she thought he might laugh. Instead, he clamped his lips and folded his body into her small Japanese car.

CHAPTER 5

The ride to the hospital was blissfully silent, except for the thunderous pain inside John's head and the pulsing pain coming from his wrists.

John found himself staring at Molly's shoes. His gaze wandered up to her legs, she had always had spectacular legs, among other things. What was she thinking wearing high heels and a skirt to a dairy farm?

Back then, when John knew Molly had gone to Europe, he felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. She had given up on their love without a real fight. Her leaving had probably been the best thing for him, legally, but it didn't make it hurt less.

He found himself alone, with no one to talk to, no one to share his grief with. Finally, he hooked up with Ginger as a rebound. She was available and ready to get married and get out of her parents' home. He was lonely and hurt and wanting to forget Molly.

They reached the hospital in short order. She pulled up to the emergency room entrance and parked in a loading zone. John managed to get out of the car without Molly's help, though it wasn't easy.

"I'll ask for a wheelchair," Molly offered.

"My legs are fine, Molly."

John knew he was being foolish and stubborn, but he couldn't help it.

As soon as they entered the waiting room, Molly's gaze flicked around the place. A few words to the nurse at the desk, and she guided them to the doctor's office as if they were first in the line.

John watched her in amazement. Molly knew exactly what to say to get what she wanted with minimal trouble or time. She was a Carter after all. She was in charge from the moment they entered the building.

With difficulty, John pulled his attention from the sight of Molly to the doctor at his side.

"Did you lose consciousness, John?"

He remembered falling, hitting the ground, pain in his head, his wrists, the sight of Ginger, believing she was a dream...

"I must have for a brief moment," he muttered.

"Mhm," The doctor scribbled something on his clipboard.

"Is that bad?"

"I think we'll keep you here for a few hours, just in case."

"In case what?"

"I need to run some tests first, John," the doctor said, deflecting his question. "Looks like you did a number on those wrists."

"They hurt like hell," John admitted. "How bad are they?"

"One's broken, maybe both. We'll take you to an X-ray in a minute. But it's your head I'm worried about."

"Me, too," Molly said. The knot on his head had grown even bigger.

John glanced up. Molly watched him warily. Suddenly he remembered she used to smell like fresh-cut lavender, and she tasted like wild honey. He shook his head to make the images go away. He must have hit his head very hard to be thinking about the scent of her skin and the taste of her lips.

"I'll have someone bring his insurance card." Molly smiled and touched the doctor's arm.

The doctor nodded and strode away.

Molly had always wanted to be a lawyer, which John had thought was an odd choice for a girl who didn't care to follow the rules. But then again, how many juvenile delinquents wound up as cops or preachers? In any case, she had never gone to college.

"How bad is it, Molly? Don't sugarcoat the truth to me," John asked.

"You're not going to die if that's what you're thinking. The doctor doubts you cracked your skull, and so do I."

"Why's that?"

"It would take something harder than falling from a ladder to bust your thick skull, John Harding," she joked to lighten his mood.

"Nice. Kick a man when he's down," he said trying to be funny, but he hadn't been in so long, he seemed to have lost the talent.

Something flickered in Molly's eyes, and for a moment he thought she might cry. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and said, "I'm going to call Red to let him know what happened."

Molly took out her phone from her purse and left the room before John could say otherwise.

As soon as Red heard the news, he rushed to the hospital with his wife, and Molly informed them what had happened.

"How is Dad going to take care of himself and the farm with two broken wrists?" Red said aloud to no one in particular.

Molly had been feeling so guilty she hadn't thought past the initial tragedy. "He might not have two broken wrists."

Red waved off the rationalization. "One is enough. I can spare a couple of hours a day, but not the whole day. We can hire someone to take care of the farm work. I'm not worried about that. But Dad is going to need help in the house, he won't be able to cook or clean. He won't even be able to dress by himself. I can't move back to the farm and be there with him 24/7. Should we hire a nurse?"

Kat snorted, "Do you know your father, Love? Do you think he will allow a strange woman to undress him or bathe him?"

"A male nurse then?" Red suggested.

This time both, Molly and Kat laughed. "Right, because your father is going to feel comfortable being naked in front of another man," Kat said.

Red twisted his mouth.

"I'll help him," Molly said. "I'll do it. I can cook, I can clean, I can do the laundry, and he can't boss me around as he would do with a nurse, male or female."

Red looked at his wife and she smiled and nodded.

"Percy and Laura can take good care of the inn. They don't need me. I'll be happy to help."

CHAPTER 6

By the end of the day, they knew John had both wrists broken, and a concussion. Thankfully, the CT-scan showed no evidence of a spinal cord injury or damage to his brain, which caused a profound flood of relief in everyone.

When John was finally released, he had a matching set of slings and had been provided with plenty of drugs and orders to keep his wrists above his heart as much as possible for the next several days to reduce the swelling. Only then would he receive two casts.

Molly did a quick stop at the inn, to pack a suitcase with some clothes and her toiletries and rushed back to her car.

She was going to be there for him this time. She owed John. Not only for what had happened today but for what had happened before. Maybe if she could do something for him now, he might be able to get over what had happened in the past.

John watched Molly with his arms crossed over his chest, not by choice, but because of the slings supporting them. A frown creased his swollen forehead as he contemplated the suitcase in her hand.

Molly climbed down the steps of the inn, put her suitcase in the trunk, and stepped inside the car.

"What's that suitcase for, Molly?"

"I'm moving in with you until you can take care of yourself, John. Someone has to."

His eyebrows shot up.

"Like hell."

"Yes, I'm sure it will be," she smiled, started her car, and drove to the farm.

"You don't have to do this, Molly."

When they arrived at the farm, Molly helped John to get out of the car and opened the front door for him.

"No one is blaming you for what happened," John insisted, sitting at the kitchen table.

"I want to do it. I feel responsible, John. I walked behind that horse. You fell off the ladder because of me. You could have died." Molly's eyes burned, and she blinked hard and fast.

She plowed past him and into the kitchen. There wasn't much he could do to stop her with both arms strapped to his chest.

"I already talked about this with Red and Kat. Your family will help here as much as they can, but they have lives of their own and a business to take care of. I'm the only one who is dispensable."

"I don't need your help."

Molly set the suitcase on a chair. "Of course you do! You can't cook, you can't hold a spoon, you can even go to the bathroom by yourself."

"Are you going to wipe my ass too, Molly?"

Molly smiled. "If I have to, of course I will. You had a nice one if memory serves me well."

John let out a long sigh.

"Please, John, let me do this for you. I feel responsible."

"Responsible? Why? It was an accident, Molly. Shit happens."

"I hurt you again. Maybe I should stay away from you."

He nodded, "Maybe you should. You're good at hurting me and running away."

"Dammit, John! I'm not running away this time," she exploded. Then she saw him smirk and realized he'd been baiting her. She took a deep breath, counted to ten, and tried again.

"I'll stay here until you can take care of yourself."

"Why does it have to be you?"

"My question exactly." She rubbed between her eyes with her thumb. "Do you have a better idea?"

"Yeah, anyone but you. I could hire someone."

"Really, John? Would you feel comfortable with a strange person changing your clothes, helping you to bathe, or washing your underwear?"

John sighed in defeat. She was right, of course.

"I'll put my suitcase in the guest room."

He grunted, which she took as a yes because it wasn't a no. She grabbed her bag and went into the guest room.

Once she was alone, she sat on the bed and held her head in her hands. This was the chance she had been praying for. She would be living with John for a couple of months.

Molly's eyes were caught by the mirror atop the vanity. Time rolled back and she could see her teenage self sitting on the bed, staring into the antique fogginess of the glass.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the one he loves most of all?"

The words echoed in the room. Had she actually said them? She wasn't sure. But childhood games were best left in childhood, along with the answer to that question.

Molly backed out of the room and returned to the kitchen, where John stared out the window at the bright lights of the barn. She could tell by the set of his shoulders that he wanted to be out there with the animals instead of in here with her.

"I'll fix you something to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"I am. Laura packed a basket for us with Thanksgiving leftovers."

Molly sat at his side, hugged John softly, and rested her head on his shoulder.

"The only way you're going to get better is if you take care of yourself. And the only way you can do that is if I do everything for you. So you're eating. You're taking your meds. You're going to rest. You're not lifting a finger..."