Page 162 of The Nanny and the Hothead
He shook his head, working to push the thoughts away when a horn honked. It had to be the Applebaums—maybe they needed something. He headed up the trail and caught sight of an SUV parked in front of the cabin. But it didn’t belong to Mr. Applebaum and his wife. This vehicle had the Helping Hands Community Center logo printed on the side, and his jaw dropped when Louise exited the car and Ines got out of the back. “What are you…” he began, then froze when he saw who was in the passenger seat. His heart pounded in his chest as anger flooded his system.
“Good grief! Why are you wet, Mitchell?” Louise asked with her trademark scowl as Ines opened the car’s hatch.
He couldn’t focus on her. He glared at the man—no, the son of a bitch, who hadn’t moved a muscle. For a beat, the men stared at each other. It was as if neither could believe their eyes.
“Why did you bring him here?” he asked through gritted teeth.
With everything he had on his plate, the last thing he needed was this.
“Listen to what Seth has to say. Give him five minutes,” Louise answered.
Seth! Hearing the godforsaken syllable sent a prickling tremor through his body.
“How did you even know I was here? No, forget it! It doesn’t matter. You won’t be staying long,” he shot back, setting the paper and pen on the porch next to the apple butter before striding toward the SUV. The car windows were rolled down, and he zeroed in on his former best friend. “Did you come for money? The lawyers from my publisher contacted you, and you came to see how much you could get, am I right?” he hissed.
The rage was as fresh as if he’d just caught the man embracing Holly that damned day when his life turned to shit.
“Mitch!” Ines called, but he ignored her pleas.
“Are you going to get out of the car, or have you decided to sit on your ass all day?” he barked, but Seth didn’t say a word.
“Mitch, get out of the way,” Ines huffed, exasperation coating her words.
What the hell did she have to be irritated about?
He hadn’t asked her to come here, and he certainly didn’t request the presence of this bastard of an ex-best friend! He whipped his head in her direction and found the woman maneuvering a wheelchair over the bumpy ground. “Why do you have that?”
“It’s for me. And I can answer your question, Mitch,” Seth said, holding his gaze. “I will be sitting on my ass. I’ll be sitting on my ass all day, every day.”
Seth can’t walk? Jesus! What happened?
A sliver of bitterness in his heart subsided as the pieces came together, and disbelief edged out the anger. Dumbfounded, he watched as Seth eased himself out of the car and into the chair. It gave him a little time to take in the man he hadn’t laid eyes on in years. Seth’s blond hair was sprinkled with a few silver strands that glinted in the light. The once muscular man had thinned out, and a long scar cut across his forearm.
“How did this happen, Seth?” He’d hated the man with a passion. He’d spent the last seven years perseverating on the past and feeding the anger within him. But the guy, no matter what he’d done, had still been his friend. And a part of him ached for what the man must have endured.
Seth rested his hands on the chair’s back wheels. “I was in a motorcycle accident last year. I was going too fast and lost control. I was in the hospital for six weeks, and when I got out, I left in one of these.” He glanced at the polished silver wheelchair. “It’s been rough looking for work. I moved back to Denver a few days ago. I’m living with my sister until I can get back on my…I’d say feet, but wheels seems more appropriate,” the man finished with a melancholy twist to his lips.
Mitch cleared his throat. “There are modifications that can be made. It’s not impossible to cook in a wheelchair,” he blathered. And Jesus, what was wrong with him? That’s what he says when he learns his friend had lost the ability to walk?
“How many resorts do you know that would hire a chef in a chair?” Seth countered. “I’m just saying, it hasn’t been easy.”
The guy was right. The cards were stacked against him. It was a damned shame, too. For all his faults, Seth was an excellent cook. He’d be an asset in any kitchen.
No, he couldn’t let his mind go there. Screw this guy!
He crossed his arms. He had to stay strong and maintain his hotheaded front. “Did you come to ask for money? Let me guess. You want part of the proceeds from the book? Well, news flash! There might not be a book. You’ve come this far for nothing.”
“No book?” Ines snapped.
He threw his hands up. “I don’t know, Ines! I don’t know what the hell will happen.” He turned his anger on Seth. “That’s why I need you to say whatever you came here to say, then leave.”
“I’m not here because I want your sympathy or your money, Mitch. I’m here because I owe you an apology,” the man said, conviction shining in his eyes.
“Fine, you apologized. Now leave,” he shot back like a sullen teenager.
“There’s more,” Seth replied.
Of course, there was!
