Page 4 of Clara's Secure Hideaway

But that was a problem that probably wouldn’t go away any time soon. He’d lay low, keeping his eyes and ears open. In this moment, he had a more pressing concern. He blasted the heat and made the quick drive through town to his mother’s house.

An inflatable snowman in the front yard greeted him as he pulled in the driveway and parked. Healing from her broken hip, his mom hadn’t been in the mood for many decorations this year. Something he was eternally grateful for, since he was her personal handy man, but the giant Frosty was a tradition he couldn’t ignore.

At the front door, he knocked twice then let himself in. A wall of warm air greeted him. He shed his jacket and hung it on the hook by the door. Bing Crosby crooned on the radio. The small tree in the living room sparkled, even without the usual glass ornaments, and the crackling fire made him want to kick off his boots and settle on the overstuffed sofa.

Instead, he moved through the living room, past the dining room, and into the kitchen at the back of the ranch style house.

His mom sat at the four-person table tucked at the far side of the kitchen while her health aide, Mila, set a glass of water and evening medications in front of her.

“Hey, there, Heath. Just in time to watch me swallow my weight in pills then eat Mila’s famous chicken and mushroom casserole.” His mom shot him an exaggerated grin with wide, brown eyes that mirrored his own.

He planted a kiss on the top of her head and took the seat at her side. “Sounds delicious, but Mila, you need to stop cooking for us. I don’t think that falls within your job description.”

The blond-haired aide with the bubbly personality and ever-present smile just shrugged and ferried the empty glass to the sink. “My job is to make sure Ms. Sally is healing after her hip surgery and staying healthy. If I don’t cook, you and I both know she’ll try to bustle around this kitchen on her own, which could end in disaster.”

He couldn’t argue. At sixty-two, his mom had more energy than him most days. Being down after breaking her hip—followed by weeks of rehab—had left her a bit surly. Chomping at the bit to get back to her normal, active life.

“I could have cooked,” he said. “I hate to have more placed on your shoulders.”

Mila slid the casserole dish out of the oven then turned one perfectly sculpted eyebrow his way. “That would be an even bigger disaster.”

Sally punctuated her hoot of laughter with a pat on the table. “Ain’t that the truth. Will you eat with us, dear?”

The invitation set him on alert, and he struggled not to roll his eyes. Mila had been his mother’s aide since she’d returned home a couple weeks before, and his mom had made no secret of how much she enjoyed the young woman’s company.

And how much she’d love Heath to enjoy her too.

He wasn’t blind. Mila was beautiful and seemed nice enough, but he didn’t have the time to devote to anything beyond his job and his mom right now. Besides, as nice as Mila was, no spark existed between them.

Not like the little jolt he got every time he saw Clara.

Mila aimed a here-we-go-again look his way then shook her head. “No, thanks, Sally. I appreciate the offer, but Jimmy’s waiting for me at home. If I leave now, I can make it in time to read him his bedtime story.”

“Yes, yes. Go on home. Heath will make sure I’m right as rain for the rest of the night. Tell little Jimmy we said hello.” Sally pressed the tips of her fingers to her mouth and sent a rapid succession of air kisses in Mila’s direction.

“Will do. Call if you need anything,” Mila said.

Heath stood. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

He ignored his mother’s wiggling eyebrows and escorted Mila to the front door. “How was she tonight? Did she give you any trouble?”

“Oh just the usual,” she said, threading her arms through her puffy coat. “Complained about being treated like a child and hated her physical therapy, but always with a smile and comment about her handsome son I should get to know.”

He winced. “Sorry about that.”

Mila laughed. “No worries. She’s not the only client trying to set me up. I keep telling them my boyfriend would hate it, but they just don’t care.”

Relief loosened the tension coiled in his chest. Mila had become a friend, and he would hate to disappoint her. Knowing she was in a relationship took off that pressure.

Now if only his mom would figure that out.

“You might need to tell my mom to stop pestering you. No need to be so nice to her all the time.”

“Well, that is my job. Good night.” She gave him a parting wave then slipped out the door.

He watched to make sure Mila made it to her car then headed back to his mom. His heart dropped when he spotted her leaning on her bedazzled cane, balancing two plates on the way back to the table.

His mom might be the one recovering from surgery, but if he spent any more time with her, she just might give him a heart attack.

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