Maxwells Smile

the pain and had stirred his imagination? Such a simple solution.
    But that didn’t dispel her uneasiness over finding a stranger sitting at her son’s bedside.
    “Mr. Jones will forget my rudeness,” she said, dismissing the man, because if she didn’t erase him from her thoughts now, he’d linger there for the rest of the day.

Chapter Two
    Four days after Maxwell had been released with a thumbs-up from his doctor, he’d begged Rachel to take him to the local store for some paper for his printer. He’d been given strict instructions not to run and jump for two weeks while the incision was healing, but a quick trip would hardly tax him.
    The grocery store was small, and Rachel knew half the staff, so she trusted Maxwell to wander the aisles on his own. He headed toward the one that featured everything from office supplies to baby wipes, while Rachel tucked some fresh veggies into her mesh bag. For tonight’s menu she planned a frittata stuffed with peppers, onions and cheese.
    Reaching for a bright red pepper, she bumped knuckles with a fellow shopper who had spied the same prize vegetable. “Sorry.”
    “No, I’m sorry. Oh, hey, Rachel McHenry, right?”
    It was Sam Jones, looking absolutely delicious in a soft blue T-shirt, and not a shred of sawdust to be seen. And yet Rachel impulsively stiffened and nodded toward the vegetable bin. “You can have it.”
    “How’s Maxwell doing?” He nabbed the pepper and put it in a recyclable mesh bag very similar to her own. “Kid get his homework done?”
    All right, he’d made his point. She was the evil mother, forcing her child to do schoolwork while laid up in the hospital. Didn’t she get the same guilt trip from her own mom?
    “Maxwell happens to be the one who insists on spending two hours a day on schoolwork. He thrives on the pride that comes from getting straight A’s.”
    “I know. He’s going to be a brain surgeon. I also know the cerebellum fascinates him.”
    She gaped at Sam, not so much surprised that Maxwell and he had talked, but that he remembered a detail like that.
    “I’m sorry,” he suddenly said. “An apology is necessary. I shouldn’t have figured it was okay to barge into your son’s room without your permission.”
    “Apology accepted. A mother can’t be too careful nowadays. I hope you understand.”
    “I do, and like I said, it was a stupid move on my part. My head was in a weird place that morning, being in the hospital and all. So, how you doing?”
    “I…” She frowned, feeling uncomfortable under the man’s soft, seeking stare. His brown eyes were so clear and—were those freckles on his nose? “Why would you ask about me? I wasn’t the one in the hospital.”
    Sam shrugged. “Single mother with a sick kid.”
    “Last time we spoke you called me Mrs.”
    “Yeah, I just—uh, Mrs. Hogan, the lady I did a job for the other day, mentioned her friend’s son was in the hospital, and I wondered if that was you. She said you were a single mother. With a wink.”
    “I see.” Lucy Hogan tended to spill details best left unspilled to anyone who would listen, including the postman, cable guy and Rachel, on more than one occasion. “Winks are flitted about rather carelessly in our neighborhood.”
    “So I’ve noticed.”
    “But apparently martinis go right under your radar.”
    “Hey now, I didn’t have one.” He winced. “That was the most uncomfortable job I’ve been on. I was so glad to get out of there when I was done.”
    Rachel laughed. “Mrs. MacTavish has a not-so-subtle vixen that comes out around the male species. She’s very needy.”
    And you aren’t? she wondered.
    “Mrs. Hogan mentioned something about you being in the market for some repair work? Anything I can give you a hand with?”
    So the queen of neighborhood gossip had filled Sam in on more than just her marital status.
    “It’s a fallen ceiling in the garage. I’ve been so busy trying to sell houses, I haven’t had time to hire a carpenter to look at it.” Rachel turned and stuffed a green pepper into her bag, feeling a blush rise up her neck at his intense scrutiny. “Money’s a little tight right now with the medical expenses. I think I can tug down the Sheetrock that’s dangling from the ceiling, and stuff the electrical wiring back up into the framework.”
    Sam whistled. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you. Handling electrical wiring is tricky. You could get hurt or even screw up the stuff inside the house. And