#SLEEPLESS NIGHT BOOK SKIN#

The SUV stopped in front of the house, the engine shut off, and the door opened. Jim rested his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. вЂњWhy do I feel like an innocent defendant about to receive a guilty verdict?вЂќ Nena said. Nena nodded toward the vehicle halfway up the lane. Jim emerged, coffee mug in hand, hair still disheveled, face unshaven.

#SLEEPLESS NIGHT BOOK SKIN#

But the lump in her throat and the chill that crept over her skin told her this was more than a cordial visit. HeвЂ™d been their family doctor for well over thirty years more than just a physician, heвЂ™d been a friend. Maybe he was just stop- ping by to say good morning and tell them he hadnвЂ™t gotten the results yet, so she should stop fretting and breathe easy. Of course, she told herself, maybe it wasnвЂ™t a house call. Les Van Zante-and called for Jim to join her on the porch. The sound of tires rolling on dirt broke the morning silence, and Nena saw an SUV making its way down the lane. Nothing but sit here haunted by regrets, sipping her tea, reminiscing about the better days the ranch had seen. Now Nena could do nothing but await the results of the biopsy. But as the days passed it increased, until finally an appointment was scheduled, a colonoscopy performed, a tumor found. At first it was spotty, nothing too alarming. The bleeding had started three weeks ago. A storm was on the way, and in her bones Nena felt it would be much more than just a meteorological event. There had been no sunrise this morning the sky was heavy with dark gray, furrowed rain clouds. Nena took another sip of tea and listened to the silence. Jim did his best to keep up with the place, but it was just too much work for one man. The steps needed a new board, and the wisteria had long ago stopped blooming. Porch paint peeled like an old sunburn, one of

And the ranch house, once so noble and pris- tine, the signature of the success of Jack St. Some had died and been cut down others were in desperate need of pruning. The black willows, once the landmark of the St. The hands had moved on long ago, finding work and fulfillment elsewhere. The pastures were over- grown, the stables empty. There was a sense of peace here, of purpose and right- ness that she had come to rely on.Д«ut now the place was a ghost town. it had all been so familiar, so com- forting. The smell of cut grass and her dadвЂ™s coffee, the sounds of Spanish chatter and horses nickering for their morning meal, the hum of truck engines and men shouting.

Gathering her legs under her, she pulled the blanket up to her shoulders and took a long slow sip of her tea, letting the mug linger at her mouth so the steam could warm her face.ДЄs a child she used to sit here with her father and watch the sun rise, listening to the sounds of the ranch stirring. And if the temperature gradient was just right, a low mist would settle across the ranch, hovering like slow-moving water, giving the whole property a dreamlike appearance.But NenaвЂ™s dream had long ago been shattered. SheвЂ™d seen upwards of thirty or forty at a time. Sometimes deer would gather in the front lawn as they crossed from one pasture to the next. On clear mornings the sun peeked above the black willows and painted the sky brilliant shades of pink and orange. Nena Hutching loved being out on the porch first thing in the morning it was her favorite time of day.

Sleepless night book