Someday Soon by Debbie Macomber

her warm, generous heart, couldn’t bear the thought of anyone spending Christmas without being surrounded by loved ones and good friends. Martha didn’t understand about men like Tim Mallory. Didn’t understand the last thing he’d do was allow Francine into the fog of his pain. From what she knew of Tim, he’d rather starve than eat the dinner she delivered.
    “I want you to take this dinner plate to him, and stay and visit until he’s finished eating.”
    Francine knew better than to argue, especially when her mother wore a look that said she wasn’t going to listen to reason.
    “Take some sugar cookies and fruitcake with you,” Martha called to Francine on her way out the door. Her mother added a paper plate full of homemade goodies to Francine’s growing stack. “Make sure he understands you’re his friend.”
    “I will,” she promised, but doubted that she’d make it much beyond the front door.
    By the time she parked her car in Tim’s driveway, Francine was convinced she was making a terrible mistake. She walked up the porch steps with little enthusiasm and rang the doorbell. When no one answered, she got out the key Cain McClellan had given her and let herself into the house.
    Stark silence greeted her. Her own family home was filled with the sound of children’s laughter and the scent of mincemeat and holly.
    “Who’s there?” Tim’s gruff voice called out from the family room, at the far end of the house.
    Francine was grateful to realize he wasn’t holed up in the bedroom. “It’s me,” she called, following the sound of his voice. She found him in the wheelchair in front of the big-screen television set, watching a football game. Probably the same one her father and brothers had been vehemently discussing earlier.
    Mallory frowned when she walked into the room. “What are you doing here?” He stared at her with a decided lack of welcome.
    She should have given more thought to what she intended to say, Francine mused, too late. Tim Mallory wasn’t likely to believe she just happened to be in the neighborhood.
    “I thought I’d stop in and see how you were doing.”She set both plates on the kitchen counter behind him.
    His voice was gruff and unfriendly. “I don’t need your pity.”
    “Good. I’m not offering it.”
    “Then what are you offering?” He swiveled the wheelchair around and glared at her menacingly.
    Francine sat on the ottoman so they’d be at eye level. She studied her palms, debating what she might possibly say to reach him. The man was as obstinate as they came.
    “I want to help you,” she began slowly, her voice low and uncertain, “but I can’t because you won’t let me. I was hoping that if we sat down and talked, you might be more comfortable with me.”
    He looked away from her and back to the television screen. Apparently that was his answer, the same answer he’d been giving her all week. The same answer he’d been shouting at the world since his accident. He was shutting her and everyone else out as effectively as if he slammed a door closed. He didn’t want her there, didn’t want her anywhere close to him. Physically or mentally.
    What her patient didn’t understand was that Francine wasn’t willing to accept this response. It was going to take a whole lot more than diverting his attention to persuade her to walk out that door.
    She walked over to the coffee table, reached for the remote control, and turned off the football game. Then she deliberately set the controller out of Tim’s reach.
    His eyes followed her movements. His gaze told her it wouldn’t take much more for his anger to explode. “We can do this the easy way,” she said without emotion, “or we can do this the hard way. The choice is yours.”
    “Everything in my life has come hard, and it isn’t going to change with you, sweetheart.” A bitter smile twisted his lips.
    She hated the way he said “sweetheart.” In no way could it be construed as a term of affection.