Sing it, Sam

By Jennifer Ryder

Jane Rhynehart has a cosy shack in the pumpkin-obsessed town of Willow Creek, and a new job—if only she was able to write like the other women in the local writers' group. But how can Jane write the perfect romance when she's never experienced love?

After a lengthy stay in hospital, budding singer and songwriter Sam Marshall ends up as a resident in Willow Creek Nursing Home. Jane soon becomes his guiding light. But how can he be a man for her when he relies on so many others day-to-day?

Will Sam turn out to be the perfect muse to help Jane write her epic romance? Will Jane be the one to teach Sam how to truly live? Does love truly know no barriers?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer Ryder
• Release date: Feb 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386904038

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SING IT, SAM

Copyright © 2019 Jennifer Ryder

Published by Jennifer Ryder

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please write to the author, addressed Request: Copyright Approval, at [e-mail].

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Jennifer Ryder is in no way affiliated with any brands, songs or musicians or artists mentioned in this book.

Cover design: © 2018 Ben Ellis from Be Designs

Editing by Lauren Clark Editing

Jane Rhynehart has a cosy shack in the pumpkin-obsessed town of Willow Creek, and a new job—if only she was able to write like the other women in the local writers’ group. But how can Jane write the perfect romance when she’s never experienced love?

After a lengthy stay in hospital, budding singer and songwriter Sam Marshall ends up as a resident in Willow Creek Nursing Home. Jane soon becomes his guiding light. But how can he be a man for her when he relies on so many others day-to-day?

Will Sam turn out to be the perfect muse to help Jane write her epic romance? Will Jane be the one to teach Sam how to truly live? Does love truly know no barriers?

Dedication

For Poppy Pete

xxxx

Chapter One

New job, fresh start. You got this, Jane.

As I said yesterday, every column in the visitor book must be filled out. No exceptions, Mrs Peters says in a firm voice.

Of course, I reply to my new boss with a nod, trying not to swivel in my chair.

Whenever you expect to be away from the desk for a few minutes, make sure you take a handheld walkie-talkie with you. She points to four black units which sit on charger bases at the back of the small brightly lit reception area. When you’re back in the office, pop it on charge as the nurses use them too. In an emergency, I need to be able to contact staff immediately.

Yes, Mrs Peters.

She tucks the loose strands from her short grey bob behind her ear. Please. Call me Kathleen.

Even though Kathleen and her husband live in the same street, and we’ve shared the occasional wave before now, I didn’t want to presume it was okay to address her by her first name. Sorry. Kathleen it is.

No need to apologise. So that’s pretty much it. Greet visitors, manage the residents and answer any queries. She claps her hands together. When you’ve settled in, we’ll get working on the activities schedule. We might be a small nursing home, but we have some great people here.

I can’t wait to get started. My heartbeat picks up the pace as memories of Nan living in the centre flood back. The most heart-warming smile would spread across her wrinkled face as she gushed about her social calendar. Bingo was her favourite; painting a close second. I swear it was the group interactions that got her motivated and out of bed, particularly when her body had all but given up. She was strong until the end. I hope I can play a part in bringing joy like she felt to the other residents here.

Lines form at the sides of Kathleen’s hazel eyes as she smiles and hands me a badge with black etched writing. This arrived this morning.

Jane Rhynehart

Administration and Events Coordinator

Thank you, I say, and pin it to my navy dress. It’s a proud moment. Total independence, here I come.

Kathleen strolls to the rear of the office, where it joins the main hallway. I’ll be back in a bit. Just taking a quick walk through the grounds with the new maintenance contractor. Do you think you’ll be okay?

I nod. I’ll be fine.

Oh, and I forgot to tell you that Sally-Anne, who works part-time, won’t be in for a week or so. Her eldest has the chicken pox. Between the two of us we’ll have to manage the reception and answer the phones.

After managing the switch at the medical centre, I’m sure the volume of calls here won’t be nearly as demanding. No problems. I’m looking forward to meeting her when she comes in.

Kathleen nods and disappears from view, her heels clicking down the hall. I let out a heavy breath and swivel in my seat to bring my legs under the desk. I gaze out at the unkempt green hedge which curves around the looped driveway. Could we get someone in to trim that into fun shapes? That might keep the residents amused.

A flyer for the council fundraiser on the noticeboard near the entrance catches my eye. It’d be fun to get dressed up. It’s a shame I have no friends in town to go with.

Bringing my head back to work, I scan my inbox and click on the email from Kathleen detailing my job duties. As I review each item, for a moment I think I might’ve taken on too much.

No. My parents are farmers. Hard work is in my genes.

Before too long, the main glass sliding doors swoosh open. A gaudy ding-dong sound pierces the silence from somewhere behind me, echoing in my ears. I jerk in my seat, gripping the desk to steady me. I’d better find the volume switch on that, otherwise I’ll almost pee myself every time someone visits.

As I clear my throat to portray a sense of control, my eyes swing up to find a tall broad-shouldered man in faded blue jeans and a white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He wrangles dark sunglasses from his tanned face and folds them into his breast pocket. As he scans the entrance, he rakes his fingers through his short blond curls. My, oh my.

I poke my head above the counter and wave at him through the pane of glass.

The man grins and stalks towards me. Howdy, he says and flashes his pearly whites.

Hi, I choke out and return his smile.

And here I was expecting the scowl of Mrs Peters. It’s nice to be met with a smile.

I focus on his pink lips. Is that so?

He nods. Yes, Ma’am.

How can I help? Are you a part of the new maintenance group? Is this the guy Kathleen was meeting?

No, I’m here to pick up Sam Marshall. Can you tell him the sheriff is here to take him out for a bit?

The sheriff? Well, arrest me, officer.

Sure thing. First, could I see some ID and have you sign Mr Marshall out? I slide the visitor book through the stainless-steel slot between us and search for a pen.

It’s so sweet that he’s picking up his grandpa, giving him some time out. Not just a handsome face.

New here? he probes as I fumble around in the top drawer.

I tilt my head to the side and regard him as I pass him a pen. That obvious?

He leans his tanned muscular forearms on the counter and lowers himself so I can see his face without the reflection of glass. Good lord, those forearms are fantastic. And just like that, the nickname Mr Fantastic Forearms is born.

You’ll be fine. You should know, though, that Sam can be a bit of a handful. Don’t take any rubbish from him.

Surely his grandpa has mellowed with age. How much trouble could he be? I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to have a visitor.

Ha, he scoffs. You’d think. The blond Adonis produces a worn brown wallet. He takes out a plastic card and hands it to me. My eyes cast over a small indent on his left ring finger, his skin bearing a pale band of skin at the base. Was he married?

I sweep up the ID card.

Ben Marshall

His hair is much shorter in the photo.

I check the laminated list fixed on the wall beside my computer and confirm that Ben is the only person approved to visit Mr Marshall. Most other residents have several approved visitors. Why does he only have one? Is it because he’s difficult or has he been ostracised from his family?

Ben signs the book and pokes it back through the slit.

Thanks, Ben, I say, and return the laminated card.

He tucks it into his wallet and swings a set of keys around his index finger. Would you mind bringing him out to the foyer while I drive my car out front?

Of course. I’m here to help. I’ll have your grandfather out in just a minute.

Appreciate it, ma’am, he says, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he moves towards the entrance doors.

Ma’am? Is he in law enforcement? Not many people say that around here. And that’s twice in so many minutes.

I check the room chart in the administration folder, noting Mr Marshall is in room number ten. Shit. Why did it have to be Nan’s old room?

I spy the walkie-talkies on my way through to the hall but keep moving. I’ll only be a minute and besides, Kathleen is outside anyway. As I make my way down the familiar hall, I gulp down the rising bile. It was only going to be a matter of time before I had to visit her old room.

When my black Mary Janes reach his door, I find it ajar. I knock on the timber and pry it open. A cold eeriness washes over me, transporting me back many years ago. But her presence is long gone. Her musky perfume doesn’t tease at my nostrils, and the many oil paintings of Australian landscapes that once brought every wall to life have been removed, four blank walls left in their place. It’s stark in here, more like a hospital room than a place someone spends the majority of their days.

Mr Marshall? It’s Jane from the front office. Can I come in?

A yeah comes softly from the corner.

I step farther into the room and spy a wheelchair facing the open window and a light brown mop of messy hair. You have a visitor? The sheriff?

Oh great, Mr Marshall mumbles.

The chair slowly turns. Oh my god! He doesn’t look that much older than me. I step back. Oh, you’re a baby! Crap! I mean, you’re young.

A knitted grey blanket covers him from the waist down, and a slim-fitting black T-shirt hugs his lean chest.

His lips pull into a smirk. Not what you were expecting, huh?

Um, no. Sorry. That was rude. I was expecting someone much older. Like really old. Ancient, even.

He presses a toggle beneath his left hand. The chair buzzes as he drives it closer to the door. I step to the side. When his wheels roll beside my feet, he looks up, captivating me with crystal blue eyes. Aside from the dark circles beneath his lashes, he’s beautiful, clearly sharing similarities with Mr Fantastic Forearms in reception. Are they cousins? Brothers?

The biggest question of all tingles on the tip of my tongue. How does a young guy end up living here?

"Some days I feel like I’m a hundred, if that makes it less weird for you. Besides, I was expecting someone much older too. Only menopausal dinosaurs work here."

Maybe it’s time to inject some young blood into this place.

No complaints here. His gaze travels up and down my body. He licks his lower lip. I’m Sam. I’d shake your hand, but if you can’t give a strong handshake, it’s not worth bothering with, hey?

I’m Jane, I say and pause. From the front office.

He snorts air out through his nose. Yeah, you said that already.

Okay, way to make me feel awkward. Who’s the sheriff? I ask as I move around behind him. Do I push him out of here or will he wheel himself?

Before I get the chance to grip the handles at the back of the wheelchair, the machine zooms from the room and swerves left in the opposite direction to the entrance.

Dashing into the hallway, I call out, Hey! It’s this way.

Oh, I know. His voice echoes in the distance.

He turns right into the dining hall. What kind of game is he playing?

I hightail it behind him and land smack bang into a sea of old people. The strong hit of disinfectant punches me in the face. Chairs are dotted around, with no sense of order. A lady wearing a nightgown and grey cardigan negotiates her walker right in the middle of the thoroughfare. Somehow, Sam navigates his way through.

Mister, um, I call out.

He turns his head and sticks out his tongue, then disappears into the adjoining room. Damn it.

Yes, love? a bald-headed man seated at a chair to my right says, clutching my wrist with his frail wrinkled hand.

I pat the top of his fingers and place his hand onto his lap. Sorry, sir. Not you.

You know we call him Mr Trouble ’round here, the elderly man says and scoffs. Young folks.

I negotiate the path of people, and almost trip over a lady who’s on all fours looking under a table. Snuggle Muffins, she sings. Time for some biscuits.

Hmm. I didn’t think they allowed pets in here.

When I make it to the next room, something zooms up behind me and juts into the back of my knees. I topple, falling across a blanket-covered lap.

Shit! I say, and gasp. My hand rushes to my mouth. Great first impression with the residents, Jane. Swearing like a sailor. I turn my head towards Sam and clutch the arm rest.

You’re kinda cute, Sam says.

Before I can blink, he smacks a loud kiss on my lips. The warmth of his mouth on mine lingers as my brain tries to comprehend what’s just happened.

I bounce off his lap and press my fingers to my lips. W-what was that for? It’s been a while since I’ve been kissed. It wasn’t exactly fireworks, but my face flushes with heat.

It could be my last chance to kiss a girl, especially one without false teeth. What tomorrow holds is anyone’s guess. His head hits the back of the chair with a thud, and his chest rises and falls as he labours for breath.

I place my hand on his shoulder. Are you okay?

I’m fine. Better than ever. First time in ages I’ve had someone chase me like that.

That’ll do, young man, Kathleen says in a deep voice. She grips the handles of the wheelchair. Where on earth did she just spring from so ninja-like?

That’s exactly right, he says in a gruff voice. "I am a young man. Doing what a man of twenty-six should do. Kissin’ pretty girls." He looks my way and winks.

Cue: raging blush.

Miss Rhynehart, if you wouldn’t mind returning to your desk, I’ll handle Mr Marshall.

And just like that, I’ve gone from being called Jane to something more formal. I’m in trouble.

And next time, take a walkie-talkie with you, she barks.

I stare down at my feet. Of course, Mrs Peters. Don’t muck this up.

When my eyes connect with young Mr Marshall’s, I give him a soft smile. With my tail between my legs, I return to reception and slump in my chair. Defeat washes over me. I’ve failed my first test. Managing the residents.

It’s not her fault, I hear in the distance. As if I could resist those cherry lips.

***

Kathleen accompanies Sam through the secure doors towards the exit. She has a hushed discussion with the sheriff. I try to eavesdrop on their conversation but fail. Goddamn security glass. I shuffle paperwork and try to subtly spy on the gathering. There’s obviously something wrong with Sam’s legs, and his arms, maybe? What on earth happened to him?

Mind your own business, Jane. You got in trouble for getting your nose in people’s business at the medical centre. As intriguing as young Sam is, you need to be professional.

A few moments later, my boss returns behind the secure doors. The two young men move closer to the sensor, sending the automatic doors open.

Sam is wheeled out the door, singing about kissing a girl and liking it. His voice is like honey, but a touch hoarse; his tone is different to anything I’ve heard.

He winks one baby blue at me. I bite my lip and try to shift my focus to my fingers paused on the keyboard.

Haven’t heard you sing in a while, the sheriff says.

Brother, I haven’t had a reason to, a distant voice replies. The doors swoosh shut.

And here I thought things at the nursing home would be routine. Nothing out of the ordinary.

I’ve lived in Willow Creek all my life, so why am I only now meeting the Marshall brothers?

Chapter Two

Over the next few days, when Kathleen allows it, I leave reception and wander the halls. I’ve introduced myself to the maintenance staff and groundskeepers, and subject to sleeping patterns, I’ve nearly met all the residents. In particular, Mr Blandford is quite the character. He ran the local funeral parlour until he retired. Given the opportunity, he’ll chew my ear off about how the skin goes through several colour changes after death and how organs start digesting themselves. Urgh.

Overall, everyone has been friendly, but one particular resident holds my interest. For obvious reasons.

The one who stole a kiss.

A walkie-talkie squelches beside me. I turn to find Kathleen at the rear of the office.

Yes, and Paige? Please make sure room ten receives the correct meds today, Kathleen says into the handheld device with a huff. We don’t need that kind of excitement again. Someone could get hurt.

Room ten?

Will do, Paige replies.

Kathleen mumbles to herself as she slips the handset into its charger and sits beside me.

You can take your afternoon break now if you like, she says and smiles, but there’s no crinkles at the sides of her eyes. Is she still annoyed about Sam getting the better of me the other day or is it the medication mix-up? I’d sure like to know what happened with that.

It’s none of my business.

Even if it does involve the stranger who kissed me on a whim.

Thanks. I’ll go stretch my legs, I say.

Kathleen sighs heavily and positions her glasses on top of her head. She fixes a smile on her face. Are you finding everything okay? Need me to run through anything again?

I think I’m good, thanks. After my break I’ll proofread the brochure you emailed me, and then I’ll check the admin mailbox and do my best to answer any queries.

Perfect. Now, don’t be afraid to ask if you need help. No question is silly. I want you to be happy here.

Thanks, I say and sigh.

I take a muesli bar out of my bag and stroll outside to the main courtyard off the dining hall. The sun beams down through a giant willow tree which stands tall in the centre of the paved area, its long branches dancing in the light breeze. I approach one of the four park benches that box in the wide base of the tree.

This bench has a tarnished brass engraved plaque in the middle of the backrest.

For Judith

How I will miss your smiling face and your blessed heart.

Until we soar together,

Love Fred x

I hold my hand over my heart as I imagine the pain and sorrow Fred must have felt arranging this. What a touching tribute to his late wife. Was this where she used to sit? Were they both in here together in one of the larger rooms meant for couples?

As I munch on my snack, I imagine the long life they might’ve had together. Were they high school sweethearts, or did they find each other later in life? Did they have a hoard of children and grandchildren, and maybe great-grandchildren who came after them? What were they like when they were young? Were they born and bred in Willow Creek, or did they travel the world and find themselves settling here?

A tall man with grey tufts of hair above his ears shuffles into the courtyard in his slippers. Young lass, he announces as he approaches, tucking the front of his white button-down shirt into his faded black pants.

Good afternoon, I say, and smile, recognising him from the dining hall. We haven’t formally met.

Did you catch Mr Trouble? he asks, a smirk at the corner of his wrinkled mouth.

A soft laugh rumbles up my throat. Eventually.

I’m Frederick Bajagon, the man says, and extends his hand.

Nice to meet you Mr ... What did he say his surname was?

Just Frederick will do. Never Freddy though.

Lucky he’s happy to be casual, because I have no idea what he just said his last name is. I slip my fingers into his cold grasp and shake. Not a problem, Frederick. I’m Jane. It’s nice to officially meet you.

Do you mind if I sit? he says, eyeing the space beside me on the worn timber.

Please, I say and pat the bench. I was just thinking about how beautiful it is out here.

That it is, he says and takes a pressed handkerchief from his pocket and wipes at his nose. You know, this was my Judith’s seat.

Oh my god. He’s Fred. My heart jumps up my throat. I spring to my feet as if I’ve desecrated the space. I’m so sorry.

Nonsense. Sit. She’d want someone else to enjoy it as much as she did.

I slowly edge my way back into the seat. Such a beautiful dedication. I turn to look at the brass once more.

He runs his fingers over the plaque and smiles, as if memories of his lost love are flooding back to him.

She hated me flying, he says. When I came home one day, not long after we were married, I told her I was going into aerobatics. I used to fly passenger aircraft, you see. She threatened to divorce me. She never did though. Guess she loved me too much.

You were a pilot? Wow.

I used to travel all over the world and do aerial displays at air shows and the like.

Do you miss it?

Been retired for a long time, but I’d like to think that I could still rip a good loop-de-loop in a Baron if called upon.

That’s awesome, I tell him as I scrunch up the wrapper in my hand.

His grey brows pull together. Have I seen you here before? A while back?

Maybe a couple of years ago. My Grandmother, Violet Rhynehart, used to live here.

Oh, Violet, he says and smiles, a warmness in his eyes. Such a kind soul. You know, my Judith and Violet were like two peas in a pod.

My heart pounds harder at the thought of Nan having a bestie here. They were?

He nods and hums in the back of his throat. They were always front and centre for bingo, and painted whenever they got their hands on supplies. Judith didn’t take her passing too well. None of us did.

My eyes well up with thoughts of other people, strangers to me, who were affected by Nan’s death.

Do you need to get back to it? Nazi Peters will be on your case if you’re gone too long. She runs a tight ship ’round here, Fred says with a sly wink.

I stand and take in a deep breath. I guess I should. I’d love to chat with you another time, though?

Until next time, he says and bows his head.

I nod. Yes. You enjoy the sunshine.

On my way back inside, I make a split decision to pop in and visit Mr Trouble. I haven’t seen him since that day. I should just visit him and then it won’t be a big deal anymore.

Drawing in a deep breath for courage, I knock on his open door and take a step inside. Hello?

A figure is seated in the dimly lit corner. Hey, he says, swivelling the chair around so I can see his face.

Just thought I’d pop in and say hey.

He stares blankly at me. I wait for a response, but don’t get one.

So, hey, I add, and rock back and forth on my heels.

He continues to stare. Heat prickles at my cheeks. Should I leave?

A grin spreads across his mouth as he rolls closer. Is he enjoying my display of awkwardness?

Anyway, you need anything, just dial reception. I take a step backwards.

Listen, I’m sorry about the other day. The kiss ... His eyes dance with mischief.

Are you honestly sorry? From the widening of his smile, I get the feeling he’s not at all.

Actually, no. Big brother thought apologising would be appropriate considering I live here, you work here, and I shouldn’t be causing problems. So again, sorry I might’ve caused some trouble for you, but at the same time, cheers for lending me your lips.

"That is by far the weirdest apology I have ever heard."

His shoulders drop slightly as a breath whooshes from his mouth. I just get a little crazy sometimes.

That’s understandable, I say in a soothing tone. Does your brother visit often?

There’s a long pause before Sam opens his mouth. Yeah. Whenever he can.

Does anyone else come to see you?

Darkness flashes across his gaze, sending a shiver down my spine. Not anymore, he grumbles and wheels himself back into the shadows of his plain, lonely-looking room.

I take that as my cue to leave. I need to learn when to keep my mouth shut.

As I exit the room, Nurse Paige and I cross paths.

She’s holding a small clear cup with an assortment of pills.

Chapter Three

Multi-coloured autumn leaves wash onto the aged timber flooring of my front porch. I know staring at them from my window won’t help my writing, but every time I focus on the blank page, the cursor mocks me. Why is this so hard?

I tap my fingernails on the timber desk on either side of my laptop. Stop wasting time, I mumble, looking around my poky lounge room.

For a while, I toy around with a blank Word document, writing the name Jane Rhynehart and J. Rhynehart and changing fonts over and over before telling myself to get back to work.

My grandmother was considered the queen of historical Aussie romance. Writing is in my genes. I should’ve taken the time to talk to her more about writing, but she left us sooner than we thought she would.