Читать книгу Trouble in Tennessee - Tanya Michaels, Tanya Michaels - Страница 6

“Trusty, you move your chassis now,” Treble instructed the car, “or I swear I’m renaming you!” Traitorous Pile of Junk had a nice ring to it.

As warnings went, hers lacked oomph, but she didn’t want to threaten dismantling in case that invited even worse vehicular karma. The air conditioner had sputtered and died before she cleared north Georgia, blowing only warm air until she gave up and rolled down the windows. Then the fuel light had come on, alarming her. She should have had a full tank of gas…unless there was a leak? Not even wanting to contemplate that, she’d been thrilled when the light turned off by itself. Maybe the gas had just been sloshing around as she drove through mountainous territory and temporarily confused the monitoring mechanism.

Most recently, the “check engine” light had begun flashing. Concerned, she’d pulled onto a wide shoulder alongside fenced meadows to give Trusty a chance to cool down. After all, Treble rarely drove for this long at a stretch; the car might simply be overworked. Treble’s sensible plan had backfired, however, now that the hatchback wouldn’t start again. Turning the key only produced a grating sound that made Treble want to get out and kick something.

“This is the thanks I get for assuring Charity you’re roadworthy?” she asked the vehicle in exasperation.

Her sister had been ecstatic when Treble called Monday afternoon to say she was making the trip to Joyous. Treble had accumulated some vacation time at the station and almost never called in sick. All she’d had to do was explain to her manager that her pregnant younger sister was experiencing complications, and the father of four had been happy to help her schedule some replacement talent.

“It’s a nice way for up-and-comers to get experience and start building a name,” he’d reminded her. “We can also do a week of ‘best of’ clips where we replay interviews of favorite guests or phone segments. You go take care of your sister—just don’t get too ‘down-home’ on us. We need you full of sass and attitude when you get back.”

“Don’t worry,” she’d assured him. “I am all attitude.”

“I can’t believe you’re really coming!” Charity had squealed when she heard the news.

Neither can I, Treble had thought. “I should be in Wednesday afternoon. Or evening. I’m not what you call an early riser.”

“We’ll be watching for you. What are you driving these days?”

“Same car as always.”

There had been a brief pause before Charity said, “Maybe you should look into flights.”

Ridiculous. The nearest airport to Joyous was in Chattanooga. By the time Treble drove to Hartsfield—two hours early to allow for security and long check-in lines—caught her plane in Atlanta, deboarded in Chattanooga and met Charity’s husband for the ride to Joyous, it would have been just as quick to drive straight there. Besides, while Treble had talked herself into making this journey, keeping a getaway car at her disposal was mandatory.

“So much for being a reliable escape plan,” she growled at her motionless hatchback. She hadn’t expected a triumphant return, but she would have preferred something less embarrassing than being dragged into town limits by a tow truck.

Picking up her cell phone, she said a quick prayer that she could get a decent signal out here. She exhaled a whoosh of relief when the call to her sister’s house went through.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Charity. It’s Treble. I don’t suppose Bill’s there?” Bill worked in the office of a milk plant for Breckfield Dairy Farms and Creamery, but he’d been keeping sporadic hours to look after his wife. One of the perks of the CEO being your father-in-law. “I have a car question for him.”

“He and Dad went to look at some heifers one county over, but they’ll be back by dinner. Just how urgent is this question?”

Treble wondered how long it would be before any other drivers came down the two-lane road. “Oh…fairly urgent.”

“I knew it!” Charity’s voice took on a breathless, panicked rhythm. “That darn car. It’s crapped out on you, hasn’t it?”

As much as she would have liked to assure her sister otherwise, there was no escaping the reality of the situation. “Pretty much. But maybe we can save the I-told-you-so’s until after we’ve rounded up a mechanic?”

“Well, that would be Ronnie over at Carter and Sons, but Carter closes for a late lunch every day from two to three. How far away are you?” Charity listened, did some mental calculations, then decided, “I could have Doc Caldwell come get you. Ronnie can go back with the tow truck later, but there’s no sense in you just waiting on the side of the road.”

“Who is Doc Caldwell, and what makes you think he’s available smack-dab in the middle of the day on Wednesday?”

“A friend and sometimes fishing buddy of Dad’s. He’s Doc Monaghan’s replacement, moved to town right after Bill and I found out I was pregnant.”

Doc Monaghan had been the general practitioner in Joyous who’d told Treble’s mom that she was pregnant with Charity and later diagnosed Treble’s tonsillitis. He had to have been nearing seventy by the time Charity got married, so it was about time the town brought in someone else. Hopefully this Doc Caldwell still had a few good years left in him before retirement.

“As far as his schedule,” Charity continued, “he told Bill he didn’t have many appointments and could check in on me. I keep promising these men I won’t do anything more strenuous than get up to pee, but apparently they don’t believe me. I’d just as soon sic the doctor on you as have company show up when I’d rather be napping. Afternoons hit me hardest.”

Treble laughed. “If asking him to come get me will gain you a little peace, I suppose you should do it.”

Ten minutes later, Charity called back to say the man was on his way.

“Sorry I didn’t have any distinctive landmarks to give him,” Treble said, looking around at a whole lot of nothing. Wildflowers dotted the roadside, and bales of hay had been spaced across the meadow for unseen cows. Some people might find the pastoral scene beneath the blue sky and cotton-ball clouds soothing, but the charm had worn off, leaving Treble antsy for air-conditioning and antihistamine.

“Don’t worry,” Charity said. “He knows that if he sees Peggy’s Pancake House he’s gone too far. How many brunettes stranded inside old hatchbacks do you think he’s going to pass between here and there?”

“Good point.” So Treble settled into her car, which she was thinking of having compressed into a doorstop, and waited. She considered turning on the radio to help kill time, but taxing the battery was probably a bad idea.

To keep from screaming in boredom or thinking much about the inevitable moment she saw her stepfather tonight, she pulled out her omnipresent Sudoku book, but she couldn’t concentrate. Instead, she grabbed a small manicure kit from her duffel bag. Her fingernails were looking ragged and could use some attention.

She’d finished applying a second coat of metallic blue polish when a pickup truck rounded a bend up ahead and came toward her in the opposite lane. The scuffed white Chevy veered onto the grassy shoulder across the road and parked. From her position, Treble could tell it was a man driving, but between distance, dusty windows and the billed cap he wore, any other details were obscured.

Wondering if this was her stepfather’s buddy or just a random soul stopping to offer assistance, Treble watched with unabashed curiosity. The truck door opened and a pair of long, denim-encased legs unfolded. In addition to the jeans, the stranger wore a green polo shirt, the short sleeves loosely molding nice shoulders and revealing equally nice forearms. She climbed out of her car, experiencing a tingle of prurient appreciation over the man’s chiseled profile as he looked both ways for nonexistent traffic. The cautious habit made her grin, and she was still smiling as he reached her. As he got closer, she realized he was taller than her five foot ten by at least three inches.

Hellooo, Good-Looking Samaritan.

Beneath the Tennessee Vols cap he wore, he had thick brown hair and a fantastic face. Not blandly attractive in the urbane “metrosexual” way as some of her guy friends back in Atlanta, but rugged. Though he couldn’t be much older than Treble, there was a lot of character in the intriguing planes and angles of his face, the slashes bracketing sensual lips where dimples might appear when he smiled, the deep, deep blue eyes.

Charity had sky-blue eyes, nearly pastel. This man’s were dark like the ocean with serious potential for undercurrents that could suck a girl in without her realizing. Or protesting.

“Treble?”

Her body warmed when he said her name, making her feel silly. “You know me?” Had they gone to school together in Joyous? With her somewhat public antics, there were plenty of people who might recognize her before she recognized them, but she imagined this guy would have left an impression even as a teen.

“No, I haven’t had the pleasure.” He shoved the cap back on his head, that blue gaze sliding over her in assessment. “Keith Caldwell. Charity sent me.”

Treble was dimly aware of gaping. This broad-shouldered man with the piercing gaze and large hands, currently resting with thumbs hooked in his front pockets, was Doc Caldwell? Women in Joyous must be forming lines down Main Street just to get their temperatures checked—though a fever in the good doctor’s presence seemed a foregone conclusion.

HIS BRAIN ON autopilot, Keith extended a hand toward the woman in front of him. “Nice to meet you.”

There was a framed wedding picture on Charity and Bill’s mantel that included Treble, but the flesh-and-blood version looked less like the satin-clad demure brunette in the back row of a bridal party and more like the wild-child stories he’d heard since moving to Joyous. He’d never asked Harrison or Charity to expound on the gossip about the “ungrateful stepdaughter” and her unlawful habits of shoplifting and grand theft auto. Keith knew what it was like not to want to discuss a painful family past or self-destructive siblings.

“I’d shake your hand,” Treble drawled, “but I just painted my nails.” She waggled her fingers near her face long enough for him to notice the flash of blue, a color choice that made him think momentarily of frostbite.

He almost laughed at the irony since everything else about this woman said hot.

She wore a cropped black T-shirt, with sleeves so short it was almost a tank top, and denim shorts. While her outfit wasn’t unduly revealing for June, she definitely showed a tantalizing amount of supple skin. There was even a light sheen of sweat across her rosy cheeks. Whether she’d wanted her hair off her neck because it was cooler or she just customarily wore it up, she’d pulled the wavy mass into a haphazard topknot with a sparkly black barrette. Several strands fell free, however, giving her a look that was arrestingly bold when combined with her full lips, high forehead and the tiny cleft in her chin. Each detail from the almost indefinably exotic shape of her dark eyes to the sliver of bared skin at her midriff suggested she was a girl who liked to color outside the lines.

Or was he projecting based on speculation?

“You about done looking?” Treble asked, her tone amused.

Keith’s face warmed. He felt as awkward as a teenager caught ogling a hot substitute teacher. “Sorry. Guess I was surprised. For sisters, you and Charity don’t look alike.”

Treble’s eyes narrowed. “Half sisters. I’m sure as a doctor you understand how having different fathers leads to very different genetic makeup.”

Which part was she touchy about, Charity or the father situation? Harrison certainly looked tense whenever someone made mention of his stepdaughter. The last thing the older man needed right now was more tension, although that was something the family would have to sort out themselves.

For now, best to change the subject to something that didn’t make her glare daggers. “What all do we need to grab out of your car before we lock it up and go?”

“I have a couple of suitcases in the trunk.” She turned on her heel and headed toward the back of the vehicle.

Keith wished he could realistically offer to help get the car started, but his specialty was fixing people, not automobiles. He’d leave the mechanical maintenance to the professionals. Treble hefted two bright red suitcases, and he reached to take them from her.

She frowned, not letting go. “I’m able-bodied, Dr. Caldwell.”

“And so gracious,” he said mildly. “Why do I feel like we got off to a bad start?”

Silently, she handed over the cases, then ran a hand through her hair as if she’d forgotten it was pulled back, further dislodging ringlets that fell into her face. “Sorry. It’s been a stressful day.”

“Well, don’t worry. Ronnie will take care of your car, for sure.”

Treble laughed dryly. She followed him to the truck, strangely rigid for a woman with blue fingernails and carefree curls. There was more on her mind than automotive problems, but he didn’t pry. She didn’t owe him explanations in return for the ride. In fact, Keith frequently sought out chances to do favors for Harrison Breckfield and Charity.

Keith had first seen moving to Joyous as an escape—from the double loss he’d suffered in Savannah, from the chaos of working in an Atlanta E.R.—but it had become more than that. With the endorsement of the town’s leading citizen, Keith had gradually become a true part of the community. He had a brand-new life and was aware of how much he owed to Harrison’s support. When you were replacing a town institution like Doc Monaghan, people didn’t warm to you right away. Some old-timers didn’t cotton to the idea of progress and had repeatedly stressed the way Monaghan had done things. Meanwhile, husbands and fathers expressed discomfort—and occasional outrage—at the thought of Keith examining their wives and adolescent daughters. A few people had actually chosen to drive to the GP in nearby Devlin rather than visit “that young newcomer.”

Harrison Breckfield, however, had been propelled into the downtown clinic five months ago when he’d experienced chest pains. After a brief subsequent stay at the county hospital, Harrison had taken Keith under his wing. He’d invited the younger man to dinner, given him a tour of the original Breckfield Dairy—part of a Southeastern empire with its own line of milk, yogurts, cottage cheese and desserts—and made it clear to the townspeople the new doctor was to be trusted and accepted. Following that first dinner at Harrison’s gigantic house, office appointments had doubled and other invitations had gradually trickled in. Keith loved this town, its slow rhythm and the way he’d been accepted here. Though it would be crass to think of them as replacements for the sister who drowned or the father who later died, Harrison, Charity and her husband were the closest thing to family Keith had found since his mom remarried while he was away at college. If only Keith could pay back the older man’s generosity by getting Harrison to take his heart problems more seriously….

Temporarily lost in thought, Keith hadn’t realized how quiet it was in the cab of the truck.

“Um, Keith? Is it cool with you if I turn on the radio?”

“Of course. Sorry, I’m usually more companionable than this, I was just thinking about…a patient.”

“Stumped by a medical mystery?” she asked. “I occasionally tape episodes of House.”

He laughed. “Nothing that dramatic. And only a really talented actor can pull off that bedside manner. The people of Joyous expect someone more traditional.”

“You got that right,” she muttered, a scowl darkening her face. But then she forced a smile and reached for the radio dials. A twangy ballad about a redneck Romeo seeking his honky-tonk Juliet spilled from the speakers.

“Yeesh.” She punched the buttons quickly.

“Not a fan of country music?” he asked. There were a few other options in this neck of the woods, but not many.

“My view on music mirrors my philosophy on men,” she told him with a mischievous glance. “I don’t have just one type, but I am selective. That song was bad on many levels. Ah. This is more like it.” She’d landed on a classic rock station for the opening chords of a late-seventies hit.

Keith smiled as he turned up the volume. “This one’s a little before your time, isn’t it?”

“Baby, I’m timeless.” She flashed him a grin that nearly had him skidding off the road.

It occurred to him that, since moving to Joyous, he’d been subjected to a much different male-female dynamic than he’d known in his twenties. Lately, potential romances involved aging couples with single daughters inviting him to Sunday dinner or available women bringing him frozen casseroles and gelatin molds. Treble hadn’t meant anything by her throwaway comment, but there was a lot to be said for a brazen smile and baby-doll T-shirt over a strawberry gelatin salad.

Not that Keith would ever do more than appreciate from a cautious distance the smile that belonged to the notorious prodigal stepdaughter of Harrison Breckfield. As appealing as she might be, the woman had trouble written all over her, and that was the last thing Keith needed in his new life.