Читать книгу Trouble in Tennessee - Tanya Michaels, Tanya Michaels - Страница 8

Treble stepped down from the truck, shaking her head. She’d always teased Charity over her affection for routine. “Don’t you ever want to mix things up a little?” she’d asked her younger sister.

“Nope,” Charity had maintained. “Predictability suits me just fine.”

At the moment, Treble could use a few less surprises herself. “You’re the mechanic?”

The woman nodded. She was shorter than Treble, their height difference exaggerated by the mechanic’s flat-soled sneakers. Her clear jade eyes were lovely, but Treble wondered if men looked past the freckles bridging her nose and the shapeless, grease-stained overalls to notice.

“Ronnie Carter.” The redhead extended a hand, noticed some black smudges near her fingertips and winced, dropping her arm to her side. “Technically, Veronica. No one calls me that. My brothers use ‘Red,’ but only to make me crazy.”

Keith came around the side of the truck to stand with Treble. At his renewed nearness, her body hummed—it was like static electricity she couldn’t control. Try harder. The good doctor probably wouldn’t appreciate it if she drifted closer and stuck to his clothes.

“Afternoon, Ronnie,” he said. “Treble had some car trouble outside town, and I assured her you were the best in the state at taking care of the problem.”

“Flatterer.” Ronnie grinned at him, but then her eyes widened and she swung her gaze back to Treble. “Good Lord. You’re Treble Breckfield, aren’t you?”

“James. Treble James.” The distance she put between herself and her stepfather’s name was automatic, although at least Harrison Breckfield attempted to stand by his responsibilities. More than she could say for her biological father. “I’m Charity Breckfield’s sister. Er, Charity Sumner’s.”

“Wow. My brother Devin was crazy in love with you in high school.” Ronnie nodded thoughtfully. “I can see why.”

Treble couldn’t remember Devin but hoped she wasn’t awful to him.

“Daniel warned him that a guy two years younger didn’t have a shot.” Ronnie’s tone was matter-of-fact, not vengeful on her brother’s behalf. Good thing. A mechanic wielding a grudge was not someone you wanted tinkering with your engine.

Treble searched her memory for Carter brothers and finally landed on a name, though she couldn’t put a face with it. “Are you related to William Carter? He was in my grade. Salutatorian, I think?” Her high school graduation ceremony was a blur, mostly occupied by plans to leave that summer. Despite the times she’d been sent to the principal’s office for behavior problems, she’d kept her grades up and aced her SATs—college had represented her ticket out of town.

“Yeah, Will was the bookish one,” Ronnie confirmed. “Though you wouldn’t know it to look at him—he’s as hulking as the other two. He went to university in North Carolina and settled there. The rest of us stayed,” she said wistfully. Gifted mechanic or not, Ronnie didn’t sound one hundred percent satisfied with her life.

Well, who is? Treble ignored the impulse to draw out the conversation and brainstorm solutions; this wasn’t a radio broadcast. “So, Ronnie, are you as good with cars as I keep hearing?”

“No. Better.” The woman’s confident smile completely endeared her to Treble.

They chatted for a few minutes about where Trusty was parked, what the escalating symptoms had been before the vehicle died altogether, and where Treble could be reached.

“I’ll call you this evening at your sister’s,” Ronnie said after she’d filled out some paperwork and taken Treble’s keys. “I doubt I’ll have fixed anything yet, but I should at least have an idea of the problem.”

Moments later, Treble and Keith were back in the truck and en route to Charity’s house. Charity had issued several invitations to visit over the years, and Treble might have been quicker to accept any of them if her sister had moved more than four miles away from the Breckfield family manor. Treble wondered if she could ever step inside the ancestral home—built on profits of the century-old dairy—without immediately thinking that it seemed cold. She’d been four the first time she’d visited, once her mother and Harrison were seeing each other, and it had seemed large and drafty. Like the haunted houses in scary stories. It hadn’t improved her opinion that the place was full of antiques and Breckfield heirlooms that she was admonished not to touch.

At least Mom warmed it for a while. With her gone, the place had become positively glacial, full of long, mournful silence and, as Treble grew more rebellious in her teenage years, even colder arguments and chilly words.

“Hey.” Keith’s voice was amused. “I’ve seen people in hospital waiting rooms less nervous than you. Your car’s in great hands with Ronnie.”

“Hmm?” Treble followed his sidelong gaze to where she’d been drumming her fingers on the passenger side windowsill. “Oh, no, I…” On second thought, it suited her fine if he attributed her apprehension to vehicular woes and not her dubious homecoming.

“You what?” Keith prompted.

“I’m sure Ronnie’s terrific. I guess I’m anxious because I know the car’s on its last legs. Or tires, as the case may be. I need it to hold out until I find a house, get approved for financing and close.” The goal warmed her from the inside, and she smiled at the plans she couldn’t wait to start making. Decorating, furnishing, even landscaping. “My apartment’s become a bit claustrophobic over the past year.”

Keith nodded. “For me, the city got claustrophobic. A mentor of mine knew Doc Monaghan and let me know he was looking for a replacement. I’d never even heard of this place, but as soon as I moved…It’s like I could finally breathe again.”

She chuckled wryly.

“Guess that was corny,” he said, sounding more guarded.

“No. No, I was laughing at the irony. I feel free in Atlanta, whereas here I would suffocate.” Under expectations, the watchful eyes of nosy neighbors, the weight of the past.

“To each his own, right?”

“Exactly. To each her own.” Because her natural inclination was to fill dead air, when it became clear conversation had lagged, she turned back toward him. “So, did you always know you wanted to be a doctor?”

He stiffened, so imperceptibly she wouldn’t have noticed if her body weren’t bizarrely attuned to his. “It…seemed right for me.”

She hadn’t expected his profession to be a sore subject. Yikes, she’d promised her boss she wouldn’t lose her edge out here in the sticks, yet only a few hours in, she was already floundering her way through awkward chats.

“What about you?” Keith returned. “You always know you wanted to be a radio host? Charity makes it sound fascinating.”

Treble smiled self-consciously. “It probably seems more glamorous than it is because she’s lived in the same place her whole life and works for her dad.” The girl should have been named Patience; Treble would have snapped by now.

“You mean she’s easily impressed because she’s a local yokel?” Keith’s tone was deceptively mild, his delivery belying the disapproval of his words.

“I didn’t mean it quite like that. I adore Charity.”

He slanted her a look. “Yeah. I could tell you two are close.”

Was he being sincere? Had Charity painted a rosy picture of their sibling relationship? Which would be like her. Or was he being sarcastic, passively condemning Treble for not being a better big sister? He didn’t have that right.

I swear I’m better with people than this.

Well, not all people. Definitely not her stepfather. Or her actual father. Sometimes not even with her sister. But, normally, she was very popular with people who didn’t know her well.

It was being back in this town that was messing with her head. By the time she’d left here, she’d been full of misery and anger, feeling unloved and paradoxically going out of her way to be unlovable. She hoped for all their sakes that Charity had that baby on time and not a single day late.

“Just about there,” Keith said, apparently seeing—and misreading—her impatience.

She nodded, the cloudless sky outside her window vast. “I recognized this particular spot of nothing.”

Joyous had undoubtedly grown some over the years, but the town moved at a slower pace than the rest of the world, still relatively untouched by urban sprawl. Pastures and trees that had been there since before she was born existed today, and even though there were few landmarks on this last stretch before they turned onto the dirt road that would lead to Breckfield property, she could have found her way from here blindfolded. Having not been home in so long, the familiarity was unexpected. There were some blocks in Atlanta where new gyms grew overnight as if having sprung from magic seeds and, if you blinked, the restaurant you were used to driving past could be replaced entirely by a shopping center without you ever noticing the construction crews.

As promised, they reached Charity and Bill’s place a few seconds later. Keith took a left on Willy Wooten Drive—a mud strip probably no more than twenty feet long, named for a guy who’d once built a house there—and quickly encountered a paved fork. One finger of asphalt snaked its way up the hill and led to her stepfather’s house. Another jogged a shorter distance to a well-kept yard and honest-to-God white picket fence. Treble didn’t need to see the cheery Sumner stenciled on the mailbox to know this must be where Charity lived.

If Harrison Breckfield had ever run for mayor, he would have won by a landslide. So many townspeople were employed by or in some way affiliated with the dairy that the Breckfield family held a prominent position in the community. Yet Treble couldn’t help wondering why Harrison had never proposed that the town pave Willy Wooten or even offered to have it done himself—especially now that his pregnant daughter had to drive over it in all manner of weather conditions. His own vehicles must have jostled over the years as he plowed through puddles and potholes, but something about that very specific concrete, starting precisely at the Breckfield property and not one inch sooner, personified the man. He had clear boundaries. He stayed unswervingly within them and expected others to do the same.

There were both a garage and carport to the side, but Keith parked more casually in the curve of the circular driveway, right out front. The house was predominantly brick, although it had a cottage-style facade bordered by a railed-in wooden porch. Treble imagined Bill and Charity sitting in the double swing, discussing baby names and drinking cold lemonade. Of course, she could just as easily imagine Charity in the picturesque little house, singing as woodland animals helped her clean and making seven beds for seven little men.

Treble hadn’t finished climbing down from the passenger side of the truck when the screen door clattered and her sister appeared on the front porch. In deference to her current medical condition, Charity didn’t try to navigate the stairs and greet them in the yard. Still, her enthusiasm was evident even from several yards away.

“You made it!” she called to Treble.

“Thanks to your friend Dr. Caldwell.” Treble really was grateful to the man for riding to her rescue, even if their short time together had been…charged.

“Well, come in, come in. I have some iced tea freshly brewed,” Charity told both of them. She placed a hand over her distended belly. “Decaf, of course.”

Treble turned to collect her luggage, only to find that Keith had grabbed both suitcases and slung her duffel bag over his shoulder.

“You should at least let me get one of them,” she chided.

He half shrugged as he passed, repeating her words from their first meeting. “I’m able-bodied.”

I’ll say. Her gaze slid down from where his thick hair lay rumpled against his collar to his jeans.

She followed him up the stairs. Charity had stepped aside to make room for Keith and the baggage he carried, but as soon as Treble cleared the top step, the blonde swooped in for a hug. The sideways angle, not to mention the bulk of Treble’s unborn niece, made the embrace a little awkward but it was appreciated nonetheless. Treble couldn’t quite hook her arm around her sister so settled for patting her on the arm in greeting.

“Thank you for coming,” Charity said softly, still not letting go. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Treble said. “In triplicate. But, about my needing to breathe?”

Charity laughed, stepped back. “Guess I always was the hugger in the family.”

Well, it sure as hell hadn’t been Treble or the aloof Harrison Breckfield. “Like Mom. You have a lot in common with her.” As soon as tears began welling in Charity’s eyes, Treble wished she’d said something else. She struggled to lighten the moment. “Although, now that I think about it, that bone-crushing grip might have come from Harrison. Imagine the tackles you could have made if you’d played football!”

Harrison had been a college linebacker for the Tennessee Vols. At six foot three with steel-gray eyes, he was as formidable off the field as he’d reputedly been on it. Maybe Treble should have been smarter than to try making end runs around him, but she’d been sixteen. In theory, she was older and wiser now, but she was also a grown-up no longer seeking her stepdad’s approval. She was who she was, and she refused to make apologies to him if she liked her music loud and her heels high.

“Where’d I lose you ladies to?” Keith asked, sticking his head out onto the porch. He’d obviously set the bags down somewhere inside.

Charity sniffled. “Sorry. Just exchanging sisterly greetings.”

Keith glanced at the woman’s obviously teary expression, then shot Treble a look that bordered on accusatory. Two minutes and you already made her cry?

“We’re coming,” Treble said brightly. As soon as he retreated, she told Charity, “I hope I didn’t upset you. You warned me you were thinking about Mom a lot, and I didn’t mean to say anything that made you miss her more. I know I’m a poor substitute for her being here right now.”

Charity squeezed her hand. “It’s wonderful that you’re here. And I’m touched that you think I’m like her. Don’t worry about the waterworks. It’s the hormones. Honestly, all I do these days is cry—and eat Breckfield banana ice cream. Sometimes I cry while I’m eating the ice cream.”

Treble laughed, glad they were on less sentimental ground as they joined Keith in the cool, aromatic house. Charity’s air-conditioning bill must be a fortune, but the low temperature felt heavenly after driving in the heat for much of the day. Equally divine was the scent of spices and meat cooking. Treble had never been all that proficient in the kitchen, but she thought she smelled thyme and rosemary, underscored by sautéed onions. A little garlic? As her eyes adjusted to the comparative dimness of the living room, she stood still, breathing in the tantalizing scent. An archway at the far end led into a modest kitchen. Treble saw maroon laminate flooring and gold appliances.

“You.” Keith took Charity by the hand, steering her toward a rose-and-cream sofa. A rocker upholstered in matching fabric sat by the large picture window in the room, a wicker basket full of knitting supplies and remote controls tucked next to the chair. “Off your feet. Then explain to me how you whip up one of your gourmet dinners while adhering to your OB’s advice. Don’t make me call Dr. Whalen because you know she will kick your butt. Metaphorically speaking.”

Much as Treble wasn’t ordinarily a fan of men chastising grown women over their choices, she had to admit this was no time for Charity to be rolling out the welcome wagon. “He’s right. Well, I wouldn’t know about the doctor, but definitely the dinner part. Don’t you dare try to cook just because I’m visiting. You and this baby are what’s important.”

Leaning back against the couch, Charity shook her head, her honey-blond ponytail swishing. “Boy, you guys impress easily. I promise I wasn’t slaving over a stove. I gave Bill some basic instructions for what to throw in the Crock-Pot, then stood long enough to season it myself. Honestly, the most strenuous thing I’ve done today was lift a pepper grinder. I spent hours in the rocking chair with my feet up, watching television, dozing and talking briefly on the cordless phone to both of you. Those are all approved activities, aren’t they?” The impish grin she shot Keith made her look so young it was hard to believe she was going to be a parent soon.

He sat on the couch next to her. “If I overreacted, I did it because I care.”

“I know,” Charity said fondly. “You’re a good friend. You will join us for dinner, won’t you?”

“Um…” Keith darted a look toward Treble, who shifted her weight from foot to foot and tried to ignore feeling out of place. “I should check in at the clinic.”

Charity laughed. “Well, I wasn’t planning on eating dinner in the middle of the afternoon. Come back tonight. Bill and Dad said they’d be back by six, so I’ll have dinner on the table around six thirty.”

Treble cleared her throat. “You’ll do no such thing.”

“All right,” Charity amended. “Someone will have dinner on the table around six thirty.”

“Won’t I be intruding on a family get-together?” Keith asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Charity swatted him on the arm with all the force of a two-pound kitten batting string. She’d always been diminutive in height and build and, in some ways, her protruding beach ball of a stomach highlighted that; it was comically disproportional in comparison to the rest of her. “You’re like family. The more the merrier! Right, Treb?”

“Right. Sure.” Merry? Not the word Treble would have used to describe an evening with her stepfather, but rumor had it Keith actually enjoyed the man’s company.

It probably helped that when Keith spent time with Harrison, the conversation wasn’t laced with disapproval and derision over his dating life and career choice.

“I GOTTA SAY, Keith, I’m disappointed that you won’t find enough time in your schedule to at least go on a date.” Charity put her hands on her hips, but given her reclining position, it wasn’t as effective a stance as it could have been.

When he’d returned this evening, Keith had turned the sofa that served as a divider between the two rooms so that it faced the kitchen. It was a more comfortable choice than the four chairs at the small oval table—besides, the spindly-legged seats didn’t look sturdy enough for a woman in her final weeks of pregnancy. Tonight they’d eat in the dining room. For now, Treble was tearing and washing lettuce leaves while Keith sliced vegetables for the salad.

She was glad she wasn’t the one wielding the knife or her occasional glances at Keith, who was standing a foot away by the kitchen counter, could have been disastrous. He’d obviously showered before changing into a starched white button-down shirt and dark jeans, because the ends of his hair had still been damp when he’d arrived, filling the small room with the scent of soap and sandalwood cologne. And I thought the beef stew smelled delicious.

Keith could definitely make a girl’s mouth water. In fact, according to Charity, that’s exactly what he did. Girls throughout town were lusting after him, although Charity had put it more discreetly as the two sisters chatted over tea this afternoon.

“If I thought he was happy as a single bachelor, I wouldn’t nag him about finding someone,” Charity had said. “But, honestly, I’m not convinced he’s happy. We’re friends, but there’s a lot he still doesn’t tell me.”

“Not for a lack of your asking, I’m sure,” Treble had teased.

“I think he’s lonely.”

Since Keith had ignored Charity’s previous statement, his only response being a rhythmic chop chop chop, she pressed on. “I know your occupation is important to you, to the town, but do you really want your career to be the be-all and end-all of your existence?”

Treble stole another covert glance at the dark-haired doctor. He could have his pick of women in Joyous. Was he simply a loner by choice? The way he’d chatted with Charity earlier made that seem unlikely. Though he couldn’t discuss any medical cases, he still had lots of funny anecdotes about patients and their families, especially kids. His genuine smile when he spoke about them, compounded with his willingly coming here tonight to have dinner with a pregnant woman and her family, made him seem like a people person.

“Enough,” Keith warned his hostess, brandishing a carrot menacingly in her direction. “You have to at least feed me before interrogating me.”

“I thought I might be able to wear you down easier on an empty stomach,” Charity said. “You know, weaker state and all that. But now that you mention food…if Dad and Bill aren’t ready to eat soon, we’re digging in without them. I’m famished.”

Treble grinned at her sister’s newfound appetite, thinking about the snacks Charity had downed earlier. Healthy snacks granted, but plentiful.

Charity cocked her head, listening. “I don’t hear the water running anymore, so maybe Bill’s done with his shower. That just leaves Dad.” Bill had come through the kitchen door shortly after Keith arrived. He’d spared a nod for the doctor before smiling in Treble’s direction.

“I’d hug you, but I smell like cow.” Then he’d sent his wife a glance of such sheer adoration that it had almost been too intimate to watch. “Hey, gorgeous. How are you and that daughter of ours?”

Beaming back at him, Charity had assured him she and the baby were doing great. “But clean up fast,” she’d warned. “This kid is getting hungry again.”

By the time Treble was scooping all the salad ingredients into a large pottery bowl and Keith had his head stuck in the refrigerator to find Charity’s homemade dressing, Bill padded into the living room clean and nicely dressed, but barefoot beneath his khaki slacks. A man with calloused hands but a soft smile, he was solid, short and just the right height for Charity. He kissed his wife, giving her the greeting he’d postponed when he was gritty and malodorous. He rested his forehead against hers, his sandy hair a few shades darker than her blond. They were a well-matched couple.

Treble hoped that the listeners who periodically called her show, wistful for this kind of love, found what they were looking for, but she suspected it was more elusive than movie producers and greeting card companies would have the public believe.

As Bill entered the kitchen to see what he could do to help, Treble noticed his soapy, fresh scent was similar to the way Keith had smelled when he walked in the door. Recalling her visceral overreaction to the doctor, she mentally smacked herself in the forehead. So the man bathed—it took more than basic hygiene to impress her.

“Treble?” Keith’s voice directly behind her made her jump. “What are you doing?”

Trying not to imagine you in the shower. “Um, tossing salad?”

He peered over her shoulder at the nearly mangled lettuce. “Interesting technique you have there.”

Her face warmed. “Would you believe I learned it on one of those Food Network cooking shows?”

He laughed, the sound as rich as dark chocolate and just as addictive. “No, but you get points for creativity.”

“Yeah, I always did have an imagination.” She turned slightly as she said it, and their gazes collided. It wouldn’t have mattered except that he was just so close. Not crowding her or being overly familiar, just there, his body near enough for her to melt with its heat, his indigo eyes—

“I take it Harrison hasn’t called?” Bill’s voice broke the spell, and Treble seized the opportunity to scoot away from Keith while she had the good sense to do so. Her brother-in-law was staring down at the wristwatch Treble knew had been an engraved anniversary present from Charity. “He said he’d be here by six thirty.”

“It’s just that now,” Charity said. “Let’s set the table, and the timing will probably work out perfectly.”

They did, but it didn’t.

Bill sat on the edge of the couch. “We should go ahead and get you fed, sweetheart. Treble, you wouldn’t recognize her when she gets hungry. The woman turns mean.”

Keith scoffed. “Mean? Charity? You must have her confused with some other tiny blonde who has a Napoleon complex.”

“I do not,” Charity protested, glaring up at him with twinkling eyes.

“You’re a bossy nag,” Keith retorted with a grin. “If I’d known the dinner invitation was just another excuse to needle me about dating…”

Treble took a seat at the kitchen table, a safe distance from the doctor, and smirked at her sister. “He’s right, you know. She used to play ‘school’ with all her adorable stuffed animals and collectible dolls, and she was very strict. She’s the only person I know who’s ever given detention to a teddy bear.”

The men laughed, but Charity sniffed daintily. “Well, I wanted the best for Mr. Snuggles and he was never going to get anywhere in life if he didn’t do his homework.” She wagged her finger at Keith. “I only want what’s best for you, too.”

“So, what did we decide about waiting for Harrison?” Treble interjected. Funny how much she wanted to help Keith avoid the subject of his love life. Normally, she made a living off of commenting on people’s love lives or asking them to do so.

Charity frowned. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind us starting without him, but…this is a special occasion. Bill, if you’ll please freshen up my tea, I can wait a few more minutes to eat.” She extended her empty glass.

As Bill pressed the automatic ice maker, the refrigerator performed noisy variations of a churning grind, the sounds mirroring Treble’s stomach. She knew why Charity was so intent on this dinner, it would be the first time since the weekend Charity was married that the two sisters and Harrison had sat down for a meal together. But the night hadn’t truly started and already the déjà vu had her insides in knots. After her mother’s car accident, Harrison dove into work. In retrospect, she understood that had probably been his coping mechanism, but that didn’t excuse him for being late to meals or letting the girls eat with the housekeeper, Joan, while he had a sandwich in his study. Treble couldn’t truly say whether her initial stunts—shoplifting cosmetics, stealing Harrison’s car—were because she was trying to get his attention or because she was just so angry.

Charity, living up to her name, had always been more understanding, the family peacemaker. She’d been content with the moments of absent affection her father managed to give, the pats on the head in passing even if he wasn’t sitting down and asking about their day the way their mother had. Maybe if he’d looked at Treble the way he did his own daughter, she would have been content, too. What she usually got, though, were reminders not to talk back to her teachers and admonishments to change into shirts that weren’t so revealing.

Not that I’m bitter, Treble thought with a wry smile. Well, she was, but at least she had a sense of humor about it.

Charity sipped her sweet tea. “Oh, I almost forgot! Treble, I had Bill pick up a bottle of wine for you at the store. Could I get one of you strapping men to open it for us?” She glanced to Treble, her expression apologetic. “You usually drink white, don’t you? The selection in Joyous isn’t all that sophisticated, but—”

“I’m sure whatever Bill found will be fine,” Treble said. She would have been okay without a glass, but refusing seemed inhospitable. Bill was more a beer man than wine drinker, and it was a sure bet Charity didn’t plan to have any; Treble couldn’t let it go to waste. Of course, she didn’t intend to drink a whole bottle, either, so hopefully her stepfather and Keith would have some. Bill disappeared into the dining room, hunting through the china cabinet while Charity called out likely locations for the corkscrew they obviously never used.

Treble caught Keith’s gaze. “Join me for a drink?”

He took longer than necessary to answer, and she wondered what he’d been thinking. “Sure.” Turning, he opened a cabinet and reached for the wineglasses on the top shelf. It wasn’t the first time he’d known without asking where something was kept. He seemed at home here.

Home. During the afternoon, Treble had had ample opportunity to study her surroundings, not so much the floor plan and the furniture as the personal touches that made the place uniquely Bill and Charity’s. This was what Treble wanted for herself, this…sanctuary.

Because Bill was out of the room and Keith was wiping the infrequently used wineglasses with a paper towel, Treble was the only one whose hands were free when a quick knock sounded against the kitchen door.

“That must be Dad!” Charity looked giddy. “Treb, will you answer the door?”

“Of course.” Taking a deep breath and reminding herself this night was important to her little sister, Treble twisted the knob.

In the glow of the back porch light, Harrison Breckfield looked down on her. “Hello, Treble.”

“Harrison.” She swung the door wide and stepped out of the way.

“I understand you had some difficulty with the trip?” he asked as he entered the kitchen. His once black hair was now as gray as his eyes, yet that only made him look distinguished. It was something else—indefinable in his face, in his carriage—that made him look as though he’d aged.

“Nothing insurmountable,” she said. Come to think of it, she hadn’t heard from Ronnie the mechanic yet. Was no news good news…or silent foreshadowing that expensive parts needed to be specially ordered?