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Trouble in Tennessee
Tanya Michaels


People who knew Treble James called her Trouble. Although she'd returned to Joyous, Tennessee, to help her sister through a rough pregnancy, the townsfolk expected their former wild child to get bored and run back to Atlanta long before the baby was born.Even the town's new doctor was worried Treble's antics would upset not only the mother-to-be, but her ailing stepfather. Keith Caldwell might be handsome and worldly, but he loved the quiet town of Joyous precisely because it was safe and predictable. And after what he'd been through, he wanted to keep it that way.Keith starts to change his opinion on the benefits of peace and quiet when things heat up between him and Treble. But is the big-city girl going to leave him in the lurch, or will she stay in her former hometown and put the 'joy' back into Keith's life?









Trouble in Tennessee

Tanya Michaels







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Jen, with five years’ worth of gratitude. Thank you for everything you’ve taught me, for laughing at my jokes, for helping me find the right home for this story and for your uncanny ability to always pick the perfect restaurant.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen




Chapter One


“Please?” The word was simple and dignified. As if it hadn’t been preceded by twenty minutes of cajoling.

Even though they were on the phone, Treble James could picture the earnest expression in her half sister’s big blue eyes. “Charity, you know I’ll make time to visit after the baby is born, but—”

“How would I know that? You’ve been back home to Joyous all of, let me think, once in the past decade.”

Maybe that was because Joyous, Tennessee, had never quite lived up to its name for Treble. Stifling, Tennessee. That would have been appropriate.

“I was there for your wedding,” Treble pointed out, keeping a wary eye on the digital clock atop her bedroom nightstand. “You don’t think I’d make the trip for you again?”

“Then make it now,” her sister begged. It was unlike Charity to request favors, particularly those that inconvenienced other people. “I’m scared. The books say placenta previa isn’t all that uncommon, and my OB says mine isn’t a severe case and that panicking is no good for me or the baby…but I’m a first-time mommy. Having my big sister here would make me feel better. Besides, being on bed rest is driving me nuts! Come tell me dirty jokes or something, keep me from killing my poor husband.”

Charity doing harm to any living creature was laughable, but to Bill Sumner? They’d been smitten with each other since high school, as evidenced by their marrying shortly after Charity’s graduation. It blew Treble’s mind that her sister, at twenty-two, was expecting a child and had already been married four years. She hadn’t even been old enough to drink champagne at her own wedding! Treble had taken it upon herself to imbibe enough for both of them.

It had been the best way to cope with being in Joyous two weeks after a bad breakup with the boyfriend who was supposed to have been her date. Twenty-nine-year-old Treble’s relationship record—in contrast to Bill and Charity’s seven years together—was about six months.

“Charity, I don’t want to cut you off, but I need to leave for work, so—”

“You know what being pregnant makes you think about? Motherhood. I’m about to have my own little girl, and I wish Mom…Even though you’ve never been pregnant, you’re my closest female relative. It would mean the world to me if you were here right now. Mom would have wanted that, her two girls together.”

Treble did a double take, actually staring at the receiver. “I thought you were the good sister. Since when do you use emotional blackmail?”

“Is it working?”

Yes. “I really do have to leave for the station.” Charity’s soft-spoken barb had found its mark, though. Despite Treble’s cynical shell, she retained weak spots for her late mother and younger sister.

“All right.” Charity sighed. “I’m sorry to dump this on you. I know you have a career, a life in Georgia beyond all of us, but I miss you, Treb. And I love you.”

“Love you, too, brat.” The epithet had become a term of endearment over the years, but this evening it seemed particularly applicable. Didn’t her sister know what she was asking? To go to Tennessee early and just wait around for Charity’s due date in July…

Few citizens of Joyous would welcome Treble with open arms. More like the sign of the cross. She’d been a somewhat, ah, spirited youth, and folks in small towns had long memories.

Treble hung up, catching sight of herself in the oval mirror on the wall. “Don’t give me that look,” she chastised her reflection. “You don’t want to go back any more than I do.”

Talking to herself? Never a good sign. But Treble, a weeknight DJ for an Atlanta pop station, was used to addressing an audience. An audience she’d be late for if she didn’t get moving.

Although she would be in-studio tonight and not doing a remote broadcast at one of the clubs she occasionally visited, she stopped long enough to run a brush through the dark ringlets that spilled past her shoulder blades and to apply her favorite dark red lip gloss. Even if her listeners couldn’t see her, it helped her get into character for “Trouble J,” one of the most popular noncommuting show hosts in the city. While the best airtime was in the mornings and afternoons, when most of the working crowd was stuck in gridlock on I-75, I-85 or the 285 loop around Atlanta, Treble held damn good ratings for her period and liked the late hours that allowed her to sleep in on weekdays and leave her weekend free for a social life. Not, she reflected as she headed toward the parking garage, that she’d had much of one lately.

The last guy to ask her out had been a producer on one of the station’s other shows, and she wasn’t interested in merging her professional life with her personal life. The producer aside, she’d been subtly discouraging men for several months. She had been busy booking extra personal appearances for her off-hours, making the most of her minor celebrity status. The additional funds deposited into her savings account were the start of a down payment. Maybe it was the almost-thirty part of her, but when spring had bloomed, she’d actually been sorry she didn’t have a real house to subject to seasonal cleaning, and a yard to enjoy instead of a railed-in concrete balcony.

It was time she found a home of her own—a paradoxically domestic wish for a woman who would be on the air from seven-thirty to midnight playing rock songs interspersed with risqué commentary. Well, risqué within proper FCC guidelines, of course. No matter how grown up she was or where she moved, there was always someone who’d disapprove of her.

And in Joyous, Tennessee? Possibly hundreds of someones.

So what? Outside of ratings, she never cared what strangers thought. Witness “Trusty,” the eyesore of a car parked among other residents’ vehicles. If cars were status symbols, what did the hatchback say about her? That you take risks. It had been used when she purchased it during college, and couldn’t possibly have much life left in it. Still, now that it was paid off, she wanted to get her financing approved for a house before taking on new monthly bills.

But her rebellious attitude and antistatus-symbol car aside, opinions in Joyous would carry more weight than most. Maybe she was sensitive because some of the criticism from the town’s citizens would be deserved. After all, she had been something of a hellion, sneaking out to meet Rich Danner her sophomore year, trying to use a fake ID to get into Duke’s bar and “borrowing” her stepfather’s car to attend a rock concert two counties over after Harrison had refused to let her go with friends. The fall of her junior year, there had also been that period of indiscriminate and outrageous flirting. Everyone had heard about Rich dumping her before he left for college. She’d tried to hide her broken heart with drawled comments and suggestive smiles directed at any boy in range—even a cute chemistry teacher.

Despite the exaggerated gossip, she hadn’t meant to cause breakups between other classmates or steal anyone’s boyfriend. She certainly hadn’t planned for anything to ever happen with the chemistry teacher, no matter what the nervous guidance counselor had told Harrison in a meeting about Treble’s “acting out” for attention. The memory of Harrison Breckfield’s icy condemnation as he’d walked Treble to his car was enough to make her shiver even now. Harrison didn’t believe his wife’s death was any excuse for misbehavior. He’d pointed out savagely that Charity had lost a mother, too, yet continued to be a perfectly respectable daughter. Even if Treble had known how to articulate her unspoken insecurities, pride probably would have kept her from asking if Harrison had ever loved Treble, the born troublemaker, as he did his own child.

He had been the adult in the situation. Couldn’t he have reached out to his stepdaughter just once and assured her of her place in his home? Still, were bitter memories of Harrison not being there for Treble a valid reason not to be there for Charity now?



ON SATURDAY, Treble’s only scheduled appearance was at a mall grand opening midafternoon. Let’s just hope I don’t blow the small stipend I’m getting on cute shoes before I even leave the premises. Ah, retail therapy. Thank God for clearance sales and outlet stores.

A coworker from the station had recently invited her to do some outlet shopping near the Georgia-Tennessee border—Treble’s enjoyment over her finds had been marred by the guilt of being less than an hour and a half from the pregnant sister she hadn’t seen in four years. Treble knew she’d been a disappointment as a daughter, but did that mean she was doomed to be a bad sister, too?

Stop it. She refused to spend a sunny June morning cooped up in her apartment, agonizing over Charity’s recent request. At the very least, Treble could agonize by the pool.

After loading this morning’s juice cup and cereal bowl into the dishwasher, Treble changed into a fuchsia-striped bikini.

“You’re so lucky,” Charity had said back when she’d been selecting bridesmaid dresses. “You can pull off any color. I have to stay within three main hues or look so washed out I scare people.”

Untrue. Charity looked like an angel, a beautifully blond vision of their mother. Petite, fine-boned with flawless porcelain skin. Treble took after her biological father, the first of many men who’d been unable to commit to her. When she’d tracked him down after leaving Joyous, she’d been surprised at how handsome he still was. But the dimpled persona and rich drawl were just superficial niceties.

Treble had inherited his height, dark hair, bold features and almond eyes. And his tendency to run away? No, her leaving Joyous had been best for everyone, not an act of cowardice. Trouble J was audacious and unafraid.

She packed a tote bag bearing the station’s call letters with a towel, SPF protection, a black pen and a Sudoku book—one of the assistants at the station got her hooked on the puzzles—then hurried toward the front door. Fresh air would do her a world of good.

Outside, the warmth embraced her. Though the sun would be punishing in large doses, she looked forward to stretching out for a little while like a relaxed feline basking in the rays. Treble had barely situated herself in a poolside lounge chair when she heard her name called. She peered over the top of her sunglasses at the smiling Latina woman in a one-piece suit coming through the gate.

“Hey, Alana.” Treble waved, then waited for her friend to come closer so that they weren’t yelling over the commotion of kids splashing in the pool.

Alana Torres was a fellow tenant and friend. Sometimes Treble got the woman passes into clubs where Treble was broadcasting. Both of them were fans of high-octane action films, and they went to a lot of movies together when they were mutually between boyfriends. The curvy bank teller, however, had been seeing an airline pilot since February.

“Haven’t seen much of you lately,” Treble said as her friend dragged a chair closer across the concrete. “But seeing you now, you look incredible. Muy caliente.”

The woman lowered her dark eyes but smiled proudly. “Thanks. I haven’t entirely adjusted to the new haircut.” Since they’d known each other, Alana had worn her thick black hair long, but had had about six inches taken off recently.

“It’s sophisticated.” Treble put her hands behind her and lifted her own hair off her neck. “And probably a lot cooler.”

“My high school reunion is this month. I know it’s shallow, but I’m determined to look hot. Chubby girl’s prerogative.”

“I doubt you were ever as chubby as you felt, and you’ve already lost—what, fifteen pounds?”

“Twelve.”

“Promise me you won’t drop so much that you turn bony, okay?”

Alana laughed as she opened her sunblock. The citrus scent was strong, but preferable to the chlorine from the water. “Yeah, that’s likely to happen, given the way I’m addicted to the bakery across the street from the bank. Whoever invented soup in a loaf of bread was a diabolical genius.”

To Alana, baked goods equaled what cute shoes were to Treble—an irresistible vice.

Glancing around, Alana lowered her voice. “Thank goodness Greg has such stamina and creativity when it comes to helping me burn calories.”

“You mean his suggestions are more fun than jogging?” Treble grinned. “No, seriously, I’m asking. It’s been so long that I barely remember what it’s like to…burn calories.”

Alana returned her smile. “Your listeners would never believe you. I heard some of the advice you gave your callers last night and, girl, where do you get those naughty ideas?”

“Repressed sexual energy. It leads to a rich fantasy life.”

“You had a great show. I know you tease that your main concern is boosting the ratings, but I think you enjoy helping people. You’re a generous soul.”

Yeah, so generous she wasn’t even bothering to examine her schedule for the possibility of lending physical and moral support to her only sibling. Treble heaved a sigh.

“Don’t tell me work’s not going well?” Alana asked, misinterpreting her friend’s brief frown.

“It’s not the radio thing, it’s…You know the expression ‘you can’t go home again’? Let’s just say I always clung to that as kind of a guarantee.”

“Okay. And…?”

“Someone I really care about wants me to take a few weeks out of my life and go home. I think I’d rather have my show canceled.”

Alana winced. “That awful?”

“Hard to say. I’ve managed to avoid finding out for the past four years and was tipsy for part of my last long weekend there.” Her behavior had fuelled the fires of gossip.

While she wasn’t proud that she’d had too much to drink at Charity’s wedding, she didn’t feel she should have to apologize, either. The person with the real right to be annoyed was the bride, who had been so starry-eyed over Bill anyway, she wouldn’t have noticed if Treble had set herself on fire at the rehearsal dinner. In fact, one of the underaged bridesmaids had downed four glasses of champagne at the reception and thrown up in a topiary, garnering nothing but an off-color joke and some pitying “Guess she learned the hard way” comments. Treble, on the other hand, had been a legally drinking adult who neither table-danced nor drove anywhere while under the influence. Couldn’t a girl nurse a broken heart with a few festive libations without, the next day, her stepfather acting as though an intervention was in order? It was as if he held her to a high standard of behavior, then watched her, waiting for her to screw up.

Harrison had financed the open bar in the first place! Why was it no one minded when weathered, old farmhand Bobby Charles Picoult got buzzed on draft beer and started loudly guffawing at the same anecdotes he’d been telling since Treble first moved to Joyous as a girl? Because Bobby Charles is local color. You’re an outsider. Even though Treble had moved to Joyous right before kindergarten, by the time she’d left, she’d felt completely out of place. She doubted anyone besides her sister had been sorry to see her go. Even poor Charity had probably been relieved at the decrease in tension at home.

“A few weeks is a long time,” Alana pointed out loyally. “Do you have that much vacation? Whoever asked should completely understand if you say no.”

“Charity would understand. It’s not in her to whine or hold a grudge.” The thought made denying the request even more difficult somehow.

Well, Alana’s right, a few weeks is a substantial chunk of time. Weren’t first babies often overdue? There’d been a woman at the station who’d seemed pregnant for, like, a year; by the end of it, she’d been miserable, the size of a house and threatening violent death to anyone stupid enough to ask, “Still haven’t had that kid?” Treble couldn’t imagine sitting around her sister’s house waiting for an unknown date.

“I know what you mean about not wanting to go back,” Alana said. “I skipped my five-year reunion. I told myself it was because I was busy that weekend and most of the people I cared to keep in touch with, I already was. But that was just rationalizing. At the time, I’d been interning for a company, making less than minimum wage and sharing a closet-sized apartment with three other girls, but that job was supposed to lead to a great full-time position. Until the corporation declared bankruptcy and cut their losses, me included.”

Treble shot her friend a sympathetic look. Interning had been crucial to getting Treble’s foot in the door at the station, and she would have been devastated if no job had materialized. She loved having her own show, loved her listeners and the relative freedom of sharing her opinion over the airwaves.

“In high school,” Alana continued, “I was one of those socially acceptable nerds. Chubby and awkward, never with an actual date to a dance, but smart enough that I had my own niche with the other straight-A geeks. So when the reunion rolled around and I was minus a job and plus the college ‘freshman fifteen’ I never lost…It’s frustrating how the least healthy food is usually the cheapest. I felt like a total failure.”

“You’re not! Corporate America has many problems, none of them a reflection on your abilities. Also, you’re gorgeous.”

“Now, maybe. And it’s sickening how much I want other people to see that. I’ve asked myself a dozen times why I even care what they think.”

“Ever come up with an answer?” Treble’s comparatively small graduating class held an annual reunion in conjunction with the town’s July festival. She’d never once been tempted to attend.

“I don’t know.” Alana shifted on her lounger. “I think for most of us, adolescence is when we were the most insecure and vulnerable. Maybe when we’re around the people who knew us then, we think they can see those insecurities. Or maybe their presence brings back all our vulnerabilities the way catching an old song on the radio can lead to visceral déjà vu.”

Tell me about it. When Treble had helped deejay parties in college, there were one or two songs with such negative personal connotations that she tried never to play them. Then there was music that to this day made her feel good all over. Particularly the U2 song that had been on the radio her junior year at university when Brady McCall had…

“Something funny?” Alana asked. “You sure are grinning.”

“Um, it’s nothing.”

“Liar.”

“Ask me about it next time you invite me over for peach daiquiris.”

“It’s a date.” Alana scowled. “I’m going to hate it when you finally find your dream home and move out of the complex.”

“Hey, I’m looking in the metro area! Aren’t you spending half your time at Greg’s place anyway?”

“More like three quarters. So I guess I’m being a tad hypocritical about hating to see you leave. How is the house hunt going?”

“It’s on hiatus until I’ve saved up more. Nothing I saw was quite right anyway. Even the ones that didn’t need so many repairs felt…off. During a walk-through, I told the agent it’s like the perfect pair of shoes—occasionally I see some that are adorable, match an outfit I have exactly, but when I slide them on, they’re not comfortable. They’re just not me.”

“Maybe homes are something you have to break in, like boots?”

“Maybe. But when it’s worth the blisters, you know. No sense in my shelling out my life savings for something that’s wrong. I want a place that’s mine, one where I belong.” Although the only place where she’d truly felt that sense of belonging was at the station, her employers would frown on her sleeping in the studio, but, at least there, they liked Trouble.

Some of the people in her past would never like her, never approve of her, but avoiding them wouldn’t change that. What if visiting Joyous was not only a chance to help Charity but an opportunity for Treble to return on her own terms? She wasn’t expecting citizens to be thrilled to see her or her stepfather to applaud her job as a titillating radio host, but perhaps once she looked them all in the eyes and knew for sure that their opinion didn’t matter, memories of the past would lose their mythical power over her. She’d be free to visit her bouncing baby niece without dreading the homecoming.

On her next birthday, Treble would be thirty. Wasn’t that grown up enough to stop letting Joyous be some geographical boogeyman in her life? Maybe once she’d slayed the demons of her one-time home, she could return to Atlanta and start building a home that was truly hers.




Chapter Two


“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.




Chapter Three


By the time they’d rolled into town on picturesque streets flanked by storefronts and pink flowering crepe myrtles, Treble was so tense she felt as if her neck muscles might actually shatter. If Keith had noticed, he hadn’t commented. About all he’d done was occasionally bob his head in an endearing manner along to guitar riffs and drum solos. Maybe he was oblivious to her stress, but weren’t doctors trained to be observant? She’d flinched when they’d passed the town limits sign.

Technically it read Welcome To Joyous, Home of Famous Breckfield Ice Cream, but judging from her suddenly clammy palms and the unpleasant way her stomach had flipped, it might as well have proclaimed, Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here. Get a grip, girlfriend. Nothing scares you, remember? Well, except low ratings and spiders. She was only human.

A fan had asked her once if she ever worried about losing her train of thought or not knowing just the right comeback. Treble could say she truly wasn’t too worried about that. Saying something that got her called into the boss’s office the next morning was possible, but speechlessness? Unlike her. In fact, in times of nervous crisis, she usually talked more, relying on her radio persona until she felt balanced again.

She relied on chatting now. “Will you be taking me straight to my sister’s or are we going to the garage first?”

“Your call.”

“I do like an accommodating man.”

He shot her a quick look with those too-dark blue eyes. A shiver—the good kind—rippled through her.

“Penny for your thoughts,” she said.

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Doctors make decent money, even out here. I can afford to keep this to myself.”

“Spoilsport. Do you need to rush back to the practice?” she asked. “I missed lunch and owe you for the ride. I could buy us some barbecue.”

“Not necessary. This was a favor for Charity. But if you’re hungry, I’ll stop and eat with you.”

A favor for Charity. There’d been a protective note in his voice. If her sister weren’t so happily married, Treble might have entertained a twinge of envy. As it was, she found herself curious.

“So…you’re pretty good friends with my family?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She waited for him to elaborate before realizing he’d completed the thought and showed no signs of voicing another. Treble was nothing if not hardheaded, a trait her mother had remarked upon often. “How did you meet them?”

“In a town this size? I’ve met most everyone.”

She already knew he wasn’t as talkative by nature as she was, but now she got the distinct impression he was actually stonewalling her. Did he not want to discuss her family? It wasn’t as if she were a stranger nosing around for Breckfield secret recipes, for crying out loud. She was making small talk. Okay, and prying a little, too, but they were her family.

Maybe she should tackle his instead. “Do you have relatives in the area?”

“No.” His jaw tightened in punctuation.

Well, she was just batting a thousand. By the time they parked in front of Adam’s Ribs, her appetite was no longer her top concern. What had Keith heard about her? Charity wouldn’t have said anything bad, not purposefully, but the doctor was a friend of Harrison’s. Had her stepfather disparaged her? Was he glad she’d done the sisterly thing by coming home, or did he wish she was still in another state? Treble told herself she didn’t personally care, she just didn’t want any latent tension or awkward moments upsetting Charity this late in a complicated pregnancy.

Whatever bad karma was responsible for her defunct car apparently hadn’t finished toying with her. Feeling borderline apprehensive already, the last person she needed to see the second she stepped into the smoke-scented restaurant was Rich Danner. Now you know that’s not true, Treb. It could have been Mitchell Reyes… But her mind immediately shied away from that memory and the pain associated with it. Rich Danner was bad enough.

He’d been a high school senior, two years older than her, the year her mother had been killed by a drunk driver. Treble had desperately needed solace and felt outside the circle of grief Harrison Breckfield shared with his younger natural daughter. Blindly adoring, Treble had turned to Rich.

More than a decade later and he was still good-looking, she noted dispassionately. Was there no justice in the world? Ex-boy-friends who casually took your virginity, then moved on to college and older girls, were supposed to go bald and develop a paunch. It should be a law of physics. Rich’s black hair was close-cropped, but showed no signs of male pattern baldness. His body was as lean as ever.

Rich had been enjoying a plate of the best spareribs in the state, but looked up as if he’d felt her watching. For a second he was frozen with surprise. Then his lips curved into a slow, meaningful grin. As if he was remembering the “good times” they’d shared.

Good times that had ended one muggy August night. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you to wait until we can be together again,” he’d cooed with persuasive and patently false caring. “I’m moving on, and you’ll be here with football games and high school dances you shouldn’t be cheated out of. There will be plenty of guys your age who want to go out with you.” Yeah, especially after Rich shot off his mouth about how willing she’d been in the backseat of his dad’s Cadillac.

Looking away from Rich, she whirled around so quickly she almost collided with Keith, Treble conjured a bright smile and equally bright tone. “It’s been forever since I ate here. What do you recommend?”

“I’m fond of the pulled pork sandwich.” He raised an eyebrow. “I would have you pegged as a woman who liked to decide her own order without advice.”

Pouting prettily, she wagged a finger at him. “Shame on you, judging so quickly. Wouldn’t it be more fun to get to know me? I don’t bite. Well, rarely.”

He studied her, looking unimpressed. “Are you always so…flirtatious with virtual strangers?”

Embarrassment warmed her cheeks, but she refused to get defensive. “That was just joking around, Doc. If I decide to flirt with you, trust me, you’ll know.” Irritating man. She hadn’t been coming on to him. She’d been anxious after his responses—make that non responses—about her family, and seeing Rich had been the toxic icing on the cake. Would it have killed Keith to smile back at her? Surely a guy who looked like this had some experience bantering with women.

“If you decide to flirt,” he said blandly, “give me a heads up so I can be elsewhere. I prefer genuine to calculated feminine wiles.”

No wonder the man was good friends with Harrison. Two like-minded judgmental sticks-in-the-mud.

A gangly teenager with minor acne and major amounts of musky aftershave cleared his throat, making it clear Keith and Treble were blocking the entrance. The doctor mumbled an apology and steered her away with his hand on her elbow. His touch was gentle but seared her skin nonetheless.

She jerked her arm away, then sighed inwardly. Now she probably looked petulant on top of everything else. What if she approached the situation as she would a caller she had inadvertently offended? Debate and sassy comebacks were good for the show, but there was a line she didn’t cross when it came to antagonizing listeners. Why not just try the direct approach?

“Sorry if I was snippy there for a moment.” Unwilling to discuss the family part of how difficult coming home was, particularly when she had a feeling Keith was already prejudiced on the subject, she gave him the other half of the truth. “There’s an ex-boyfriend of mine in here.”

She gave Keith credit for not turning to scope the ex in question, which Alana would have done immediately. Then again, Alana was a friend with a vested interest in Treble; Keith most likely didn’t care.

“Bad breakup?” he guessed.

With aching, unwanted clarity, she remembered crying all night over the one-two punch of losing her mother, then her first love. She’d gone behind Harrison’s back and against his wishes to see Rich; learning that her stepfather had been correct in his assessment had only made her angrier. How could Harrison be so perceptive when it came to a teenage boy he barely knew yet remain so blind about how much Treble needed him?

She swallowed. “Bad enough. I wasn’t trying to use you to make him jealous or anything. I haven’t even thought about him in years. It was just disorienting, walking through the door and…Sometimes we’re not prepared to come face-to-face with our past, you know?”

“Yeah.” He glanced away, but not before she saw the sudden intensity in his eyes.

Her earlier annoyance faded into curiosity. She knew what her issues were. What lurked in Dr. Caldwell’s past that he’d rather not face?



LUNCH WITH Treble reminded Keith of his first-year labs in med school. Part of him had enjoyed the challenge while the rest of him was edgy because he’d sometimes second-guessed whether he knew what the hell he was doing.

Treble’s earlier moment of vulnerability had startled him, leaving him to wonder if he’d imagined it as she effortlessly dazzled the young man working the register. By the time they left the counter with their food, Keith concluded that his companion was as unpredictable as she was gorgeous, which was saying something. The more moods he watched play across that expressive face, the more the full impact of her beauty hit him. Did she know men were watching her as she sauntered across the room?

Of course she does. She paints her fingernails blue and carries bright red luggage. This is not a woman who hides from attention. And yet she’d seemed sincerely nervous about running into some long-ago flame. From her reaction, Keith guessed the guy must have dumped her. Had this ex been the jealous type and didn’t like others checking out Treble? Or maybe he’d been intimidated by her. Or—

“Well, well, well. Looks like Trouble’s back in town.” A man stopped next to Treble’s chair. “Time’s been good to you, darlin’.”

“Certainly better than you ever were,” she returned sweetly.

Or maybe the guy who dumped her was just a jerk, Keith concluded. He didn’t know Rich Danner very well except that the landscaper had moved back to Joyous about two months ago, apparently licking his wounds from a divorce. He’d remarked to Keith that they were the most eligible bachelors in town. “Us and Jason McDeere, but he’s raising a toddler, which puts us ahead in desirability. ’Course there’s plenty of fillies to go around for all three of us.”

Now, Rich was turning green eyes full of apology toward the “filly” he’d let get away. “Don’t be like that, Treb. I was a kid. Teenagers make bad romantic decisions.”

She reached for her sandwich. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Keith grinned at her implication, but the diss had obviously sailed over Rich’s head.

“I knew you’d understand. How about I join you, and we can reminisce about what good times we had before I screwed up?”

“Actually,” Keith interjected, his impulsive words surprising him, “I kind of wanted Treble all to myself for another few minutes before we have to leave. She was fascinating me with stories about her job as a DJ in Atlanta.”

Treble’s eyebrows shot up, but she played along. Truthfully, they’d never once discussed what she did for a living, but Charity had mentioned it. Whereas Harrison rarely spoke of his stepdaughter, Charity was effusively proud of her older sister, her naked affection almost masking her disappointment when Treble missed yet another holiday or birthday at home.

“Sure, buddy.” Rich held his hands in front of him and gave a quick nod of male understanding. “I get it. But, Treble, we’ll have to catch up some other time.”

When they were alone again, Treble said, “Thank you. I don’t need a man to rescue me, but I’m not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, either.”

“Does everyone born in Tennessee compare people to livestock?”

“What?” Lines of confusion furrowed her brow.

“Never mind. And you’re welcome,” he added. “That guy can get on my nerves.”

She nodded, taking a big bite of her sandwich and letting out a moan of pleasure. “God, I forgot how great Tennessee barbecue is. I mean, I knew I loved it, but this…This is better than sex.”

He squeezed his own sandwich and barbecue sauce ran down his fingers.

If she’d noticed, he would have been embarrassed, but she seemed oblivious, lost in enjoyment of her food. Some of the women in town would have fainted—blushed, at the very least—at having the word sex tossed casually into meal conversation, but Treble clearly thought nothing of it.

She washed down her food with a swallow of soda. “Earlier, you said people ‘born in Tennessee.’ So you’re not a native?”

“Nope. Charity first mentioned you when she heard I’d moved here from Atlanta. I went to med school and interned there. Grew up in Savannah.”

A city steeped in rich tradition and history, Savannah seemed like a good place for ghosts. He preferred to leave his there. In the E.R. of a major Atlanta hospital, he’d found himself dealing with too many reminders, too much trauma. He’d become a doctor because he wanted to save people, but if he’d stayed where he was, he was the one who’d wind up needing saving. So he’d found salvation in the relatively peaceful town of Joyous. He had the practice, real friends. Of course, Charity tutted that he’d be even happier once he found a girlfriend.

“It’s not as if there aren’t willing women,” she’d teased, threatening to count the number of foil-covered casseroles in his freezer.

He’d considered deflecting her interest in setting him up by suggesting she encourage her dad to date instead—Harrison needed something in his life besides control of the dairy business and grueling workweeks. But even though it had been a long time since Charity’s mother died, Keith didn’t push the idea of a replacement romance. Losing family was hard, and Charity had mentioned how much she’d been missing her mom lately.

“I suppose you think it’s pitiful that I called my sister and begged her to come be with me?” Charity had asked.

“Of course not.” The only thing Keith hadn’t understood was why Bill and Harrison had been so shocked Treble agreed. If Keith’s older sister were still alive, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her.

“Keith.” Treble’s voice was soft, but persistently inquisitive. “Are you okay?”

He met her eyes, not sure what to make of the woman. Her gaze was filled with what seemed like empathy, hardly the selfish person she’d been painted as in unflattering gossip. He understood better than most the value of a fresh start. Maybe Treble had changed, maybe she’d returned not only to help her sister but to earn her stepfather’s forgiveness for whatever youthful transgressions were in her past.

“I’m fine,” he assured her, “but a lousy lunch date, huh?”

“Well, you won’t be winning any awards for witty conversation, but you’re easy on the eyes, so it balances out.” Leaning forward, she lowered her voice conspiratorially. “You do know there’s a blonde in the corner who’s been checking you out, don’t you?”

His gaze darted in the direction she’d subtly indicated, and he spotted elementary school receptionist Dinah Perkins having lunch with two other women. When Dinah caught him noticing, she smiled and offered a small finger wave. Moments later, she and her girlfriends huddled into hushed conversation. Either they wanted to know who the stranger was sitting with Dr. Caldwell, or they already knew and, like Rich Danner, were intrigued by Trouble—er, Treble’s—return to Tennessee.

“Friend of yours?” Treble asked Keith.

“Just a friend,” he stressed.

How long had it been since he’d had a girlfriend? Med school and his stint at the hospital had been hectic, and since moving here he’d been…cautious. There’d been a few dates and a nice weekend when a female friend had come to visit, but if his love life hadn’t completely flatlined, its prognosis wasn’t rosy, either. Eventually, he wanted to find the right woman to make his fresh start complete, but now that he was fitting in, he didn’t want to jeopardize that with social missteps. Citizens gathered round their own, and if Keith broke up with a local girl, he risked becoming an outsider again. Maybe he was overanalyzing, but he hadn’t felt at home anywhere in a long time.

It wasn’t something he was willing to lose.

“About done?” he asked Treble.

She nodded. “I’ve taken up enough of your day. If you can swing me by the garage so I can give the mechanic my keys, you’ll be rid of me soon.”

Standing, she leaned over to grab a couple of napkins and clean off the table. He found himself looking straight into a tempting view of her cleavage. Stop ogling Harrison’s daughter! But forcing himself to turn away was damn difficult.

In one short afternoon, Treble had had more of an effect on him physically than any of the women he’d met in town. Maybe it helped that she had a body that was sinfully perfect, making him think of fallen angels, but he was a doctor. He’d seen lots of bodies, many of them undressed.

The sooner he delivered her to Charity’s, the better.

With the “downtown” area covering only a half-dozen blocks, it didn’t take them long to reach Carter and Sons. Keith had just pulled up to the garage when a mechanic in dusty blue coveralls emerged from one of the open bay doors.

“That’s Ronnie,” he told Treble. “She’ll have your car working better than when you drove it away from the dealership.”

“She?”

There was no need for him to answer since Ronnie was removing her cap. Sleek red-gold hair fell to her shoulders.

“Huh,” Treble grunted. “You know, before you came to get me, I was expecting ‘Doc Caldwell’ to be a good bit older. And Ronnie’s definitely not what I anticipated. Lots of surprises for such a sleepy little town.”

Sleepy? A twinge of foreboding rippled through him as he regarded the woman seated in his truck. He’d watched her varied reactions to Joyous—apprehension over arriving, sassy rebuffs to an ex-boyfriend, nearly sensual enjoyment of good barbecue—but now he wondered how the town would react to her. Treble James looked like a wake-up call waiting to happen.




Chapter Four


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?




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