A Wedding in Apple Grove (25 page)

Her throat tightened; she didn't know if she was ready for this, but she remembered the nights she'd followed her father out to the barn and listened to the sound of his fists pounding on the sacks of grain until she wondered if he'd break one of his hands. “I do.”

“I've been thinking about it for a while now and I wanted to tell you first.”

“So just tell me, Pop. You dancing around what you want to say is making me crazy.”

He shook his head. “You're so much like her.”

Her belly clenched and she knew she had to say something to lighten his mood. “I know—it's the only reason I'm not still mad at Gracie and Caitlin for growing taller than me.”

He smiled. “It's more than your height and the color of your eyes, Meg; it's your spirit.”

She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “Thanks, Pop. Did Miss Trudi convince you to put your bio up on one of those dating sites?”

He laughed, a full-bodied sound. “Not on your life. I'm thinking of asking the Widow Murphy to have dinner with me.”

Meg liked Mary Murphy and knew that her father had been spending time with her. She wasn't sure she was ready for her dad to start dating the woman, but it wasn't her call. “Just dinner?”

“You're a grown woman. I'm sure you can figure things out for yourself.”

“Jeez, Pop, I don't know if want to think about you and the Widow Murphy doing anything other than eating.”

“I'm not that old, you know.”

“Kids don't ever want to think of their parents having a sex life.”

“Who said anything about sex?”

“Oh, so you're not interested in her that way.”

His face turned beet red. “I didn't say that.”

“Sorry, Pop, I just couldn't resist teasing you.”

“I just wanted to tell you that I've been thinking about it.”

She hugged him tight and asked, “When will you tell Gracie and Caitlin?”

“I'll tell them next; you were the toughest of my three little nuts to crack.”

She laughed. “Gee thanks.” He was halfway to the back door of the shop before she asked, “When are you going to ask her out?”

He frowned. “I'm working up to it.”

Studying the fierce look on his face, she knew it hadn't been an easy decision for him, but he'd been alone a long time. “Go for it, Pop.”

He flashed her a grin and then said, “There's something different about you.”

She laughed to cover up the uneasy feelings rioting inside of her. “I'm the same as I was yesterday.”

“I noticed it the other day.”

She shook her head. “It's just your imagination.”

He stared at her. “I don't think so. You seem just a bit lighter in spirit and you're smiling.”

“I've got jobs to see to and I'm running late.”

“Not because of me…”

She couldn't help but wonder how this would affect her family dynamic. Maybe the Widow Murphy wasn't interested in more than dinner now and again. Looking at her dad, she tried to see what a woman, and not his daughter, would see.

Broad-shouldered and tall, grays mixed in with the pin-straight auburn hair she inherited from him. He wore his high and tight, military style, from his days in the coast guard before he married her mom.

Cool green eyes watched her from a face she'd loved forever. Her dad had never been movie-star handsome, but with his crooked nose and rugged features, he was her image of the perfect man… well, except for when he was trying to tell her what to do.

“I like Dan, Meg. He's someone I think you'll be able to count on.”

She looked at her watch. “Thanks, that means a lot. But I really do have to go. Talk to you later, Pop!” Driving through town, her phone buzzed, but she didn't stop to look at the text message. It could wait until she got to Mrs. Winter's house. When she'd parked outside her friend's home, she read the message and stared at the photo, disbelief and unease sprinting through her system.

“This picture's worth more than a thousand words,” she grumbled, staring at the image of Dan shaking hands with Peggy McCormack, with Katie's hand on top of both of theirs. She answered Rhonda's message with a question
.
Why don't you find out what's going on instead of making it up? You might sell more copies of the paper.

Her friend was quick to text back.
Speculation always sells.

He's got a reputation to uphold. Please just ask him first, OK?

Rhonda seemed to have disappeared or gone in search of more information for her story. Before she headed in to see Mrs. Winter and the leaky elbow pipe under her sink, she had to warn Dan about this. She fired off a quick text with the picture, hoping he'd have a chance to look at it before the end of the day.

“Megan, dear,” Mrs. Winter greeted her. “It's so good to see you. How are things going with your young man?”

She shook her head; there was no use to denying it. “I guess good news travels fast.”

“Well, there was actually talk the day of Edie and Bill's wedding, but that was just the gossip chain gearing up. Why don't you sit down and tell me before you settle down under my sink?”

Meg wondered if there was time; she'd started her day later than she'd intended. “I'm running short of time. If you keep me company while I work, I'll fill you in.”

Her friend's smile was answer enough. “Is it as serious as Trudi says it is? I mean, after all, he is her grandnephew, but Miss Trudi does tend to exaggerate at times.”

Meg's grip slipped, and she smacked her knuckles hard on the cast-iron elbow pipe.
Damn
. She should pay attention to what she was doing. When blood oozed up from the split, she sighed and shimmied back out from under the cabinet.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Winter exclaimed. “You've cut yourself.”

She always carried a few first aid essentials in her toolbox. Mopping the blood with the paper towel Mrs. Winter handed her, she was reaching for the box of bandages when an age-spotted hand stopped her.

“You cannot cover it until you wash it out properly. There's no telling what kind of dirt is under that sink.”

She was about to protest, but the look in the older woman's eyes stopped her. She nodded instead and followed Mrs. Winter to the bathroom. “Wash it out good with soap and water first, while I get the peroxide.”

“It's nothing really—”

“Have you ever had a deep cut like that fester?”

Just the word conjured up images she'd rather not have whirling around in her tired brain. Now that she'd cleaned it out, she noticed that it was more of a gash than a split. Must have caught it on the edge of the pipe. Blood welled up again and her head felt light. “Uh… not that I can remember.”

“Well, Mr. Winter did.” The older woman handed Meg the dark brown bottle and a few cotton balls and watched while Meg cleaned the wound. “It was a bad cut from that old combine of his. Lord, that man was always scraping or cutting some part of himself—said the job wasn't finished unless he'd drawn blood.”

Meg winced at the thought and stared down at the blood welling up on her knuckles. She washed it out again and was pretty sure the white she was looking at was her knuckle bone. “I uh… think I'd better sit down.”

Fast on her feet, Mrs. Winter had Meg by the arm, sitting down on the lid to the toilet, and was shoving Meg's head between her knees. “Do not move while I call for help.”

“I don't need help,” she told her. “I just felt light-headed for a minute. I'll be fine.”

Mrs. Winter let go of the back of Meg's neck and stood with her arms crossed, frowning. “Put pressure on that cut with this.”

Meg stared at the fluffy white towel and shook her head. “Paper towels are fine. I don't want to ruin a good towel.”

“Damn the towel, Megan! You put pressure on that cut with this towel while I call Doc Gannon.”

Still a little shaky on her pins, Meg decided to listen and pressed the thick towel against her aching hand. It shouldn't hurt that much for just a cut. Should it? She couldn't remember the last time she'd cut herself deep enough to need stitches.

“I don't need to see Doc Gannon.” At least she hoped she didn't. Staring down at the towel, her hands started to shake. Funny thing about white, it sure turned crimson fast. Mrs. Winter scurried back into the bathroom and had Meg by the arm again. “Doc's waiting for us, dear. I'll drive your truck.”

“Pop doesn't let anyone but me drive Grandpa's truck.”

“Special circumstances. Let's go.”

A few minutes later, Meg was sitting with her head between her knees again—this time in the front seat of the Mulcahy's pickup with Mrs. Winter throwing the shift into reverse. Meg's head smacked into the dashboard when the woman shifted into second and floored it.

“That's gonna leave a mark.”

Mrs. Winter was patting her on the arm. “Not to worry, we'll be there in just a few minutes.”

True to her word, they pulled up outside of the white brick building at the opposite end of town from the sheriff's office. “I'm fine,” Meg protested as she was pulled out of the truck and up the steps.

“Well, Mrs. Winter, you're right,” Doctor Gannon said. “I can see the knuckle bone.” He caught Meg as her legs gave out. “Easy, Megan,” he soothed. “Just lay down right over here.”

Meg hated stitches. “Are you sure you can't just butterfly it? That's what I was going to do.”

“Hmmph.” Mrs. Winter sniffed. “She wasn't even going to use soap on it.”

Meg didn't want to see twin looks of censure, so she kept her eyes closed.

“I'm going to numb your hand.”

“OK.” The only thing she hated worse than stitches was the needle that came before the skin got sewn back together. She gritted her teeth while he injected the needle into her hand.

“What were you doing when you cut your hand?”

She concentrated on the soothing sound of Doc Gannon's voice. He sounded just like his dad. “Mrs. Winter has a leaky elbow pipe under her sink. I was fixing it.”

“You're going to need a tetanus shot.”

Meg's eyes shot open. She knew she didn't need one of those today, so she told him, “I'm sure I had one recently.”

Mrs. Winter leaned close. “Do you want me to call your father?”

Her gaze collided with that of her friend. “No. He'll just worry.” Turning her head to the other side, she watched as the man she'd grown up with tore open a package of sutures. There was a tiny vial on the stainless steel tray along with gauze and some Betadine. He knew what he was doing and had since he'd taken over his father's practice. “You probably checked my chart.”

He grinned and it was as if the years since graduation melted away and they were sitting in chemistry class together. “Probably. Come on, Mulcahy, it'll be over before you know it.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cherry lollipop. “If you're a good girl, you can have this.”

She looked from the lollipop to the sutures in his hand and the tray with the syringe. “Can I have one for the stitches and one for the shot?”

He laughed out loud, a warm, rich sound that put her at ease. “Some things never change.” While he worked he kept her talking. “Did you know my dad added that to your chart?”

“The part about not liking shots?”

He didn't look up from what he was doing as he answered. “No, the fact that you always bargained for two cherry suckers if you thought you could get an extra one out of him.”

“How is your dad?” She had always liked Dr. and Mrs. Gannon and missed them since they had retired to Virginia.

“Playing golf three times a week and bridge the other two.”

“Your mother sent the nicest card for my birthday,” Mrs. Winter told the doctor.

Before Meg could brace herself, the doctor had finished and had given her the shot. “Hey, not fair. I wasn't ready.”

Instead of answering her, the doctor handed her the promised lollipops. “Don't use that hand for a day or two and don't get it wet.”

“But I—”

“I want to take another look at it to make sure it's healing properly.”

Meg looked down at her gauze-wrapped hand. “How am I going to work today?”

“Let me think.” His voice was grave as he considered her options. “You aren't if it involves using that hand. Now, don't forget to have some orange juice with lunch; it'll help with your blood sugar.”

“But, Doc—”

He waved her away. “No buts or I'm calling your dad.”

“Man, you sound just like your father.”

“Thank you.” His smile told her just how much he appreciated the comment.

“I didn't mean that the way you took it,” she grumbled, hating the way she sounded.

“I'll overlook the fact that you're acting like you did when Sheriff Wallace rescued you from the crow's nest,” Doc Gannon told her.

“If you hadn't dared me to climb in the first place—” Meg began only to be interrupted.

“Ah, the melodious sound of my big sister griping because she can't stand needles.”

Meg frowned as her youngest sister walked into the examining room. “What are you doing here?”

Grace shrugged. “Mrs. Winter thought one of us should know, and since you told her not to call Pop, she called me.”

Meg turned to glare at Mrs. Winter, but the old woman was already frowning at Meg. “You should be glad there are people who love you and are worried about your welfare, young lady.”

“I'm hardly a young lady,” she griped. “I'm nearly thirty.”

“Half my age,” Mrs. Winter reminded her. “Now be a good girl and don't complain. I'll follow you two back to the shop and drop off the truck. Grace can drop you off so you can answer phones while she drives me back to my house.”