Wedding at Willow Lake (3 page)

“Or, maybe you should just stop by my clinic and see if I can cure you of your pompous attitude.” She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Maybe there’s a vaccination for
that
.”

“If there was, you’d probably change your mind about using it. Kind of like you changed your mind about marrying me—about us and the plans we made for a life together.”

“I’m not sorry about the marriage part.” Though her voice remained strong, her eyes filled with tears. “We were too young. I was confused and—”

“Don’t. I’d rather not relive your infamous soliloquy.” He shook his head slightly and pressed the tea glass back into her hands. “Just tell me one thing, Cate. Are you still confused?”

The question startled her, and she paused for a moment as the world tilted just a bit. When she finally spoke, the words were stilted. “I can’t answer that. But I can say I’m not a child anymore.” Her vision blurred, and she swiped a pair of fingers across her eyes before tears spilled over and gave away her pain. “And you weren’t the only one who got hurt that day.”

“Is that so?” He brushed a hand across his chin as his eyes flashed with heat. “Well, just in case you’re wondering, doc, you might hang a medical degree on your office wall, but your bedside manner can use a boatload of work.”

3

Brody tossed the failed inspection report onto his desk and thought about kicking something. He stopped short of the coffeemaker and laid into a desk leg instead, giving three perfectly-aimed, sharp jabs to the oak.

“Struggling with some repressed aggression?”

“What?” Brody spun toward the lilting voice to find Catherine standing in the doorway.

Her large, expressive eyes narrowed with disapproval and a hint of mischief as they skimmed the length of him. The dimple at her right cheek deepened into a cute little wink.

“Oh…sorry you had to witness that.”

“You feel the need to apologize a lot, don’t you?”

“Is that an official diagnosis?”

“Preliminary.” A smile tickled the corner of her lips, causing them to tremble slightly. “I’ll need to take another look.”

“I’m requesting a second opinion, then.” Brody tried hard not to think about how much he’d enjoyed kissing her, especially when her lips did that intriguing little dance, bringing out a cute little dimple at her cheek. Maybe she was done being mad. He could only hope.

“You’ll have to drive into the next town over for that.”

“I guess your opinion will have to do, then.” He motioned her into the office. “I’m too busy to spare the time. And I’m sorry about last night…and mowing into you. I was a little harsh.”

“Yes, you were.”

“Not exactly the way I envisioned our reunion would be.”

“So, you expected a reunion?”

“I didn’t expect it…but I guess, somewhere deep down, I sure hoped for it.” He crossed his arms. “What are you doing here? I heard you’re pretty booked over at the clinic.”

“I am, but I try to make time for lunch.” Catherine handed him a white plastic bag filled with to-go containers. The aroma of roast beef wafted. “But if you’re too busy yourself, I can take this over to Hunter. I saw him working on the deck out back. I’m sure he’d find the time to devour it.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You know me better than that.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.” Catherine sighed and took a single step into the room. “No one knows me better than you do. We spent eighteen years together, seventy-two seasons.”

“You calculated that?”

“I can’t help it.” She shrugged and tapped the side of her head. “Always working. It never shuts off. We’ve been through braces together and bad hair and Driver’s Ed and…fill in the blank. We can at least be friends, can’t we?”

He wanted more than that…so much more. But pressuring her would get them nowhere fast. Best to tread lightly, take it slow and figure things out along the way. He was a patient man—to a point. “Is that what you want?”

“That’s why I’m here. And I’m too tired to banter like this. I’ve been up most of the night on an emergency call and my bones feel like jelly. So, truce?”

“For how long? A day, a week…a lifetime?”

“Don’t push it.”

“In that case…” Brody took the bag from her and peeked inside. Steam drifted, carrying the aroma of spicy roast beef covered in peppers and onions. “Mmm…is Dijon mustard slathered on this?”

“Of course.”

“You remembered.”

“How could I forget?” Catherine rounded the desk and brushed a hand over the leather seat of a rolling chair before slipping into it. “Roast beef on rye is practically a food group for you.”

“Paired with a Pepsi.”

“Easy on the ice.” Catherine handed him a jumbo foam go-cup. “Allows for more room for the carbonation and caffeine.”

“If roast beef is a food group, caffeine is a close second.”

“Not the best idea for your heart.”

“Are you worried about my heart?”

“I suppose so…in a purely professional sense.”

“That’s all?”

“For now.”

“Is there a door cracked open somewhere in the future?”

“Not a door. Maybe a window, and that’s iffy at best.”

“In that case…” Brody’s gaze rose to capture hers. “My heart’s been through the battle field. It’s strong as medieval chain mail. I can take it…whatever it may be.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep.” He shrugged and drew a swig of soda before tapping the cup and motioning. “Where’s yours?”

“I drank my iced tea on the way over but my sandwich is at the bottom of the bag, along with yours.” She nodded toward the sputtering coffeemaker. “And I’ll take a cup of that, if you have some creamer.”

“Powdered OK?”

“Not my first choice.” Her nose scrunched into an endearing little scowl of disapproval. “But I suppose it will have to do.”

“I can’t believe you let your sandwich commune with mine.” Brody stood and poured her coffee. “We’re making strides here.” He handed her the cup and placed a container of creamer on the desk in front of her. Her perfume, light and flowery, mingled with the roast beef and coffee. The combination of sweet and hearty was enough to make a man salivate.

“They tossed it in that way at the deli.” Her voice was soft and filled with a measure of sincerity. “Besides, I don’t want to argue anymore, Brody.”

“I didn’t know we were arguing.” He offered her a stir stick as she sprinkled creamer into her brew. “And you said my name just then. Better be careful with that. It might grow on you again.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous.” Catherine settled back in her seat, scowling at him over the rim of her coffee cup. “It’s bad enough that I have to look at your likeness every day on that infernal gigantic billboard. It stops traffic, you know.”

“Is that so?” Brody grinned. “Well, I’m glad to hear my marketing budget has been well-spent. And maybe…just maybe…my image will grow on you, too.”

****

“So, you haven’t told me yet. Why are you kicking things?” Catherine scanned the length of Brody. The years had been good to him. In their younger days he’d been more on the thin side, quick and rangy. His hair was a bit darker now, but remained a mix of sand and sun. His eyes, blue-gray as a churning sea, still made her pulse skitter when he looked at her. It was such an odd feeling…one she’d thought had died the day he left for the Keys. “And yelling at your coffee maker?”

“The city’s inspection this morning didn’t go quite as planned. The grounds have a few areas that need attention.” He lifted his fingers to make air quotes as he spat the latter words, his gaze darkening to a glower. “I don’t get it. I was provided a list of infractions a few weeks ago and I addressed every item to the last detail, plus a dozen more that weren’t even critical. Everything should be in order.”

“I went through the same thing with the clinic. Did the inspector’s name happen to be Sam Bivens?”

“How did you know?”

“Cousin to John Larder, arch nemesis to all. That family is nit-picky, for sure. Sam went so far as to make up infractions just to keep me from opening. Every trip out that he makes is another payment to the city coffers…or his slippery pocket. He’s going to continue to give you trouble.”

“I don’t have time for trouble. I’m scheduled to open for business in a few days. I already have bookings lined up for the next six months.”

“I can pull a few strings for you.”

“What kind of strings?”

“I have my ways.” Catherine simply waggled a finger at him. “Don’t sweat it. You’ll be approved for business by morning. Now, next on the agenda is that nasty-looking gash along your finger. What happened?”

“It’s nothing.” He grabbed a paper towel, pressed it to the wound to stop the flow of blood. He’d been so busy kicking things…and staring at Catherine…that he hadn’t noticed the jagged slice along the back of his left hand. “Jigsaw slipped and grazed me while I was working on a design for the waiting-area benches, that’s all.”

“You have a first aid kit?”

“Of course, and it’s the mack-daddy. Hunter brought me a couple of the same kits they stock down at the fire hall. I didn’t want to fail inspection on that account. Silly me, I never imagined that, instead of safety features, the inspector would have an issue with the number of weeds growing alongside the deck.”

“Where’s the kit?”

“I’ll never tell.” Brody shook his head. “I don’t like needles, and I know you too well. You’ll try to stitch me up like you did that day I took you fly fishing after graduation.”

“I only stitched you because you begged me to. You didn’t want to tell your dad you’d been messing with his tackle, and that you took his boat without permission.”

“The fishing hook went in clean. I could have done without the stitches but you salivated over the opportunity to test your skills.”

“That hook may have gone in clean, but it came out ugly. You tore your arm to shreds trying to remove it because you got impatient. You should have gone to the emergency room.”

“And then faced my dad’s wrath when he found out? No, thanks.”

“He found out anyway, when you bled all over the boat seats and failed to clean them up.” She frowned and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “Plus, there was that little issue of an infection that set in.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Brody rubbed a hand across his forearm. A few days following the accident, poison had attacked his system. “That staph infection was worse than any wrath Dad might have lobbed my way. I still have the scar to prove it.”

“You fibbed about the tetanus shot, and it came back to bite you too when you had to have a shot for that on top of the antibiotics for the infection. So…” Catherine stood and rounded the room, searching for the kit. “Is the box mounted to a wall, on a shelf in here…or perhaps hidden beneath your desk?”

“Hiding it would be foolish, and definitely against city regulations.” Brody stood to block her path. “This isn’t necessary. I’ll wash up and be fine. Besides, our sandwiches are getting cold.”

“The sandwiches can wait.” She gave him a death glare, and then jabbed a finger over his shoulder. “Oh, there it is. Nice planning, Brody. It’s right where I might have imagined.” She winked at him and grinned. “I hope you’ve stocked a needle and some thread, along with a bottle of antiseptic. The kind that leaves a good sting. This is going to be fun.”

“Hey, aren’t you bound by the Hippocratic oath to relieve pain, not cause it?”

“Sure. But that doesn’t apply to former boyfriends—I mean, fiancés—who break a girl’s heart.”

4

“Ouch, than smarts.” Brody gritted his teeth as Catherine swiped peroxide across his tender wound. “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave a little skin, please.”

“I see some sawdust flakes embedded. I’ll need to flush them out.” She glanced up at him. “Hold still. You’re worse than a five-year-old.”

He cocked an eyebrow, offering a sideway glance. “I think you’re enjoying this.”

“I enjoy helping people feel better.”

“Well, I don’t feel better.”

“Trust me. You will.” She gave the wound another swipe, held tight to his finger as he flinched once again. “But you’re so impatient. I see nothing has changed—in that department, at least.”

“Maybe you should give my finger a little kiss.” He leaned forward in the chair, grinning though the wound stung like the dickens. “That’ll do the trick.”

“Very funny.” She paused her swiping to glance up at him. “And, no. I won’t even blow on it. Germs, you know.”

“Doesn’t hurt a guy to try.” He sighed and clenched his teeth, shifting back in the seat again and resigned to accepting her purely professional care. “Will it need stitches?”

“I think you dodged a bullet this time. A butterfly bandage ought to do the trick, if you’re careful. But if you tear it back open…”

“I promise I’ll take it easy for the next few days, doc.” Brody crossed his heart. The scent of her perfume, soft flowers, made it hard to process a single clear thought. Long, silky hair skimmed his thigh as she leaned over him, launching his pulse into overdrive. He cleared his throat, hoping his voice didn’t betray his tangled emotions. “No sawing or hard labor for at least the next twenty-four hours. Scout’s honor.”

“Make that forty-eight and you’re good to go.” Catherine applied the bandage, smoothed it, and then stepped back, satisfied. “There. I think you’ll live.”

“Not if I don’t eat something soon.” Brody flexed his hand and then, satisfied with the outcome, placed it over his growling belly. He wasn’t sure if the churning was caused by hunger or the rampage of need she’d awakened with her touch. His next words held double meaning. “I’m starving.”

“In that case, you’re cleared for lunch.”

“Finally.” He stood and backed away before he said something he’d regret. He was starving, all right, but not in the way she imagined. Dangerous ground. Time to divert and switch gears. Warning lights in his brain signaled impending danger—the train was about to fly off the tracks. He reached for the carafe. “More coffee?” His voice was gruff with need.