feeling as good as new.” He helped his brother from the table. As he followed Will from the room he turned. “Would you like me to pick you up for tonight’s cocktail party, Emily?”
She shook her head. “Thanks, Prentice. But I’ll be heading up there early to see to some of the last-minute details.”
“Then I’ll see you there.”
When he and Will were gone, Emily looked up as Melissa poked her head in the examining room. “You’ve had three calls in the last hour from the tribute committee. They’re waiting for you at the Harbor House. They want you to check out the ballroom for tonight’s kickoff party.”
Emily sighed. “Why did I ever agree to chair this tribute to my grandmother?”
“Because you love her. We all do. And because nobody else in town was willing to see to all the little details the way you do.”
“Yeah.” Emily laughed. “Like they say, the devil is in the details.” She began unbuttoning her white lab coat. “I’ll run over to the Harbor House and see what they’ve done. But I have no intention of getting roped into making any changes in the decorations at this late date.”
“Right.” Melissa nodded her head. “And I believe that as much as I believe Cody Fletcher is going to skip baseball practice until his stitches come out.”
“Am I that transparent?” Emily sighed. “Don’t answer that, Mel.” She unlocked the door that separated the clinic from the main house. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
She pulled the door shut before making her way up the back staircase to the second floor. In her old bedroom she stopped to scratch behind the ears of a white kitten stretched out on her bed.
“You’re shedding, Angel. That’s why you’ve been banished from the clinic. Mel said she’s sick and tired of sweeping up after you. Besides, there are actually a few patients who are allergic to all that dander.”
The cat yawned and licked a paw with a bored expression.
Grinning, Emily stripped off the simple skirt and blouse she’d worn under her lab coat and slipped into a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt. It was best to be prepared, she thought with a quick glance in the mirror, in case the committee needed her help with last-minute decorations. She might talk a good game to Melissa, but she knew she’d end up pitching in with the work.
“I’ll leave the door open,” she called to the cat. “Maybe you’ll take the hint and shed somewhere else.”
Once in the car Emily opened the window and let the breeze take the ends of her hair as she mulled the path her life had taken. It was hard to believe she’d been back in Devil’s Cove for six months now, first to take care of her father, and then to take over his practice. The days and weeks had a way of blurring together here. At University Hospital there had been staff meetings, luncheons, daily tours of patients’ rooms and in-depth discussions of various treatments. Not to mention late-night dinners with David where, more often than not, they ended up debating articles they’d read in medical journals, or the latest controversial drugs being tested by a colleague.
David was Dr. David Turnley, a specialist in pediatric surgery who had hoped to persuade Emily to be his partner, not only in his professional life but in his personal life as well. It caught her by surprise to admit that there’d been no time to miss him since she’d returned home.
Here the care was much more personal in nature. She wasn’t just part of a team. She was a hands-on small-town doctor who was expected to stitch wounds, deliver babies, treat infections and dispense advice on everything from obesity to high blood pressure to clinical depression.
It felt good, she realized as she eased her car to the curb. For however long she stayed, it felt good to be back.
She turned off the ignition and studied the sprawling old inn that had graced the town of Devil’s Cove for more than eighty years. Painted white, with a gleaming black roof and black shutters, it was both stylish and graceful. A wide pillared porch along the front was dotted with white wicker furniture and pots of colorful flowers and trailing ivy. On one side was a lovely formal garden that sported curving stone walkways leading to a gazebo in the middle, which was often used for wedding receptions.
Emily made her way up the steps and inside the foyer, where Beth Collins, a college student home for the summer, was busy taking a phone reservation. She waved as Emily passed, then returned her attention to the guest register.
When Emily reached the ballroom she could hear the squeals of laughter even before she opened the double doors. She stepped inside to see half a dozen women huddled together while one harried-looking woman in bright pink sneakers stood in the middle of the room holding tightly to at least a hundred streamers attached to balloons.
“If someone doesn’t help me soon,” Marge Dawson pleaded, “I swear I’ll float all the way to the ceiling.”
“So will I,” another woman shouted. “And I won’t even need a balloon.”
There was a louder burst of giggles from the cluster of women.
“Okay, what’s going on?” Emily glanced around. “It looks like our tribute committee has been dipping into the punch.”
“Emily.” One woman separated herself from the others and rushed forward. “Wait ’til you hear.” She paused, her hand on her heart. “You’ll never guess who checked into the Harbor House today.”
“From the looks of all of you, Libby, I’d have to say Brad Pitt.”
“Even better.” Libby Conway tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. Her freckles seemed even more pronounced than ever now that her face was flushed.
The others nodded and gathered around, ignoring the pleadings of their friend with the balloons.
“Jason Cooper.” The name was spoken on a sigh. “Can you believe Jason Cooper is here in Devil’s Cove?”
Emily’s smile faded just a notch.
Seeing it, one of the women asked, “Didn’t you know he was coming, Emily? I mean, you are chairing this event.”
Emily didn’t quite trust her voice, so she merely shook her head.
“Did he even acknowledge the invitation?” another asked.
“No.” Emily was glad to note that her voice sounded as steady as ever. She hoped whatever turmoil was going on inside wasn’t visible to these women.
“Well, how can you expect someone as famous as Jason Cooper to answer every invitation he gets?” Libby giggled. “Have you read his latest book?”
“Hasn’t the whole world?” one of the women remarked.
There was a rush of nervous laughter.
“It was creepy,” one of them said. “The town in his book resembled Devil’s Cove. All those gory murders. I couldn’t put it down.”
“Me either.” A slender brunette shivered, then added, “I wonder why he didn’t tell anyone he was coming.”
“Too busy. He probably has a
