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
