at church wasn’t high on his priority list.
But there was nothing he’d deny his father, even taking his adolescent sister to a service that meant little.
“Grace looks huge,” Jess commented around bites. More through them, actually. “I can’t wait to see the foal.”
“Next month. Valentine’s Day, I figure. Thereabouts.”
“If it’s a girl, we’ll name her Sweetheart,” Jess declared.
“Boys can’t be sweethearts?”
“Please.”
“Well, not at your age,” he added, firming his voice.
That brought a glare. “I’m nearly fifteen.”
“Six months,” he corrected.
“Five-and-a-half,” Jess shot back. “In a little over a year, I’ll get my driver’s permit. Then I can work toward my license.”
Marc sent her a teasing look. “If your room’s clean.”
“Grr.”
A third voice interrupted them. “Have you gotten so old you don’t kiss your dad anymore?”
Jess crossed the room in a flash. “I didn’t want to wake you.” She grabbed her father into a gentle hug. “You were sound asleep when I got home.”
“Pills.” Pete’s voice sharpened. He sounded disgusted.
“But you’re up,” she continued, “and dinner’s almost ready.”
Marc gave Jess extra points for her positive outlook. She always saw the bright side where their father’s care was concerned. “I’ll set another place at the table.”
Marc gave his father a once-over. “You don’t seem as foggy. Not like last night.” He didn’t add how scared he’d been, to see his father dazed and confused. Pete DeHollander had been a caricature of his true self. Not pretty.
Pete shook his head. “That part’s better.”
“Good.”
The phone rang. Marc grabbed the receiver, one eye on the stove, the other on the sports section. The Division One hockey team of St. Lawrence University was pouring on the steam as their season progressed. Sweet. Hockey and North Country were synonymous. If you lived in a climate rife with snow and ice, you better find something to make winter palatable.
“Mr. DeHollander?”
“Yes?” Marc pulled his attention from the scores with effort.
“Kayla Doherty,” the voice continued.
Marc bit back a groan. She still sounded perky, even this late. Was it a blonde thing? At the moment he wasn’t sure. And really didn’t care. As he turned to his father, she continued, “I wanted to follow up on the meds situation from this morning. Are the side effects still as strong or are you feeling more in control?”
“Wrong man.” Offering no explanation, Marc handed the phone to his father, fighting the rise of disapproval. “Your nurse.”
Pete’s eyes narrowed. “Miss Doherty?” His features relaxed as he listened. No way could Marc miss the ease in tension that had been prevalent the past few days, as if the nurse held all the answers.
Yeah. Right.
“No, that’s fine,” Pete told her, a brow shifting up. “We do sound alike. Everyone says so.” He glanced Marc’s way, paused, then bobbed his head again, eyes crinkling. “Yes, much better, thank you. Tired, but not confused.”
Marc listened, unabashed, as his father continued.
“I’d like that, too, Miss Doherty.” A brief silence followed, then Pete shrugged assent, his look intent. “Kayla, then.” His face relaxed, his eyes taking on a youthful gleam at whatever she was spewing, then he chuckled out loud. “I expect that would work with man or beast.” He nodded once more before he firmed his voice. “That would be nice. Thursday’s good.” Pete said his goodbye and disconnected.
Marc’s inner turmoil shifted upward. “What would work?”
“Hmm?” Pete turned Marc’s way while Jess hung up the phone.
The younger man pushed down impatience. “You told her something would work with man or beast. An odd thing to say to a nurse, Dad.”
Pete laughed again, a good sound, no matter what inspired the reaction. Or who. “She’s feeding cookies to a neighbor’s dog who offered to take a chunk out of her as she approached her apartment. Seems the owner’s away and the gate latch is broken.”
“Cookies?” Why did he not have a hard time picturing that? Marc humphed. “Who gives cookies to a dog?”
“It would work on me,” Jess proclaimed. “I could live on cookies.”
“Empty calories,” stated Marc, his voice gruff. Somehow the picture of the leggy, blonde nurse thwarting a dog attack with cookies increased his ire. Too late he realized his tone and words might be misconstrued.
Jess’s look confirmed his fear. Weight was an issue since puberty set in, and he’d just put his size twelve shoe in his big, stupid mouth. “I just meant—”
“I know what you meant.” Her eyes clouded. She looked away. “I’ll pass on supper, thanks.”
“Jess, I—”
“I’ll be upstairs. See you later, Daddy.” She swiped a kiss to her father’s cheek before charging from the room, her lower lip thrust out. Marc was pretty sure it trembled, too.
“Oh, man—”
“Marc, you’ve got to use a little sensitivity around her,” Pete protested.
Marc shot him an incredulous look. “I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. My mind was on cows, how we strive to balance energy food versus nutritional needs to achieve a proper ratio of fat to lean. Good marbling.”
His father eyed him, his features a blend of amazement and disbelief. “I don’t think that explanation’s going to do it for her,” Pete chided. “Comparing her to a cow might make matters worse. If that’s possible.” He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “I’m still trying to figure it out myself.”
“She’s too sensitive,” Marc returned.
“She’s fourteen.” Pete’s tone stayed matter-of-fact. “That’s how they are.”
“And how am I supposed to know that?” Marc asked. He slid into the chair opposite his father. “My experience with adolescent girls is limited to what I gleaned seventeen years ago in eighth grade, and let me assure you, I was more caught up with the physiological than the psychological.” He hoped his arched eyebrow clarified his declaration.
Oh, yeah. A grin tugged his father’s
