boundaries.”
He frowned. “And what happens if I have to cross them?”
“I’ll clam up and not talk to you at all.”
As he studied her, he seemed to gauge her level of conviction. “There are consequences to obstructing an investigation.”
“Do I need a lawyer?” she returned.
He blew out a long breath. “All right. You want to leave for now? Fine. Leave. But we’re not done. I need answers and I intend to get them.”
She could tell him he’d get those answers when hell froze over, but he was the one who held the power here. She was usually law-abiding and cooperative, but so much was at stake—the survival and reputation of Walnut River General.
Swallowing another retort, she picked up her purse, went to the door and opened it. Neil Kane didn’t say another word, but she could feel his gaze on her back as she left the conference room. She suspected he wasn’t the type of man who would give up easily. Still, round one went to her.
She wouldn’t think about round two until it was staring her in the face…until Neil Kane was staring her in the face.
Then?
Then she’d deal with him again after a weekend of chores, sleep and gardening. Next week she was sure she wouldn’t react to him so strongly. Next week she’d figure out how to be diplomatic. Diplomacy was usually her middle name. She’d just have to figure out why Neil Kane got under her skin…and make sure he didn’t do it again.
Most of the houses in Isobel’s childhood neighborhood had been built in the 1950s. She’d been five when her family had moved into the house on Sycamore Street, her sister Debbie seven, their brother Jacob three. She remembered the day they’d moved in to the modest brick two-story with its flowerpots on either side of the steps and the glassed-in back porch where she and her brother and sister played whenever the weather permitted. The neighbor on the left, Mrs. Bass, had brought them chocolate-chip cookies. The neighbor in the small ranch house on the right, Mr. Hannicut, had given her dad a hand unloading box after box from the truck someone had loaned him.
Isobel had never expected she’d be living back here again after being on her own since college.
The detached garage, which sat at the end of their lot in the backyard, only housed one car—her father’s. Because of the shoulder surgery he’d had two weeks ago, he couldn’t drive now. He hated that fact and so did Isobel because it was making him grumpy. Lots of things about his recuperation were making him grumpy.
She parked in front of the house knowing that he’d had his physical therapy appointment today. One of his senior center buddies had taken him.
Although May in Massachusetts brought warmer days, the nights could still be cold. Without a coat to protect her, she quickly opened the front door and called over the chatter of the television, “I’m home.” She’d phoned him late this afternoon to see how his session had gone and to tell him she’d be late. He’d been monosyllabic, not a good indication that he’d be in a better mood tonight.
After a glance at Isobel, her father flipped off the TV. “It’s about time.”
He rubbed his hand over his shoulder as if it ached.
Isobel tried to put her fatigue aside and remind herself what her dad must be going through. “I’m sorry I’m so late. As I told you on the phone, I had a meeting.”
“You need a job that doesn’t run you ragged fifteen hours a day.” John Suarez lowered the leg lift on his recliner, pushed himself to the edge of the seat, then used his right arm to lever himself up.
He was a stocky man who stood about five-eight. At sixty-eight, his black curly hair had receded but was still thick. His eyes were the same dark brown as Isobel’s. She’d gotten her red-brown hair from her Irish mother.
The stab of memory urged Isobel’s gaze to the photos of her family on the mantel above the fireplace.
Her father must have noticed. “She’d want you to slow down, go out and meet a nice young man and have some kids.”
“As if wishing could make it so,” Isobel murmured, then smiled at her father. “I like my work. You know that. And if Mom wants me to get married, she’s just going to have to toss the right guy down here in front of my nose.”
“I still don’t understand why you broke up with Tim. He treated you nice. He owned his own business. Bicycle shops are really taking off these days. Sometimes I think you’re just too picky.”
Picky? She supposed that was one way of putting it. After her mother died, she’d moved back in with her father to ease his grief, to help with the chores, never intending to stay permanently in her childhood home. But her dad had begun having shoulder problems and was limited in what he could do for himself. Isobel had always liked cycling and she’d bought a new bike. The owner of a cycle shop, Tim, had asked her out and over the next year they’d gotten serious.
But Tim had never liked the fact that she lived with her dad. He’d insisted that if her father needed help, he should move into an assisted-living facility. Isobel had already lost one parent and she’d known how much the family home meant to her father. How could she suggest he leave when he still felt her mother’s presence here? In the end, her father had been the reason she and Tim had broken up. Family was important to her. She’d never ignore or abandon them and that’s what Tim had wanted her to do.
“Tim just wasn’t right for me, Dad.” She headed for the kitchen. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll have that roast beef and mashed potatoes from last night warmed up.”
“Cyrus and I finished the pie Mrs. Bass made, so there won’t be any dessert,” he called after her. “You really need to go to the store. We’re out of ice cream and orange juice, too.”
“I’ll shop first thing in the morning, then I want to get out into the garden.”
“If you plant flowers, they could still freeze overnight.”
“I’ll cover them.” She just needed to work her hands into the earth, feel the sun on her head, and forget about everything going on at the hospital…especially Neil Kane.
For the next fifteen minutes, Isobel tried to put a meal together. Unfortunately, she left the roast beef in the microwave too long and the edges turned into leather. The mashed potatoes weren’t quite hot enough. The frozen broccoli was perfect—except her dad didn’t like broccoli. It had been the only vegetable left in the freezer.
After he tried to cut a piece of meat with one hand, he grumbled, “Spaghetti would be easier for me than this. Now if I could saw it with both hands—”
Isobel felt tears burn in her eyes. “It was the best I could do for tonight. Sorry.” She really wanted to yell, “This isn’t the life I’d planned, either.”
So many thoughts clicked through her head, memories of the meals her mother had made that had always been perfect in her dad’s eyes, the family get-togethers around the table every Sunday. But with her mom’s death and her sister’s divorce, Sunday dinner had dwindled into now and then. Life had changed whether they’d wanted it to or not. But her dad, especially, didn’t like the changes.
“Maybe
