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“I will. I hope late afternoons will work because I’ll be teaching during the daytime.”
“That won’t be a problem. I’ll be taking late appointments two days a week and for a few hours every other Saturday.”
Paul let himself out of the room and returned to his desk. He updated Mable Potter’s file, added it to the stack, then looked at his watch. He should run to his father’s place, check on the old man, make sure he had eaten the lunch Paul had left out for him that morning. He hated himself for thinking it, but few things had less appeal.
Stacey stepped around the partition, another chart in hand. “Sorry, Dr. Woodward. Another patient just came in. Would you like me to tell her to come back after lunch?”
“What are her symptoms?”
“Sore throat, nasty cough, low-grade fever.”
Paul reached for the folder. “I’ll see her now, then I’ll take a break.” One thing about being in a small town, he could leave the clinic and be anyplace in five minutes.
“Thanks. I’ll get her set up in an examining room.”
He glanced at the file, recognized the name immediately.
Rose Daniels.
* * *
ANNIE WENT THROUGH the motions of preparing lunch without giving a lot of thought to what she was doing. Then again, why would she need to? She had made hundreds, no, more like thousands, of lunches. She had been making lunches for as long as she could remember. So while she put on a pot of freshly gathered eggs to boil and sliced thick slabs of home-baked wheat bread, her mind was elsewhere and her emotions were not in keeping with her role as maker of family lunches.
Her reaction to seeing Paul had been nothing short of inappropriate. He was her husband’s best friend! She had been surprised to see him, and happy, of course, but not that kind of happy. It was easy enough to explain her reaction. She had been terrified that something might be terribly wrong with Isaac, angry with CJ for letting Isaac fall, impatient with the admissions clerk. Had her emotions been irrational? Of course they had. They had been out-of-character for her, and that meant all of her other actions and reactions had been equally over-the-top.
The timer buzzed. Annie removed the pot from the stove and transferred the eggs to a bowl of ice water. While they cooled, she finely diced a couple of celery stalks, minced several green onions and chopped a bunch of fresh parsley.
Paul wasn’t just Eric’s friend. He was her friend, too. Of course she was happy to see him and relieved to know that he would be taking care of her son. She hadn’t been able to rely on anyone but herself for a long time and it had been a relief to let someone else step in.
If she was being honest, she had at times resented Eric’s carefree life. While he had gone off to college and earned a degree, Annie had stayed in Riverton and cared for her family. After they were married, she had stayed at home and baked bread while Eric had stayed after school and coached the senior boys’ basketball team all the way to the state championship. While she washed, folded and put away a mountain of laundry, he took a group of students on a ski trip. In all fairness to her husband, he had never demanded any of those things of her. He only had to ask, and she was all over it. She had willingly taken on all of the responsibility. She always had.
And you probably always will.
One by one, she plucked the chilled eggs from the bowl of water, gave them a gentle smack against the cutting board and peeled the shells.
Annie had been only six years old when her mother left. Even in the early days before her mother walked out on them, Annie had vague recollections of being the caregiver, fetching her mother a glass of water from the kitchen and the bottle of pills from the bureau drawer because Mommy had a headache. Keeping her younger sisters entertained because Mommy needed to rest. Making lunch for her siblings because Mommy wasn’t feeling well that day. Looking back, life had actually become a little easier after their mother abandoned them because there had been one less person to look after.
Her father had ended up in a wheelchair after a stint in Iraq. The details of that event had always been sketchy because he had sheltered his daughters from the horrific details. He had been the one person in her life who had truly needed looking after and yet she had very few memories of ever actually doing anything for him.
She dumped the peeled eggs into a crockery bowl and mashed them with her pastry blender, which was much more efficient than a fork, then tossed in the chopped vegetables, sprinkled on salt and pepper, scooped in some mayonnaise and stirred.
By the time she started high school, Annie had been everyone’s go-to gal when it came to getting things done. She had organized bake sales and car washes, served on decorating committees, volunteered in the school library and served on student council. She had been a going concern and so had Eric. The difference had been that she created posters for the car wash to raise money for the boys’ basketball team and made arrangements to hold it at Gabe’s Gas ’n’ Go, while Eric showed up in board shorts and dazzled all the girls by stripping off his T-shirt. And no one had been more dazzled than she. She always had to hand it to him, though. No matter how many girls flirted with him, he was always quick to point out that he was Annie’s guy, strictly off-limits. She would have done anything for him, and he had never hesitated to ask.
Annie slathered butter onto slices of bread, spread them with scoops of egg salad, added leaves of fresh lettuce, cut the sandwiches in half and arranged them on a large white platter. There. Another day, another lunch. Time to call her father, Isaac and CJ. As she set out plates, glasses, napkins and a pitcher of milk, she found herself wondering what Paul was having for lunch. And then resisted the urge to pick up her phone and call him.
* * *
PAUL HAD HEARD an earful about Rose Daniels from his long-time friend, Jack Evans. She was from Chicago, twenty years old, the daughter of a street person who’d been murdered in the spring. Jack, still with the Chicago PD at the time, had been the lead investigator in the serial murders of three women, one of whom had been Rose’s mother. In one of those bizarre, small-world coincidences, it turned out Rose’s mother, Scarlett, a drug addict, was also Annie Finnegan’s mother.
Scarlett had left her family in Riverton when her daughters were too young to remember. After Scarlett died, Rose had found out about her mother’s abandoned family and had surreptitiously come to Riverton to check them out. Annie, being Annie, had taken the young woman under her wing and welcomed her into the Finnegan fold.
Jack had talked about the case at length because, being engaged to Annie’s sister, Emily, he had a vested interest in it. Paul remembered him saying that, as a child, Rose had been in and out of foster homes. Now, with Annie’s help, she had moved here and landed a waitressing job at the Riverton Bar & Grill. From what Jack had told him, Paul also knew the young woman had a serious drinking problem and the attitude that went along with it. Understandable for someone who’d grown up with none of the advantages, but his sympathy was overridden by his concern for Annie, who clearly had enough on her plate already. According to Jack, Emily had been devastated by the news of what had happened to their mother and still hadn’t warmed up to her half sister, Rose. CJ wasn’t a fan, either. Annie, however, had become the young woman’s champion.
Paul closed the chart, rapped lightly on the door of the examining room.
A throaty “Come in” was followed by a phlegmy coughing fit.
He opened the door and paused. He had expected to see a fresh-faced young woman with intelligent eyes and a ready smile—she was one of the Finnegan sisters. Sort of. Yet, aside from the eyes, nothing about Rose’s appearance hinted at a connection to the Finnegans. She was thin to the point of being gaunt and her face had a sickly pallor. Black liner emphasized the dark circles under her eyes. Her side-swept bangs were disproportionately long compared to the rest of her sleek, dark, short-cropped hair. She sat on the edge of the examining table wearing one of the clinic’s faded blue gowns over tattered blue jeans and scuffed, black combat boots.
“Hi, Rose. I’m Dr. Paul Woodward. That’s a nasty-sounding cough.”
She nodded, clearing her throat.
Paul selected a tongue depressor from a glass jar and tore off the paper wrapper. “Open up and let’s have a look at that throat.”
As suspected, her tonsils were swollen and her throat an angry shade of red. She exhaled with the “ah,” her breath a pungent blend of tobacco smoke and alcohol.
“I’ll take a throat swab and send it to the lab,” he said. “Just to be sure you don’t have a strep infection going on in there.” After he sealed the swab and labeled it, he reached for a prescription pad. “I’m going to prescribe an antibiotic. I want you take this twice a day for ten days. And no alcohol while you’re taking it,” he said, watching closely for her reaction.
“Oh. Sure. I don’t drink much anyway.”
Right. Except for prelunch cocktails that had her smelling like a bottle of gin. He tore the sheet off the pad, handed it to her. “What about cigarettes?” he asked.
She responded with a one-shoulder shrug.
With his stethoscope, he listened to her lungs rattle as she wheezed a couple of deep breaths in and out for him. “If you ever think about quitting,” he said with as much gentleness as he could muster, “I can give you information about smoking cessation programs.”
“Oh, I can quit if I want to.”
Okay, then. “Fair enough. If you’d like to stop at the desk and book an appointment for a checkup next week, I should have the lab results by Tuesday. And while you’re at the drugstore getting the prescription filled, ask the pharmacist for a good cough syrup.”
“Sure.” It was all she managed to say before launching into another coughing fit.
“Good. I’ll see you next week, Rose.” He left the examining room and closed the door behind him.
He could see why the younger Finnegan sisters hadn’t warmed up to their half sister, but he could also see why Annie had rushed to her rescue. This young woman needed all the help she could get.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_2b14b730-a61e-53f0-98ec-ba8600aebc17)
ANNIE KNEW HER reaction to Isaac’s fall that morning had been over-the-top. Still, she played back Paul’s words over and over again. You did the right thing, bringing him in to have him checked him out. He had been gentle and patient with Isaac, and even gentler and more patient with her. Inexplicably, the back of her hand still sizzled from his touch. That reaction was also completely over-the-top.
She sighed, pressed buttons to preheat the two wall ovens. Her father had always said the kitchen was her domain. He was right. She loved this kitchen. She had planned and overseen the renovation down to the smallest detail and now it was, to her mind at least, the perfect combination of form and function, modern and vintage, all in a cheery combination of gleaming white with vibrant red and sunny yellow accents. This was the center of her universe, her very own command central, the one place where she felt completely secure and fully in charge. This was where everyone came to her for help and she gave it, no questions asked.
She lifted the flour canister off an open shelf, set it on the island next to the basket of eggs she had brought in from the coop not half an hour ago. From the fridge, milk and butter. Sugar, cocoa and baking powder from the pantry. From memory, she measured and sifted dry ingredients into a bowl. In another, she creamed the butter, eggs and sugar until they were pale yellow and velvety smooth. Isaac would have his favorite five-layer chocolate ganache cake for dessert tonight.
She pulled a set of cake tins from a cupboard, greased and floured all five and set them aside, ready for the batter. Folding the dry ingredients into the wet, she quickly stirred the mixture until it was smooth and poured the batter into the prepared pans and popped them into one of the ovens. After clearing away baking supplies and loading the utensils into the dishwasher, she turned her attention to dinner. Pot roast, she had decided earlier. A family favorite, and easy to make. She checked the temperature of the other oven and took out the roaster.
If she kept herself busy, she didn’t have to think about Isaac getting hurt this morning or how she had blamed the fall on CJ or how she had behaved like a neurotic parent at the clinic. And maybe she could avoid thinking about that thing with Paul. She didn’t need a shoulder to lean on. His familiar embrace had suddenly felt unfamiliar and new. It had caught her off guard, that’s all. Thank goodness he hadn’t noticed. But then, why would he?
She opened a bin, took out some potatoes. She had probably misinterpreted that moment with her husband’s best friend. She could call it relief that it was Paul who would examine Isaac, but that didn’t explain why she had invited him to drop by for coffee tomorrow morning. Nor did it explain why she had been secretly glad when he accepted.
But it was just coffee. Just Paul. He had been one of Eric’s best friends. He cared about her and Isaac the way friends did. The same way Jack did. Having Paul drop by for coffee was not a big deal, and she wasn’t the type to make something out of nothing.
So why was she overthinking this?
She browned the roast in a large skillet on the stovetop, transferred it to the roaster and slid it into the lower oven. Then she took a vegetable peeler from a drawer and attacked the mound of potatoes she had dumped in the sink.
She had loved Eric for as long as she could remember. Losing him in the spring had carved a huge hole in her life, one that left her aching and empty. Having Paul and Jack in Riverton would be good for her and Isaac. Especially Isaac.
Jack was about to become her brother-in-law and Paul was...just Paul, she reminded herself.
A movement at the veranda door caught her eye. Chester, the family’s aging retriever, sat patiently waiting to be let in. Annie dropped the last potato into a pot of cold water, then crossed the kitchen to let in the dog.
“Hey there, golden boy.” She gave his head a rub, fed him a biscuit from the jar on the counter. Chester crunched and swallowed the treat, ambled over to his water bowl for a drink, then carefully lowered his arthritic hips to the big red-and-gold plaid cushion that was his bed. For more than a year now, Isaac had been begging for a puppy. Annie had deflected his cajoling with a reminder that they already had a dog. Much as she hated to admit it, the old retriever wouldn’t be with them forever. The Finnegan farmhouse had never been without a dog and Annie knew she would have to relent one of these days. Just not this one.
With Chester snoring softly in his corner, she went back to work. She always welcomed an afternoon alone in the kitchen. After they’d come home from the clinic and had lunch, CJ had gone to work in the stable and their father had taken Isaac into town to pick up a few last-minute back-to-school supplies. They would be home anytime, though, and her solitude would come to an end. She loved her son’s boisterous boyishness, but she also cherished these moments of peace and quiet. There would be more of those moments once school started next week.
She could hardly believe her little boy was already in second grade. He loved school, especially reading and science and gym class, and already had a large circle of friends. He was so much like his father in so many ways, it made her heart swell with love and ache a little at the same time.
Eric would have been over-the-moon to have his two long-time friends in Riverton. With Jack about to marry Emily, he and Eric would have been brothers-in-law. He would have loved that. And now Paul was here, too. Still single and looking like a doctor on a Hollywood TV drama. What had they called that doctor on Grey’s Anatomy? McSomething. McDreamy? That was it. And that was Paul.
The shock from the way she had reacted to his embrace that morning stung again. She felt guilty, too. His relationship with her husband made these feelings inappropriate and downright disrespectful. Eric deserved better.
As she finished readying the vegetables for the pot roast, she could hear the front door swing open and Isaac barreled through the house, yelling a greeting. “Mom? Mo-om! Where are you?” He was heading straight for the kitchen because everyone knew this was the first place to look for her.
“Guess what!” He burst into the room, blue eyes alight, blond curls bouncing, grinning from ear to ear. “You’ll never guess!”
“Then you’ll have to tell me.” She pulled him close, carefully avoiding his bruised shoulder. “Using your inside voice.”
“We went to the hardware store ’cause Auntie CJ needed us to pick up a bridle for the new horse she’s boarding. And you know the dog that’s always at the store? Izzie?”
“I do,” Annie said, leery of the direction this conversation was headed.
“She has puppies! Five of ’em.”
Annie already knew this. She had gone into the hardware store earlier in the week to pick up paint for the chicken coop, and had immediately been drawn to the makeshift pen behind the sales counter, where Izzie had been sprawled on a blanket, nursing her impossibly adorable puppies. Having a soft spot for animals, especially an animal in need of a home, Annie had refused to let herself be drawn to those puppies. She already had all the strays she needed.
Isaac had other ideas. “A dog would be a good thing to get.”
“We have Chester.”
“But he’s not my dog, and he’s old.”
Both were true. Since Isaac was a toddler, Chester had tolerated him. Now he mostly ignored him. But a puppy? Puppies made messes on the floor and chewed the heels off shoes. Puppies needed to be housebroken and crate-trained.
Puppies were also a boy’s best friend. They taught kids to be considerate and compassionate and responsible.
“I need a puppy, Mom.”
“I’ll think about it,” Annie said.
“Yay!” Isaac raced back to the front door. “Gramps! We’re getting one of those puppies and we’re going to name him Beasley.”
Annie sighed. “Use your inside voice, please,” she called after him, but she knew he hadn’t heard. When it came to her son, she was a pushover, but he was all she had left of Eric and there was nothing she wouldn’t do for him.
Her father rolled into the kitchen. Isaac had climbed onboard and was sitting on his grandfather’s lap. He’d been doing this since he was a baby, but not for much longer.
“The way you’re growing, you’ll soon be too big to ride with Gramps,” she said.
Isaac flung his arms around his grandfather’s neck. “Then I’ll stop growing.”
Annie exchanged smiles with her father. “So what’s this I hear about a puppy?” he asked. His attempt at innocence didn’t fool her for a second and she immediately knew what she was up against. It wasn’t just Isaac who wanted a puppy, it was Isaac and his grandfather.
“I said I would think about it.”
The co-conspirators in the wheelchair exchanged a wink.
“So...” her father said. “Isaac tells me you saw Paul at the clinic this morning. Said the two of you have a date tomorrow.”
“It’s not a date. He’s just dropping by for coffee.” Annie felt her nose turn red as she debated which conversation was more awkward—dogs or dates.
* * *
EARLY SATURDAY MORNING, Paul fixed his father’s breakfast and served it to him at the kitchen table. Two soft-boiled eggs that Geoff Woodward deemed to be too hard, dry toast that wasn’t dry enough, coffee that was too strong. Afterward, Paul settled the cantankerous old man in his favorite chair with a newspaper, the television remote and a thermos of tea.
“I have patients I need to see this morning,” he said after he had washed the dishes and set them in the drainer to dry. Saying he was on his way to the clinic wasn’t quite true, although he did have to get there eventually. First he wanted to see Annie. He’d thought of little else since yesterday. If he was being honest, he didn’t just want to see Annie, he needed to see her.
“Fine,” the old man said. “Go ahead and leave me. You’re just like your mother.”
Paul knew better than to remind his father that Margaret Woodward had not walked out on her husband, she had died. Feeling a sense of abandonment was normal after the loss of a spouse—there was no point calling her a loved one, since he didn’t believe his father had ever experienced that emotion—and these feelings could be more pronounced in an Alzheimer’s patient.
“Walt Evans from across the street will stop by after lunch. He said he was hoping to have a cup of tea and a game of cribbage.”
“I hope he doesn’t mind me beating the pants off him.”
“I’m sure he won’t.” Their lifelong neighbor and the father of one of Paul’s oldest and best friends in the world knew as well as anyone that Geoff had always been a sore loser. Now if he lost, he was likely to toss the board across the room, pegs and all, and fling the deck of cards in its wake. Luckily for all concerned, Walt had been one of the few people who had managed to forge a genuine friendship with Geoff over the years. No surprise there. Jack’s father was always as cool as a cucumber, and Paul’s father was as approachable as a porcupine.
For now, Paul was comfortable leaving his father on his own in the house, knowing he didn’t yet have a tendency to wander. The disease would progress, though, and that day would come. Paul would deal with it when it did, but for now he could go about his day, confident that his father would still be here when he returned.
At first glance, Geoff was the same man he had always been—tall in stature, almost as tall as his son, hair not gray but silver, with the fit body and angular facial features of a man in his sixties. Of course, he was in his sixties. It was his mind that had decided to age prematurely.
It was the eyes that betrayed him. Sitting as he was now, ensconced in his recliner, remote in hand, staring vacantly at the dark TV screen...this was the man his father had become, and the speed with which the change had come about had been shocking.
Paul knew he should feel compassion for this man who was his father, but all he felt was resentment. For his entire career, Geoff had been a compassionate physician with an exemplary bedside manner. At home, he had ruled his family with a sharp tongue and an iron fist. Paul had looked forward to the day when he could flaunt his own medical successes in his father’s face and call him out on the years of verbal abuse. The Alzheimer’s had robbed him of the chance. It would have been one thing to have a mental sparring match with his father while he was sharp-witted and mean. Now, sadly, the old man was just mean, and having that conversation would be pointless.
For the millionth time in the past few weeks, Paul contemplated his fate and for the first time decided the fates had been fair after all. Riverton’s clinic needed a new doctor, his father needed someone to look after him and Annie was a single woman. None of these things would be easy, he knew that. He already missed practicing medicine at a big hospital. He’d had no idea how to relate to his father when he was in his right mind, let alone like this.
As for Annie, Paul had no idea how he would stop himself from acting like a fool. He knew one thing for sure, though—his shift didn’t start for two hours and Annie had invited him to drop by for coffee, so that’s exactly what he was going to do.
