get too ‘down-home’ on us. We need you full of sass and attitude when you get back.”
“Don’t worry,” she’d assured him. “I am all attitude.”
“I can’t believe you’re really coming!” Charity had squealed when she heard the news.
Neither can I, Treble had thought. “I should be in Wednesday afternoon. Or evening. I’m not what you call an early riser.”
“We’ll be watching for you. What are you driving these days?”
“Same car as always.”
There had been a brief pause before Charity said, “Maybe you should look into flights.”
Ridiculous. The nearest airport to Joyous was in Chattanooga. By the time Treble drove to Hartsfield—two hours early to allow for security and long check-in lines—caught her plane in Atlanta, deboarded in Chattanooga and met Charity’s husband for the ride to Joyous, it would have been just as quick to drive straight there. Besides, while Treble had talked herself into making this journey, keeping a getaway car at her disposal was mandatory.
“So much for being a reliable escape plan,” she growled at her motionless hatchback. She hadn’t expected a triumphant return, but she would have preferred something less embarrassing than being dragged into town limits by a tow truck.
Picking up her cell phone, she said a quick prayer that she could get a decent signal out here. She exhaled a whoosh of relief when the call to her sister’s house went through.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Charity. It’s Treble. I don’t suppose Bill’s there?” Bill worked in the office of a milk plant for Breckfield Dairy Farms and Creamery, but he’d been keeping sporadic hours to look after his wife. One of the perks of the CEO being your father-in-law. “I have a car question for him.”
“He and Dad went to look at some heifers one county over, but they’ll be back by dinner. Just how urgent is this question?”
Treble wondered how long it would be before any other drivers came down the two-lane road. “Oh…fairly urgent.”
“I knew it!” Charity’s voice took on a breathless, panicked rhythm. “That darn car. It’s crapped out on you, hasn’t it?”
As much as she would have liked to assure her sister otherwise, there was no escaping the reality of the situation. “Pretty much. But maybe we can save the I-told-you-so’s until after we’ve rounded up a mechanic?”
“Well, that would be Ronnie over at Carter and Sons, but Carter closes for a late lunch every day from two to three. How far away are you?” Charity listened, did some mental calculations, then decided, “I could have Doc Caldwell come get you. Ronnie can go back with the tow truck later, but there’s no sense in you just waiting on the side of the road.”
“Who is Doc Caldwell, and what makes you think he’s available smack-dab in the middle of the day on Wednesday?”
“A friend and sometimes fishing buddy of Dad’s. He’s Doc Monaghan’s replacement, moved to town right after Bill and I found out I was pregnant.”
Doc Monaghan had been the general practitioner in Joyous who’d told Treble’s mom that she was pregnant with Charity and later diagnosed Treble’s tonsillitis. He had to have been nearing seventy by the time Charity got married, so it was about time the town brought in someone else. Hopefully this Doc Caldwell still had a few good years left in him before retirement.
“As far as his schedule,” Charity continued, “he told Bill he didn’t have many appointments and could check in on me. I keep promising these men I won’t do anything more strenuous than get up to pee, but apparently they don’t believe me. I’d just as soon sic the doctor on you as have company show up when I’d rather be napping. Afternoons hit me hardest.”
Treble laughed. “If asking him to come get me will gain you a little peace, I suppose you should do it.”
Ten minutes later, Charity called back to say the man was on his way.
“Sorry I didn’t have any distinctive landmarks to give him,” Treble said, looking around at a whole lot of nothing. Wildflowers dotted the roadside, and bales of hay had been spaced across the meadow for unseen cows. Some people might find the pastoral scene beneath the blue sky and cotton-ball clouds soothing, but the charm had worn off, leaving Treble antsy for air-conditioning and antihistamine.
“Don’t worry,” Charity said. “He knows that if he sees Peggy’s Pancake House he’s gone too far. How many brunettes stranded inside old hatchbacks do you think he’s going to pass between here and there?”
“Good point.” So Treble settled into her car, which she was thinking of having compressed into a doorstop, and waited. She considered turning on the radio to help kill time, but taxing the battery was probably a bad idea.
To keep from screaming in boredom or thinking much about the inevitable moment she saw her stepfather tonight, she pulled out her omnipresent Sudoku book, but she couldn’t concentrate. Instead, she grabbed a small manicure kit from her duffel bag. Her fingernails were looking ragged and could use some attention.
She’d finished applying a second coat of metallic blue polish when a pickup truck rounded a bend up ahead and came toward her in the opposite lane. The scuffed white Chevy veered onto the grassy shoulder across the road and parked. From her position, Treble could tell it was a man driving, but between distance, dusty windows and the billed cap he wore, any other details were obscured.
Wondering if this was her stepfather’s buddy or just a random soul stopping to offer assistance, Treble watched with unabashed curiosity. The truck door opened and a pair of long, denim-encased legs unfolded. In addition to the jeans, the stranger wore a green polo shirt, the short sleeves loosely molding nice shoulders and revealing equally nice forearms. She climbed out of her car, experiencing a tingle of prurient appreciation over the man’s chiseled profile as he looked both ways for nonexistent traffic. The cautious habit made her grin, and she was still smiling as he reached her. As he got closer, she realized he was taller than her five foot ten by at least three inches.
Hellooo, 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