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 laughed. “Nothing that dramatic. And only a really talented actor can pull off that bedside manner. The people of Joyous expect someone more traditional.”
“You got that right,” she muttered, a scowl darkening her face. But then she forced a smile and reached for the radio dials. A twangy ballad about a redneck Romeo seeking his honky-tonk Juliet spilled from the speakers.
“Yeesh.” She punched the buttons quickly.
“Not a fan of country music?” he asked. There were a few other options in this neck of the woods, but not many.
“My view on music mirrors my philosophy on men,” she told him with a mischievous glance. “I don’t have just one type, but I am selective. That song was bad on many levels. Ah. This is more like it.” She’d landed on a classic rock station for the opening chords of a late-seventies hit.
Keith smiled as he turned up the volume. “This one’s a little before your time, isn’t it?”
“Baby, I’m timeless.” She flashed him a grin that nearly had him skidding off the road.
It occurred to him that, since moving to Joyous, he’d been subjected to a much different male-female dynamic than he’d known in his twenties. Lately, potential romances involved aging couples with single daughters inviting him to Sunday dinner or available women bringing him frozen casseroles and gelatin molds. Treble hadn’t meant anything by her throwaway comment, but there was a lot to be said for a brazen smile and baby-doll T-shirt over a strawberry gelatin salad.
Not that Keith would ever do more than appreciate from a cautious distance the smile that belonged to the notorious prodigal stepdaughter of Harrison Breckfield. As appealing as she might be, the woman had trouble written all over her, and that was the last thing Keith needed in his new life.
Chapter Three
By the time they’d rolled into town on picturesque streets flanked by storefronts and pink flowering crepe myrtles, Treble was so tense she felt as if her neck muscles might actually shatter. If Keith had noticed, he hadn’t commented. About all he’d done was occasionally bob his head in an endearing manner along to guitar riffs and drum solos. Maybe he was oblivious to her stress, but weren’t doctors trained to be observant? She’d flinched when they’d passed the town limits sign.
Technically it read Welcome To Joyous, Home of Famous Breckfield Ice Cream, but judging from her suddenly clammy palms and the unpleasant way her stomach had flipped, it might as well have proclaimed, Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here. Get a grip,