by Anna Adams
“Do we ring the bell?” Ian asked at the top.
“I used to storm in when I was a kid, but it doesn’t feel right now.” She pushed the lighted button beside the door.
Immediately the floorboards inside squeaked. Beveled glass distorted her grandmother’s white hair and smiling face, but the woman turned into Gran as she swept the door open.
“Evening, you two. I hope you brought your appetites.” Gran hugged Sophie until she struggled for breath.
“You just saw me a couple of hours ago.” But she hugged back, in response to Gran’s need for affection. Had her grandparents argued again? The terse conversations she’d overheard this week were starting to worry her.
“You both look so lovely,” Gran said.
“Ian’s handsome.” Sophie spoke in a loud whisper, teasing both her husband and her gran.
“Yes, he is. You’re a lucky woman.”
Ian’s chuckle broke midstream as Gran wrapped him in a loving clinch, too. “Are you all right, Mrs. Calvert?”
“Greta.” Gran let him go. “I’m fine. Just happy to see the two of you looking relaxed together. Follow me. Seth did something mysterious with brie and cranberries and some sort of a bread shell this afternoon. I’ve been scenting it since I got home, and I can’t wait any longer.” She peeked over her shoulder. “You don’t mind eating in the kitchen, do you, Ian?”
“I’ll eat Calvert cooking anywhere.”
“Except mine.” Sophie earned a wry grin from her husband.
She reached for his hand again, hoping he’d be comfortable with his first real dose of the Calvert matriarch and patriarch, up close and personal. A stray wish that her grandparents would enjoy him tonight crossed her mind. She felt silly the moment she acknowledged the thought, but she couldn’t shake it. She wanted him to feel part of the family, not one of the singles.
Gran led the way to the kitchen, holding the swing doors open behind her. The moment Sophie set foot into the light, movement and sound erupted around the large room. Family burst from behind the long, butcher-block island and the even longer rustic pine table her father had built in his youth.
“Surprise,” they all shouted, entirely out of unison.
Sophie backed into Ian’s solid chest. His arms closed around her, and his chuckle vibrated down her spine.
“Where are your cars?” she asked.
Aunt Eliza, in a voluminous Worship The Cook apron, flushed from her labors, pounded for silence on the butcher block. “Where are our cars? Not thank you for this party and for all the lovely gifts we’ve stashed in the living room? Not I’m glad to see all of you together for the first time since I’ve come home?” She turned to the rest of the family. “Let’s scoop up those gifts. If we do a gift grab, we’ll all take something home.”
“Can we, Dad?” Zach and Olivia’s son, Evan, seemed eager.
“You can’t play with the knives,” his sister, Lily, answered for her father. “You’re not a circus guy, you know.”
Confused, Sophie looked to Olivia for an explanation.
“The circus was in Knoxville, and they had a knife thrower.”
“You’d think they’d be careful about suggesting such things to children,” Zach’s mom, Beth, said.
Sophie looped an arm around each of her opinionated aunts and then sampled a lively round of affection from all the other Calverts. She lost track of Ian until they both ended up at the cranberry-brie end of the tastily laden table.
“They must have hidden their cars,” he said in a low voice so close to her ear he drew goose bumps all over her flesh.
With powerful discipline, she just managed to avoid begging him to follow up on the tingles. “You may feel you have to get to the bottom of this, but you’d better put a lid on discovering their hiding place until we see if we don’t want the gifts.”
Molly brought them plates and napkin-wrapped utensils. “We’re eating buffet-style tonight. Help yourself.”
“Sit down, Sophie.” Ian tried to take her plate and silverware. “I’ll bring you something.”
She evaded his hands. “You underestimate my current appetite.” Besides, she belonged at his side, making sure her family treated him right. Woe betide the cousin who acted as if Ian were an outsider who’d “compromised” her.
All progressed well. They met Zach over Aunt Beth’s world-famous coleslaw. “You’re not hogging your mom’s slaw, are you?” Sophie asked.
He passed her the spoon. “She brought me an extra dish I’ve stashed in the fridge downstairs.”
“You have to try it, Ian. You’ll never eat anything else as long as you live.”
“There’s nothing to it.” Aunt Beth always protested as if her coleslaw fame bewildered her. Nevertheless, any Bardill’s Ridge function brought clamoring cries for her specialty. “You just chop it up and… I’ll give you the recipe, Sophie.”
Ian had unwrapped his silverware and he tasted a bite from the helping Sophie dished onto his plate. “Mmm. I have to side with my wife. You take that recipe, Sophie.”
Everyone at their end of the room laughed, and Sophie gave in to a sense of relief. Zach joined Ian in a low-voiced, abbreviated discussion of his latest assignment. Sophie finished piling her own plate high and went in search of her grandmother.
She finally spotted Gran, atypically alone on a tufted chintz ottoman across the living room from Grandpa. She was picking at a sparse meal.
“Not hungry?” Sophie sat, sending her grandfather a worried glance.
“I helped Seth finish when I got home from work. For some reason cooking always depletes my appetite.”
Sophie tucked into a yeasty roll. “What I’d give for a problem like that about now.”
“And I’m afraid I sampled while I performed the ritual ooh and aah at your grandfather’s skill for carving the turkey and ham. That man thinks he deserves a medal for wielding an electric knife.” Shaking her head in wifely exasperation, Greta studied the contents of Sophie’s dinner. “You are watching what you eat?”
Sophie wafted the mother lode in front of her. “Mostly veggies.”
“And two bread servings, I see.”
Aunt Eliza’s yeast rolls were as irresistible as Aunt Beth’s slaw. Brazenly Sophie tore a bite off one, glancing at her grandfather again, and changed the subject. “Why are you two maintaining positions on opposite sides of the room? Are you on the outs?”
“Not at all. He’s having a word with your uncle Patrick about the bed-and-breakfast. He’s hiring their dining room for some dinner the circuit court retirees are planning.”
Sophie suspected more behind weariness in her grandmother’s smile, but she knew the family rules. Gran meddled. Everyone else stayed out of her business.
“You know,” Sophie said, “Ian and I were talking the other night, and he mentioned an idea I’m interested in pursuing.”
“Good.” Gran’s smile became even more strained. “You two should work together now you’re married. A good marriage comes from team effort.” Her glance washed over her own husband before she managed to focus on Sophie.
“You’re starting to scare me, Gran.” She didn’t dare say more because Grandpa kept sending them touchy looks Sophie wanted to question. At a more judicious time. “I don’t think Ian and I could do much together. He might set up security for a new building, but a dead bolt ought to do the trick in Bardill’s Ridge. He mentioned opening a clinic. He was half joking, but I think it’s a good idea. Most of the patrons at the baby farm have their own OBs, and they go home to deliver. That’s the only qualm I’m feeling about moving here, and I think we could offer a real service to the town. Most of the women who live here have to leave to have their babies.”
Gran knotted both brows. “You couldn’t work at The Mom’s Place and downtown at the same time.”
“I’d need help.” Sophie tasted Aunt Beth’s coleslaw and restrained a moan of sheer delight as sweet and sour mingled in her mouth. “But think what we could add. Dr.
Fedderson’s a good G.P. and I’d talk to him about the impact on his practice, but our neighbors could use access to an OB/GYN.”
“I don’t know.” Greta whisked off her glasses and rubbed her thumbs down the sides of her nose. “I think you overestimate Bardill’s Ridge. I’m not all sure we could support a clinic, and to be honest, I’m not sure people would like us taking business from Tom Fedderson. He’s delivered half our family.”
“I don’t want to poach. I’d like to expand on what he can offer. He’s in his sixties. He might want to lighten his load.”
“You think a person of a certain age is no longer capable? Listen, Sophie, I’m glad you’ve brought this up. You’re doing a great job. The patients—I know, damn it, they’re patrons—accept you, but I don’t think you should try to overhaul medical practice in Bardill’s Ridge the second you set your pregnant foot in town. Don’t you have enough to keep you busy as it is?”
To Sophie’s astonishment, tears surged, burning into her eyes. Her gran’s response stung like the slap it was.
As if appearing out of her need, Ian materialized at her side. “Ladies—” he slid to the floor at Sophie’s feet “—you’re awful deep in conversation.”
Sophie curved a grateful hand over his shoulder, realizing for the first time that he was an ally all her own. He dropped his arm across her knees. “Give me one of those rolls, Sophie. You don’t need them both.”
She handed over the unbitten one, managing a watery, grateful smile.
“Excuse me.” Greta rose, a tornado taking shape. Without a word, she buzzed out of the living room.
“Whatever she said, she didn’t mean it.” Ian palmed the roll absently. “I’ve watched the way she’s avoiding Seth. You might be right about them.” He curved the backs of his fingers against Sophie’s cheek. “You’re the light in her eye.”
“She discarded the clinic idea and somehow that spilled over into rejecting me, too.” Gran had never been so harsh. Her accusations had pitched Sophie back into those strange childhood days when her mother had seemed to dislike her simply because Nita didn’t want to have a child.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“YOU’RE SERIOUS about the clinic?” Ian took Gran’s place on the couch beside her. “You have time to start a clinic with all your other work?”
“At least you only doubt my ability, not my motives.”
“I don’t doubt you.” He bit into the extra roll. “I’ve never been a pregnant woman’s husband before, and I probably have stereotypical ideas about how I’m supposed to look after you. But starting a new business seems extreme when you’re about to become someone’s mother.”
Impatience sent a sharp response halfway from her brain to her tongue, but her grandmother’s unthinking comment a few moments earlier made her stem an emotional response. “I wouldn’t do anything to endanger our child, but the clinic’s a good idea. I just don’t want Gran to resent me for it.”
“Why would she?” He stared at her grandmother, who was whipping back and forth between the counter and the kitchen table within their narrow view through the door. “I don’t see her resenting a medical facility that might help her community.”
Sophie looked for the woman who’d always been her mentor. “Something’s wrong. She’s already cleaning the table, and half the family hasn’t stopped talking to eat yet.” Sophie frowned. “And even you noticed something’s bugging Grandpa.”
“Do they usually stick together at a family party?”
“Not necessarily, but she tries to push him around, and he does what she wants before she can think to ask. It’s a dance they’ve always done. I’m wondering why no one told me Gran and Grandpa weren’t getting along before I came home.”
“No one else seems to see a problem.” Ian looked around the room, studying expressions, body language. Sophie enjoyed watching him work. His attention to people interested her. “Either nothing’s up with Greta and Seth,” he said, “or they’ve changed so gradually this feels normal to everyone except you.”
“What should I do?”
He gaped, evidently as shocked as if she’d asked him to peel off half his skull. “You’re asking for advice? From me?”
“Are you teasing, or am I that difficult?” She rubbed at the moisture that had seeped as far as the corners of her eyes.
“A little of both.” He stroked her forearm, trailing a series of disturbing shocks over her skin. “But give me a second to assess your options.”
“You know how to handle people. What would you do?”
“If I were trying to keep her alive, I’d ask someone to replace those flimsy lace kitchen curtains with thicker, dark material. If I thought something was bothering her, I’d ask.”
“That’s a brick wall. I did ask.”
“And she brushed you off?”
She nodded, setting her plate on the coffee table. “I’m not hungry anymore.”
Affection added warmth to Ian’s laughter. “I don’t believe you, but I’ll take up your slack.” He picked up her fork and started on the infamous coleslaw. “You’re right about this stuff,” he said around a bite.
“I’m right about Gran, too.” She leaned back, enjoying his proximity. She only had to stretch her hand out to touch him. “I don’t want to hurt her, but this is a good idea.”
“Before you commit, Sophie, think about the time it would take.”
His serious expression made her wonder if he was right. “I don’t have to do it by myself, but I’m not sure what to do if Gran’s against it.”
“Maybe you should leave Greta alone. You may talk to Dr. Fedderson and find you’re encroaching on his territory, anyway. As for Seth and Greta, until she wants to talk to you, you might be making things worse.”
“Did you train in psychology?”
A reflective grin widened his mouth. “No, but you’re like her. How did you feel when the family came after you at your dad’s?”
She hated admitting anyone had a better plan, but she nodded. “You’re right. I wanted them to go away and let me sort out my own life. She says nothing’s wrong, but she’s obviously stretching the truth.”
“I have a different perspective than you. If people lie to me, I usually ignore what they tell me and then I force them to follow my rules.” He shrugged. “There comes a point when they know I’m right and they can do as I say or they can die.”
She shuddered. It wasn’t the part of his job she most liked to think about. She faced the possibility by pretending not to care. “But ultimately, you can’t make them talk?”
“I don’t care as long as they don’t walk the edge of the safe house roof or print our phone numbers on a public rest-room stall.”
“That works for paying clients, but we’re talking about my grandparents.” She took comfort from the solemn eyes that had mesmerized her the second she’d met him. “Gran and Grandpa are the soul of this family.”
He set down his fork and dusted his hands on his legs, unintentionally drawing Sophie’s gaze to the pull of his trousers across his thighs. Seeming not to notice, he took her hands in his, imparting strength she gratefully borrowed just this once.
“Are you worried about them or about yourself?”
The blunt question in Ian’s most quiet tone forced her to face herself. “I seem selfish because I made so many demands after our wedding, but I was trying to protect our baby and myself in case you weren’t serious about us.” She glanced from Gran, whose smile looked as if it might shatter at the slightest provocation, to Grandpa, dexterously avoiding his wife. “Sure I’m concerned about my family, but I don’t want my grandparents to be unhappy. Something made Gran angry with me, and it wasn’t just the idea of the clinic.”
He looked from Seth to Greta. “You still can’t do anything about this. You wouldn’t want even Greta to come to our house with the idea she could fix everything.”
“Maybe, if I knew she could fix it once and for all.”
He draped his arm around her s
houlder. “You’re fooling yourself. You could lop off a leg and you wouldn’t ask your grandmother for help. You don’t even want her to know you could need assistance. And deep down you know that only they can fix their problems, just as you and I are working on ours.”
Maybe she was a selfish woman, because his warm, hard body put everyone else in the house into the distance. She liked Ian touching her as if he had a right. She’d been harsh and defensive and foolish to insist on separate bedrooms, and she was lucky he’d cared enough to stay.
“I wish I’d been more understanding with you.”
He looked down, his eyes shadowed, his mouth temptingly firm. “What are you—”
Beyond him, down the front hall, the doorbell rang. Sophie looked up at the sound, discomfited to find Molly’s gaze intent on her. With a knowing smile, Molly stepped away from her mother to speed down the hall.
“Sophie,” Ian said.
“Hmm?” She was still watching Molly, the cousin who’d offered to explain the consequences of being a bad girl. The second Molly opened the door, she retreated as if an armed intruder had greeted her from the threshold. Sophie couldn’t hear all she said, but she caught the name. “Nita.”
Sophie rocketed to her feet. “My mom.”
“Where?” Ian rose beside her.
“At the door.” She braced herself for her mother’s opinion of Ian. “Where’s my dad? I haven’t seen him yet.”
“He drove to Maryville to pick up a restoration project, a sideboard.”
She eyed him in surprise.
“I spoke to him this afternoon.”
“How often do you talk to him?” Ian’s friendship with her father diverted her from her mother, chic in a suit of silver silk.
“I asked if I could help with the sideboard when I get back.” Ian looked faintly self-conscious. “I don’t have a lot to do up here while you’re working. He was impressed I didn’t kill you or myself or burn down the house with the doorbell I installed.”