by Helen Lacey
Lucy almost spat out her tea. “What?”
Kayla laughed. “Grady said something to Brooke. She told me. The great circle of life,” she said and grinned.
“Circle of gossip more like,” Lucy said, frowning. “And it wasn’t that kind of hand holding.”
“How many kinds are there?” Kayla asked, still grinning.
“Plenty,” she replied. “We’re friends and sometimes friends hold hands during a—”
“This is me, remember?” Kayla reminded her. “Your best friend. What’s going on?”
“Honestly,” Lucy said and let out an exasperated sigh. “I have no idea. Some days I feel like I’m back in high school again, as though I’m idly wasting my days doodling hearts with Brant Parker’s name inside. Metaphorically speaking,” she added. “I’m not really doodling. But I am spending way too much time thinking about him when I should be concentrating on my work, my home and my friends.”
Kayla’s perfectly beautiful face regarded her inquiringly. “And is he thinking about you, too?”
Lucy shrugged. “It’s impossible to tell. Oh, he’s civil to me now and we have spent quite a lot of time together lately and there’s been a bit of texting this week so I—”
“Texting?”
“Yes,” Lucy replied. “Texting.”
Her friend chuckled. “That’s kind of romantic.”
“It’s kind of confusing,” she corrected. “And I can’t allow myself to imagine it means too much. Even if I hadn’t kissed him I probably wouldn’t let myself believe it was—”
“Whoa,” Kayla said, cutting her off as she waved a hand. “Back up. You kissed him?”
Lucy’s skin heated. “Well, technically he kissed me,” she explained. “And then I kissed him back.”
Her friend’s eyes widened. “And when were you going to share this tidbit?”
“Do you tell me every time you kiss Liam O’Sullivan?” Lucy teased.
Kayla groaned. “I don’t kiss Liam. But enough about that—tell me everything... Was it fabulous?”
“Yes,” she admitted and smiled. “You see, this is high school.”
Her friend shook her head. “It’s life, Lucy. So what happens next?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea. I’m new to all this, as you know. He keeps insisting he’s all wrong for me—that I want a picket fence and he’s not that kind of man. There’s a part of him that’s broken...or at least that’s what he believes.”
Kayla’s eyes softened. “And can it be fixed?”
“I’m not sure he wants it fixed,” she replied, exhaling heavily. “It’s as if he’s stuck somewhere...in some place, some moment in time, that he believes has suddenly come to define him. I don’t know what it is and he’s not talking. But I feel it whenever we’re together. In here,” she said and put a hand to her heart. “I feel as though he thinks he has to hang on to this thing from his past or he’ll be redefined...somehow changed.” She sighed and drank some tea. “Anyway, I really shouldn’t be talking about him like this.”
“Why not? It’s only talking.”
Heat filled her chest. “Because it doesn’t feel right.”
“Conflicting loyalty, hey?”
She nodded. “Something like that.”
Kayla sat back in her chair and regarded her intently. “Lucy, have you considered that the reason you want Brant is because he is broken? Unfixable? Which also makes him unattainable?”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Sure it does,” her friend said gently. “And it really means only one thing.”
“And what’s that?” she asked.
Kayla met her gaze. “That you’re falling in love with him and it’s scaring you to bits.”
Lucy met her friend’s stare head-on and knew she couldn’t lie. “Yes...that’s it exactly. I’m falling in love with a man who doesn’t want to fall in love with me in return. And I’m terrified.”
Kayla reached across the table and patted her hand. “So what are you going to do about it?”
Lucy sat back in her seat and tried to ignore the ache in her heart. “Nothing,” she replied. “He has to figure this out for himself.”
Chapter Nine
Brant stared at the huge cooked bird on the kitchen counter and impossibly bright vegetables piled onto a tray, and watched as his mother managed to attack three separate tasks at once without skipping a beat. Her skill in the kitchen never ceased to amaze him. She baked and grilled and sautéed like a head chef at a top-end restaurant and he suddenly had an idea.
“You know, Mom,” he said and snatched a green bean from the plate. “You could come and work for me once the tavern opens. I’m still looking for a chef.”
Colleen looked up from her task and smiled. “And have you bossing me around all day? I don’t think so. Besides, I’m too busy to work. With the quilting club and volunteering at the hospital, I wouldn’t find the time.”
“It was worth a shot,” he said playfully. “If you know of anyone worth interviewing, let me know.”
Colleen grinned. “I hear chefs are a temperamental lot. What about Abby Perkins? Didn’t she study cooking in New Orleans for a year or so?”
“She works for O’Sullivan, remember?” he reminded his mother. Although he liked the idea of having a chef the caliber of Abby at the Loose Moose, he didn’t like his chances of trying to poach her away from the O’Sullivans’ five-star restaurant at the hotel. Abby had married Trudy’s brother a year or so out of high school.
Brant had a couple of chefs lined up for interviews the following week and hoped to find someone from that. “So, how’s the fund-raising coming along?”
“Slow,” she acknowledged. “Although I did get a sizable donation from Liam O’Sullivan this week. Sometimes I think he’s not as disagreeable as he likes to make out.”
“Sure he is.”
Colleen laughed. “Well, his brother is back in town for the week, so maybe that has something to do with his generous mood. Kieran always has been the peacemaker in that family.”
Brant’s shoulders twitched at the mention of the other man’s name. “Yeah...maybe.”
His mother looked at him oddly. “Everything all right?”
“Fine,” he said, taking another green bean. “What time are the troops arriving?”
“Six o’clock,” she replied. “You’re the one who’s here early.”
“I had some time.”
Her expression narrowed. “Something on your mind?”
Brant shrugged. “Not a thing.”
“You’re a worse liar that your brother,” she said and smiled gently. “Grady will at least try and make a joke when he doesn’t want to talk. So, have you seen much of Lucy?”
No...
And it was making him crazy. His brain was still scrambled by the idea of her being on a date with Kieran O’Sullivan. Texting her daily wasn’t doing him any favors. Neither was calling her and saying he missed talking to her. He really needed to cut all contact to give himself a chance of getting her out of his thoughts. But he liked knowing what she was doing each day. He liked her sense of humor and how she didn’t cut him any slack. He liked that they could share a joke or flirt or both and how it felt like the most normal thing he’d done since forever.
“Ah...not much,” he said finally. “She’s working over the holidays.”
Colleen nodded. “Yes, I know. She’s such a committed doctor. Everyone adores her at the hospital. But,” his mother said, stirring the cranberry sauce simmering on the cooktop, “it’s a shame she’ll miss out on a real Thanksgiving dinner.”
There was a gleam in his mother’s eyes and Brant swallowed the tension suddenly closing his throat. “I’m sure they put something on at the hospital.”
“Well, yes,” Colleen said and nodded. “But it’s not like a real home-cooked dinner with all the trimmings, is it?”
Brant didn’t have a chance to respond because there was laughter and happy squeals from the front door that echoed down the hall. Within a minute his brother’s family was bursting into the kitchen, with Grady behind them, his hands laden with bags. Marissa placed a Crock-Pot on the counter and moved around to help Colleen as the kids raced back and forth between Brant and Colleen, giving hugs and showing off sparkly nail glitter. Marissa’s father, Rex, arrived minutes later and the kids quickly transferred their attention. There was lots of cheering and laughter and a kind of energetic happiness in the room that was palpable, and everyone looked incredibly content.
Everyone but him, he realized.
Grady slapped him on the back. “All set for Saturday?” his brother asked.
“Since it’s your wedding,” Brant reminded him, “shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”
“I’m solid.”
Marissa laughed. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s been a bag of nerves all week.”
Grady groaned, swept her up into his arms and dropped a kiss to her forehead. “That is so not true. Don’t believe a word she says.”
As Brant watched their interaction, something heavy lodged in his chest. Although he was thrilled that Grady had found happiness, a part of him was almost envious. He’d never experienced envy before and couldn’t understand it now. He certainly hadn’t felt that way when Grady was married to Liz and had started a family. But things seemed different now. Back then Brant had been absorbed with his military career and hadn’t had any time to think about relationships or having a family of his own. And, logically, he still didn’t. However, in that moment, Brant didn’t feel very logical. He felt...alone.
Lonely.
Which was plain stupid considering he was surrounded by the people he cared about most in the world. Still, the thought lingered as his mother shooed him and his brother and the kids to the living room while she finished preparing dinner. Marissa stayed to help in the kitchen and Brooke arrived about ten minutes later. It seemed strange not having Uncle Joe around on Thanksgiving, but he wasn’t being released from hospital until the following day and the older man had insisted they all have their usual holiday celebration and not worry about him. Of course they all planned to visit him when he returned to the veterans home, but Brant missed Joe’s corny jokes and craggy smiles.
By seven his mother called him in to the kitchen to carve the turkey and tossed an apron toward him when he entered.
“And slice it thinly,” she instructed. “Not great chunks like your brother did last year.”
Marissa laughed. “Don’t let the master of the grill hear you say that, Colleen.”
They all laughed and Grady popped his head around the doorway. “Too late.”
Brant ignored the twitch in his gut. He should have been laughing along with the rest of his family, but he couldn’t switch off the uneasiness running through his system. By the time the bird was carved and the table set, he felt so cloistered and uncomfortable he wanted to grab his keys and bail. Only his mother seemed to notice and once they were alone in the kitchen she asked what was wrong.
“I’m not sure,” he replied honestly. All he knew was that he wanted to be somewhere else. He needed to be somewhere else.
Her expression narrowed. “Are you sleeping okay?”
Brant ignored the question and placed his hands on the counter. “Mom,” he said quietly, “do you mind if I have dinner to go?”
“To go?” she echoed then frowned instantly. “You’re leaving? But it’s Thanksgiving.”
Brant sighed. “I know and I’m sorry. But I think I need... I feel like I need to be somewhere else.”
“Somewhere else?” Colleen’s eyes widened and then her mouth slowly curved with a little smile—and a flash of understanding. “So, this dinner to go...is it for one or two?”
He swallowed hard, dismissed the heat in his face and spoke. “Two.”
* * *
There was snow falling outside and enough cold air blasting through the hospital doors every time someone entered to remind the staff that winter was on its way. Thankfully it was quiet in the ER and even though they were on skeleton staff, by eight o’clock Lucy was ready for a mug of hot chocolate and fifteen minutes of watching a rerun of some mindless show on the television in the staff room.
She was just about to head that way when she was paged. Answering the call, she was told someone was waiting for her in the foyer. Thinking it was most likely Kayla coming to spread some holiday cheer, Lucy clipped the pager to her coat pocket and walked out of the ER and down to the general administration area. The place was deserted except for one of the maintenance staff pushing a janitor’s trolley. She said hello as she passed.
And then she came to a standstill.
Brant stood beside the information desk, dressed in jeans, boots, a navy plaid shirt and sheepskin jacket. He had a Stetson on his head and carried a wicker basket. He turned as though sensing her arrival and immediately met her gaze.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, moving closer.
He held up the basket. “I thought... Thanksgiving dinner. For two.”
“You brought me dinner?” Her legs suddenly stopped working. “But shouldn’t you be at your mom’s? I know she was planning a big family—”
“I’m here,” he said quietly. “With you.”
Lucy almost burst into tears. It was the most utterly romantic thing anyone had ever done for her. Maybe even the kindest thing. She fought the burning sensation behind her eyes and tried to smile. “Oh, I...thanks.”
His mouth twisted and when she stepped closer she noticed how a tiny pulse beat in his cheek. He looked wound up. On edge. Way out of his comfort zone.
And it made Lucy fall in love with him even more.
“Can you take a break?”
She nodded. “Sure. I’ll just let the other doctor on duty know I’ll be out of the ER for a while.”
Lucy snatched up the closest telephone, put in a call to the nurse’s station in the ER and said she’d be back in half an hour. When she turned her attention to Brant he was directly behind her and she quickly felt the heat emanating from his body. The edge of his jacket brushed her elbow and she looked up, caught in his gaze and without a hope of denying how pleased she was to see him.
“Where should we go?” he asked and looked around.
Lucy scanned their surroundings. The foyer was empty but still reasonably well-lit; there were a couple of vending machines against one wall and a small bench seat in between them.
“That looks like as good a spot as any,” she said and headed to the other side of the room and sat.
He followed and sat beside her, placing the basket between them.
“It’s quiet here tonight,” he remarked, opening the basket.
Lucy peered inside and nodded. “It will probably get busier later tonight. Right now most people are eating dinner and celebrating. It’s the MVAs or bouts of food poisoning that mostly keep the ER busy around the holidays.”
He met her gaze. “Well, hopefully there’s nothing poisonous in here.”
She chuckled. “What are we having?”
“Turkey sandwiches on cranberry bread, sweet potato casserole and iced pumpkin cookies for dessert.”
“Sounds delicious,” she said and licked her bottom lip.
He pulled a few things from the basket and handed her a small stack of sandwiches wrapped in a gingham cloth. Lucy unwrapped the food and laid it on top of the basket while he bought sodas from the vending machine.
He sat, twisted the caps off the soda bottles and handed her one. “Happy Thanksgiving, Lucia,” he said and clinked the bottle necks.
> Lucy felt a surge of emotion rise up and fill her heart. “Happy Thanksgiving, Brant. And...thank you. I was feeling a little more alone than usual today.”
“Me, too,” he admitted and drank some soda.
Lucy passed him a sandwich. “But weren’t you with your family tonight?”
Brant smiled warmly. “You can be in a room full of people and still feel alone.”
He was right about that. “I feel that way, too. Sometimes when I’m at a party or out to dinner with friends, I get this strange feeling of disconnect. I especially felt that way after my mom died. For a long time I couldn’t stand to be in crowds or around too many people at one time.”
“It’s a coping mechanism,” he said softly. “But I understand what you’re saying. You must think about your mom a lot around the holidays.”
“I do,” she said and sighed deeply. “She loved the holidays so much. And Christmas especially. She would decorate the house with a real tree and hang ornaments everywhere. And she and my dad would kiss under the mistletoe. There were always lots of gifts under the tree... Nothing extravagant, of course, since we didn’t have a lot of money, just small things. Like, my dad would make her a footstool or she would bake his favorite cookies or knit him a pair of gloves that never really fit right. There was never much money but always a lot of love. And I miss that. One day I hope I’ll have that again...if I get married and have children, that is.”
“I’m sure you will,” he said softly. “You’re a marry-able kind of girl.”
Her cheeks burned. “I hope I am. I mean, I hope there’s someone who will want to marry me one day. Someone who will want to have children with me and grow old with me.”
“Someone like Kieran O’Sullivan you mean?”
He sounded jealous and it made her grin. “I’d never marry a doctor. They work terrible hours. Besides, there’s no blip.”
“‘Blip’?” he repeated.
“Blip,” she said again and took a bite of her sandwich. “You know, on the radar.”
His gaze narrowed and she could see he was trying to work out what she meant. “I believe a blip is a malfunction or a problem.”