The Doctor's Family Reunion

He wanted—needed—answers.

“Trent?”

Turning, he found Blakely’s grandmother, Rose Daniels, smiling up at him. He couldn’t help smiling back. The woman who’d provided him with many a meal that summer and more cookies than he’d had in all the years since had always held a special place in his heart.

“I was hoping I might run into you.” Sincerity sparkled in her blue eyes. “Blakely mentioned you were back in town.”

That must have been an interesting conversation.

“It’s great to see you, Mrs. D.” A motorcycle sputtered past, its engine mimicking the chug-chug of his heart.

“I hear you’re working in Ridgway?”

“At the medical clinic. Yes.”

“Wonderful.” A wisp of white hair escaped her tight bun to dance about her round face. “Bill would have been so happy to know that you achieved your dream of becoming a doctor.”

“I was sad to hear he’s no longer with us. He was probably the greatest man I ever had the pleasure of knowing.” Trent observed the rows of colorful Victorian buildings that lined Main Street. How he wished he could thank Bill for the impact he’d had on his life. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Someday.

“Would you like some help with those?” He gestured to the green reusable grocery sacks that dangled from Rose’s capable hands.

“That would be lovely. Thank you, Trent.”

He gathered the trio of bags in one hand and started in the direction of The Alps, making sure to abbreviate each stride so Rose wouldn’t feel rushed.

“How long have you been back in Ouray?” She carefully maneuvered down the sloped sidewalk. No matter where you went in this town, you were either walking up or down hill.

“Since Sunday. I’m staying at the San Juan Inn.”

“What?” She sent him a sideways glance. “Not The Alps?”

“Uh...” The muscles in his jaw tightened. The Alps had been his first inclination.

She nudged him with her elbow. “I’m teasing. The San Juan Inn is a wonderful choice.”

Relaxing, he eyed the planters of red, white and purple flowers that graced the front stoop of the Daniels’ home. The picket fence surrounding the tiny yard added an old-world charm to the beige two-story that also housed the motel’s office.

Rose held open the gate, and he followed her to the door, his desire for answers getting the best of him.

“Tell me about my son.”

The old woman looked bewildered for a moment before a proud smile erupted. “Austin is a good boy. Kind, friendly, active.” She chuckled on the last word. “And he looks just like his father.”

“I can’t wait to meet him.” He glanced down at a small patch of grass, emotion clogging his throat.

“You will.”

“I promise, Mrs. D, I never knew. If I had...”

She laid a wrinkled hand on his shoulder. “Neither Bill nor I ever doubted you, Trent. We may not have understood, but we never stopped praying for you.”

He studied the woman in front of him, who, even now, after everything that had happened, made him feel loved. So confident. Wise. Caring.

Somehow, he had to make things right.

She reached for the doorknob, turned it, but the door refused to budge. “Oh, this silly thing.” She shoved one more time and it jerked open. “Bill had planned to put in a new one this winter.”

Only then did Trent notice the weather-worn wood on the bottom half of the door. “Well, I’m pretty handy. If you’re not in a big rush to get it fixed, I’d be happy to take care of that for you.”

“Only if you’ll let me pay you.”

“I won’t hear of it.” He handed her the bags. “However, you do make the best peanut butter cookies I’ve ever had.”

That earned him a grin.

“You can have all you want.”

“So is Blakely at Adventures in Pink?”

“Should be.”

He raised his coffee cup. “Wish me luck.”

“I’ll do you one better.” She winked. “I’ll pray.”

“Thank you. And I’ll be in touch about the door.”

He headed down the alley across the street then eased left at Seventh Avenue. Two bright pink four-wheel-drive pickups with three rows of bench seats were parked in front of the familiar blue building, just waiting to introduce visitors to all these mountains had to offer.

The long narrow bench where Trent had shared countless conversations with Blakely and her grandfather still stretched across the front of the building. Trent had lived in one of the upstairs apartments along with a couple of fellows he’d dubbed Chaos and Destruction. His escape from the madness had been this bench, taking in whatever bit of history or insight Bill chose to impart.

Now, his heart hammered against his ribs as he opened the door and stepped inside.

A mural of Twin Falls was the first to welcome him, followed by a tiny dog with a high-pitched bark.

“Jethro.”

The voice didn’t belong to Blakely, and Trent was surprised by the hint of disappointment that swept over him. He’d have expected relief.

Instead, a green-eyed brunette glared at the pup from behind the counter. “Don’t mind him. He’s all bark but no bite.”

“That’s okay.” Trent knelt, holding out his fist to allow the animal to sniff. “You were just saying hello, weren’t you?” He stroked the dog a couple of times then straightened, returning his focus to the painting. The attention to detail was so pronounced that he could almost hear the roaring waters and smell the Columbines and Indian Paintbrushes. And was that—he leaned closer—a marmot?

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

He faced the thirty-something woman. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Our owner did that.” She leaned back in her chair. “She’s quite a talented lady.”

“Blakely.” He’d recognize her work anywhere. Work that seemed to have improved with age.

“That’s her.” She cocked her head. “Are you a friend?”

“I’d like to think so.” Even though Blakely might disagree. He approached the counter. “Is she here?”

“She’s out in the shop. I’d be happy to get her—”

The telephone rang.

“Excuse me.”

While the receptionist took the call, he roamed the selection of T-shirts, bumper stickers and other souvenirs near the front windows. What a great addition, as was the snack bar in the corner that boasted sodas, coffee and water. They’d really ramped up the old Jeep company.

The telephone conversation grew lengthy, and impatience got the best of Trent. After catching the brunette’s eye, he let himself out the back door.

An acrid odor assailed his nostrils the moment he stepped into the garage. The place had more rubber than a tire store. Wheels were stacked five high throughout the space, with more lining the walls overhead.

The whir of an impact wrench cut the air. Blakely was out here, all right. But where?

Two pink Jeep Wranglers and a large red tool chest later, he found her.

Squatting beside a third Jeep, Blakely’s movements were as adept as any pit crew member at the Indy 500. No sponsor-littered coveralls for her, though. She wore jeans and a T-shirt, pink, of course, with the company’s logo in white lettering. Her hair had been gathered into a ponytail that trailed down her back.

His fingers twitched. He’d always loved her hair, the feel, the smell. Not to mention those cute freckles.

Something cold and wet touched his hand then, interrupting his reverie.

He looked down to find a golden retriever smiling up at him, tongue lolling out one side of its mouth.

Instinctively, Trent stroked the animal’s head before returning his gaze to Blakely.

The noise stopped.

She pushed to her feet and moved toward a stack of tires, never noticing him.

He knew he should say something, let her know he was there. Instead, he just stared, still rubbing the dog’s ears. The woman before him was prettier than the girl he remembered. But it was what was on the inside that had drawn him to Blakely. Strength. Passion. Loyalty. How could he have been fool enough to let something like that go?

Because you messed up big-time, buddy.

Wincing at the memory, he watched Blakely hoist another tire.

“Those things look heavy. You should ask for help.”

She flinched but quickly recovered. “I’m pretty good at doing things myself.”

Double meaning inferred, he was certain.

He perused the damaged tour truck in the next bay. Studying the wreckage, he shivered. Thank You for watching over her, Lord.

“You always did love being up here with your grandfather.” He shortened the distance between them. “I’m not surprised he passed it to you.”

Mounting the tire onto the axle, she all but ignored him, her shoulders rigid.

He came alongside her then, the retriever still at his heels. “How’s the head?”

“Don’t tell me you’re here for a house call.”

“No. Just curious.” He gathered a bolstering breath. “I’d like to talk to you about my son.”

Latching on to the hose that dangled from a reel overhead, she fired up the noisy power tool again, making conversation impossible.

Before he could figure out his next move, a young boy appeared through one of the open garage doors.

Trent’s heart pounded when he saw the shock of dark hair that curled over the boy’s ears and brow. His eyes were the color of coffee, just like Trent’s.

He recalled how Blakely used to tell him his eyes were root beer colored and wondered if she did the same with Austin.

The boy was small for his age, but he’d grow out of it. For years, Trent had been the shortest one in his class. Then, almost overnight, he’d hit his growth spurt and surpassed them all.

The noise stopped when Austin touched Blakely’s shoulder.

“Can I go to Zach’s house?”

Standing, Blakely sent Trent a warning glance before turning her attention to her son. “Did you finish your chores?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled, eyeing the basketball in his hand. “I take it you two are planning to shoot some hoops?”

“Yeah.”

Trent watched the exchange in amazement. The boy shared his mother’s smile. They obviously had a good relationship. And Trent liked that Austin had respect and manners. Back in Albuquerque, he’d encountered kids Austin’s age who thought they could say or do anything they pleased without any concern for others.

“Will you be home for lunch?” she asked.

Austin was already out the door. “Yeah. Zach and his parents are going to Montrose at noon.”

“Good. Ellie Mae told me she wants you to take her for a walk.” She massaged the dog’s head.

“Oh, Mom.” He waved, trotting up the alley, bouncing the ball as he went.

Trent stared after him, his heart bursting with an emotion he’d never experienced before. Unequivocal and unconditional love for a boy he’d never even met.

* * *

Blakely watched after her son, then cut a fiery glare at Trent, pointing the impact wrench in his direction. “Don’t think I’m buying this bit about you being here as mere coincidence. But if you think you’re going to get your hands on Austin, you’re crazy.”

“How could you not have told me, Blakely? You of all people—”

“Is there a problem here?”

Oh, no. Please, not now.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Ross Chapman at the rear of the Jeep Wrangler, scrutinizing her first, then Trent.

Despite the color leaching from her face, she turned Ross’s way. “Not at all.”

Neatly bearded with an ever-expanding paunch, the annoying Texan moved closer and extended his hand toward Trent. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Ross Chapman.” His crooked smile reminded her of a politician or unscrupulous salesman. Ever ready, usually insincere.

Trent hesitated before acknowledging the gesture and introducing himself. Apparently even he sensed the guy was a creep.

“Dr. Lockridge was just leaving.” A stern glare accompanied her formal reference.

Straightening, Trent appeared to regard her with a challenge of his own. “Yes. I believe we’re finished. For now.”

He got points for knowing when to walk away. Then again, he was good at that, wasn’t he?

Blakely tempered her anger and addressed her next problem.

“What can I do for you, Ross?”

He moved in her direction, eyeing the battered tour vehicle. “Heard you had a little accident the other day. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

If he thought she’d believe that, the man was delusional.

“Good thing you weren’t carrying a bunch of tourists.”

She rested her elbow on a stack of tires. “You know, Ross, that’s one difference in how you and I do business. To you, they’re merely tourists. To me, they’re guests.”

“Call ’em what you want. We both rely on them to pay our bills.” His gaze roved the truck again. “Word travels fast in a small town. Sure hope this doesn’t hurt your business.”

Panic and anger burned a trail from her belly to her throat. Still, there was no way she’d give him the satisfaction of losing her cool.

“I’m not worried.” Willing her body language to follow suit, she shifted the power tool to her left hand and held out her right. “Thank you for your concern, Ross.”

His green eyes narrowed, drawing his bushy eyebrows closer together.

Obviously, her reaction wasn’t what he’d expected.

Good.

Ignoring her outstretched palm, he exited the garage.

Blakely turned back to the Jeep, feeling as though she might collapse. Her insides were as unsteady as a Tilt-a-Whirl. Would Ross really slander Adventures in Pink? What if Trent tried to take Austin?

No. She wouldn’t allow either one to happen.

Locking the impact wrench over a lug nut, she let it whirr. Tears stung her eyes. Her worst nightmares were coming true.

With the wheel secure, she rested her forehead against the black rubber. I can’t do this, Lord.

How would she ever find her footing when everything kept crashing in around her?

She sniffed. She had to find a way.

Because she could not—would not—lose her son or Granddad’s business.

Chapter Three

Trent wandered the streets of Ouray until the noon whistle pierced the air the way regret pierced his heart. Austin had been forced to pay the price for his indiscretions. Trent knew all too well what it was like to grow up without a father, and he had vowed no child of his would ever suffer the same fate. That’s why he’d married Lauren in the first place. Even though he’d loved Blakely.

He meandered up the steep slope of Eighth Avenue, the roaring current of Cascade Falls drowning out all other sound. Too bad it didn’t cover the turmoil thundering through him.

Hurt and anger were still at loggerheads over Blakely’s decision not to tell him about Austin. Was it because she didn’t want him to feel trapped? Or maybe she didn’t find out until after he was married. Whatever the case, she’d kept him from knowing his son.

Guilt twisted his insides. He could only imagine the challenges she’d faced as a single parent. It couldn’t have been easy, raising a child alone.

He plunked down on a boulder near the falls and watched the water plummet to the raging stream below. The turbulence mirrored his mood.

Sunlight sliced through a canopy of ponderosa pine and aspens as giggles drew his attention to a couple of kids leaping from rock to rock.

“Stay away from that water,” the mother warned her wayward children.

While his little sister complied, the young boy inched ever closer, an adventurous smile firmly in place. With a quick lunge, his father grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away.

“Come along, son. Your mother wants to get our picture.”

Trent envied the scene. His life could have been so different. Full instead of empty.

I’ve decided I don’t want children, Lauren had said after the miscarriage.

His dreams of a family shattered.

He felt a tap on his shoulder.

The kids’ mother sent him a pleading look. “Sir, would you mind taking our picture?”

“Sure.”

“All right, gang...” She herded her small family together, positioning them in front of the landmark. “This one’s for the Christmas card.”

“Cheese.”

Trent returned the camera and trekked away from the happy family, wishing he could douse the ache for one of his own. Everything he’d ever wanted was here in Ouray. And he never even knew it.

“Slow down, girl.”

A golden retriever careened toward Trent, pulling the dark-haired boy at the other end of the leash.

Austin.

Trent’s chest thudded with anticipation as he bent to intercept the dog.

“Ellie Mae....” Austin moved closer, shortening the leash as he approached. “Sorry, mister.”

“Ah, it’s all right. We’re friends, aren’t we, Ellie Mae?” He rubbed harder.

The pooch sat at Trent’s feet, tongue dangling, and continued to enjoy the affection.

“She sure likes you.”

Trent savored the smile on his boy’s face, the way it sparked his brown eyes. “She’s a golden retriever. I bet there aren’t many people she doesn’t like.”

“Yeah.” Austin knelt beside the animal and stroked her back. A smattering of freckles dotted his nose and cheekbones—like Trent had at that age. “You were at my mom’s shop.”

“You’re a very observant young man. I’m Trent.”

“I’m Austin.”

“I know. Your mom’s an old friend of mine.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Really? Did you know my dad?”

Trent recognized that gleam of expectancy. For years after his mother died, he’d held on to the hope of one day meeting his father. He wanted to reveal to the boy that he was his dad. However, he knew that wasn’t necessarily what was best for Austin.

“What has your mom told you about him?” Bolstering himself for what could be an uncomfortable response, he focused on a couple of magpies vying for a scrap of bread.

“Not much.” Austin shrugged. “Just that he loved me, but he had to go away.”

The reply surprised Trent and pricked his conscience. At least Blakely had acknowledged him in some sense.

He inhaled the aroma of pine. “She’s right, you know.”

“So you do know my dad.”

Trent’s gut clenched. He wouldn’t lie by saying no, but even if he said yes, would Austin perceive it as a lie whenever he did learn the truth?

“Do you think I’ll ever meet him?”

Thankful for the reprieve, Trent said, “That, I can promise you.”

Austin beamed.

“By the way...” Trent straightened. “How was the basketball game?”

The boy stood beside him now. “Too short.”

“Bummer.”

“Yeah.”

Trent wasn’t ready to relinquish these few precious moments with his son. “Well, I’m not doing anything. How about a game of one-on-one?”

“You mean it?”

“Sure. There’s got to be a hoop around here somewhere.”

“There’s one at the park. Just down the road.” Austin pointed in the direction of the city’s hot springs pool. “I’d have to get my ball, though.”

“No problem. Why don’t you let Ellie Mae run you home, and I’ll meet you at the park?”

“Awesome!”

As his son jogged away, Trent wondered how Blakely would react if Austin told her who he was meeting. He’d give it an hour. If Austin didn’t show by then, Trent might have to pay her another visit.

The roar of the falls faded in the distance as he picked his way back down the rocky terrain, heading in the direction of Fellin Park. Obviously he and Blakely still had plenty to talk about. But one thing was for sure—now that Trent knew about Austin, nothing would keep him and his son apart.

* * *

Blakely was ready for a long soak in the motel’s hot tub. Or maybe she’d sink into a bubble bath where she could be alone. Her body ached from lifting heavy-duty tires. Her mind reeled from worrying about Trent and Ross, her son and Adventures in Pink.

Plus, she had no idea what to fix for dinner.

She cut through the motel’s front office, stopping to check how many guests were booked. It wouldn’t be long before every motel in town would be filled to capacity, especially on the weekends.

“Gran?” She continued down the hall that separated the office and housekeeping areas from the main part of the house.

“In here, dear.”

Jethro yipped, stopping when Blakely scooped the Yorkshire terrier into her arms. Ellie Mae nudged her hand, looking for some love of her own.

Blakely leaned against the doorjamb of the laundry room. The fragrance of spring-fresh fabric softener filled the air. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” Gran smiled, pulling another load of white towels from the dryer. “You look beat.”

“Nothing a good dinner and tub of hot water won’t cure. Where’s Austin?”

“Still at the park, I guess.” Her grandmother halved then quartered a wash cloth and set the neat square on the stainless steel worktable. “He did tell you, didn’t he?”

“Yes. I just thought he might be home by now.”

“Well, if I know my great grandson, he probably ran into one of his friends. He’s a good boy, though. He’ll be home before dark.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She nuzzled the soft fur on Jethro’s neck. Gran was usually right. Blakely wished she could talk to her about Ross Chapman. But it would break Gran’s heart. After all, she and Granddad had run two of the most successful businesses in town for almost forty years. Through good times and bad.

Now the season hadn’t even started—her first as owner—and Adventures in Pink was already on rocky ground.

Shoving a stack of towels aside, Gran rounded the long table. “Would you prefer I fix dinner?”

“No, I’m just being whiney. You have enough to do.” With Granddad gone, responsibility for the motel fell solely on Gran. Yet she never complained.

Blakely would do well to take lessons.

The bell dinged in the office.

“Putting on new tires today?” Her grandmother paused on her way out the door.

“How’d you know?”

Gran ran a thumb across Blakely’s cheek, then held it up to reveal a black smudge. “It’s written all over your face.” Chuckling, she continued down the hall.

Blakely groaned. No telling how many people she’d talked with looking this way.

She set Jethro to the floor and shuffled toward the bathroom. “I am so ready for this day to be over.”

This was the first time she’d prepped a new fleet of rental Jeeps without Granddad’s supervision. With so many details, she feared overlooking something. It was a labor-intensive and time-consuming process, yet one that would pay off when the vehicles went to auction at the end of the season.

Standing by the bathroom sink, she grabbed her face wash and squeezed a small puddle of the creamy cleanser onto her fingertips. It was that attention to detail that kept customers coming back to Granddad’s place year after year. Details Ross Chapman would never understand.

Who did he think he was, barging into her shop, threatening Adventures in Pink? The man made her angry enough to spit fire. The only good part of his visit was the look on Trent’s face when he realized they weren’t alone.

Fear tapped at the edge of Blakely’s mind as she hovered over the marble vanity, scrubbing her face. Why did Trent have to show up now, after all these years? How would she explain things to Austin? He’d always been curious about his father, especially once he started school. Would he be mad at her? At Trent?

She pressed a hot-water-soaked washcloth against her cheeks and forehead. Trent must think her the same girl who’d once fallen for his boy-next-door routine. Accusing her of keeping Austin a secret in the next.

She tossed the rag into the sink and grabbed a soft white towel from the bar on the wall. I don’t want you to think I expect anything from you, Trent. Just know that I’d never keep this child, your child, from knowing his or her father.

How she’d agonized over that dumb letter.

“Handwritten letters flow from your heart,” Gran maintained, presenting Blakely with personalized stationery on every birthday, instilling a long-held appreciation for the dying art.