Trouble in Tennessee

“Well, well, well. Looks like Trouble’s back in town.” A man stopped next to Treble’s chair. “Time’s been good to you, darlin’.”

“Certainly better than you ever were,” she returned sweetly.

Or maybe the guy who dumped her was just a jerk, Keith concluded. He didn’t know Rich Danner very well except that the landscaper had moved back to Joyous about two months ago, apparently licking his wounds from a divorce. He’d remarked to Keith that they were the most eligible bachelors in town. “Us and Jason McDeere, but he’s raising a toddler, which puts us ahead in desirability. ’Course there’s plenty of fillies to go around for all three of us.”

Now, Rich was turning green eyes full of apology toward the “filly” he’d let get away. “Don’t be like that, Treb. I was a kid. Teenagers make bad romantic decisions.”

She reached for her sandwich. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Keith grinned at her implication, but the diss had obviously sailed over Rich’s head.

“I knew you’d understand. How about I join you, and we can reminisce about what good times we had before I screwed up?”

“Actually,” Keith interjected, his impulsive words surprising him, “I kind of wanted Treble all to myself for another few minutes before we have to leave. She was fascinating me with stories about her job as a DJ in Atlanta.”

Treble’s eyebrows shot up, but she played along. Truthfully, they’d never once discussed what she did for a living, but Charity had mentioned it. Whereas Harrison rarely spoke of his stepdaughter, Charity was effusively proud of her older sister, her naked affection almost masking her disappointment when Treble missed yet another holiday or birthday at home.

“Sure, buddy.” Rich held his hands in front of him and gave a quick nod of male understanding. “I get it. But, Treble, we’ll have to catch up some other time.”

When they were alone again, Treble said, “Thank you. I don’t need a man to rescue me, but I’m not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, either.”

“Does everyone born in Tennessee compare people to livestock?”

“What?” Lines of confusion furrowed her brow.

“Never mind. And you’re welcome,” he added. “That guy can get on my nerves.”

She nodded, taking a big bite of her sandwich and letting out a moan of pleasure. “God, I forgot how great Tennessee barbecue is. I mean, I knew I loved it, but this…This is better than sex.”

He squeezed his own sandwich and barbecue sauce ran down his fingers.

If she’d noticed, he would have been embarrassed, but she seemed oblivious, lost in enjoyment of her food. Some of the women in town would have fainted—blushed, at the very least—at having the word sex tossed casually into meal conversation, but Treble clearly thought nothing of it.

She washed down her food with a swallow of soda. “Earlier, you said people ‘born in Tennessee.’ So you’re not a native?”

“Nope. Charity first mentioned you when she heard I’d moved here from Atlanta. I went to med school and interned there. Grew up in Savannah.”

A city steeped in rich tradition and history, Savannah seemed like a good place for ghosts. He preferred to leave his there. In the E.R. of a major Atlanta hospital, he’d found himself dealing with too many reminders, too much trauma. He’d become a doctor because he wanted to save people, but if he’d stayed where he was, he was the one who’d wind up needing saving. So he’d found salvation in the relatively peaceful town of Joyous. He had the practice, real friends. Of course, Charity tutted that he’d be even happier once he found a girlfriend.

“It’s not as if there aren’t willing women,” she’d teased, threatening to count the number of foil-covered casseroles in his freezer.

He’d considered deflecting her interest in setting him up by suggesting she encourage her dad to date instead—Harrison needed something in his life besides control of the dairy business and grueling workweeks. But even though it had been a long time since Charity’s mother died, Keith didn’t push the idea of a replacement romance. Losing family was hard, and Charity had mentioned how much she’d been missing her mom lately.

“I suppose you think it’s pitiful that I called my sister and begged her to come be with me?” Charity had asked.

“Of course not.” The only thing Keith hadn’t understood was why Bill and Harrison had been so shocked Treble agreed. If Keith’s older sister were still alive, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her.

“Keith.” Treble’s voice was soft, but persistently inquisitive. “Are you okay?”

He met her eyes, not sure what to make of the woman. Her gaze was filled with what seemed like empathy, hardly the selfish person she’d been painted as in unflattering gossip. He understood better than most the value of a fresh start. Maybe Treble had changed, maybe she’d returned not only to help her sister but to earn her stepfather’s forgiveness for whatever youthful transgressions were in her past.

“I’m fine,” he assured her, “but a lousy lunch date, huh?”

“Well, you won’t be winning any awards for witty conversation, but you’re easy on the eyes, so it balances out.” Leaning forward, she lowered her voice conspiratorially. “You do know there’s a blonde in the corner who’s been checking you out, don’t you?”

His gaze darted in the direction she’d subtly indicated, and he spotted elementary school receptionist Dinah Perkins having lunch with two other women. When Dinah caught him noticing, she smiled and offered a small finger wave. Moments later, she and her girlfriends huddled into hushed conversation. Either they wanted to know who the stranger was sitting with Dr. Caldwell, or they already knew and, like Rich Danner, were intrigued by Trouble—er, Treble’s—return to Tennessee.

“Friend of yours?” Treble asked Keith.

“Just a friend,” he stressed.

How long had it been since he’d had a girlfriend? Med school and his stint at the hospital had been hectic, and since moving here he’d been…cautious. There’d been a few dates and a nice weekend when a female friend had come to visit, but if his love life hadn’t completely flatlined, its prognosis wasn’t rosy, either. Eventually, he wanted to find the right woman to make his fresh start complete, but now that he was fitting in, he didn’t want to jeopardize that with social missteps. Citizens gathered round their own, and if Keith broke up with a local girl, he risked becoming an outsider again. Maybe he was overanalyzing, but he hadn’t felt at home anywhere in a long time.

It wasn’t something he was willing to lose.

“About done?” he asked Treble.

She nodded. “I’ve taken up enough of your day. If you can swing me by the garage so I can give the mechanic my keys, you’ll be rid of me soon.”

Standing, she leaned over to grab a couple of napkins and clean off the table. He found himself looking straight into a tempting view of her cleavage. Stop ogling Harrison’s daughter! But forcing himself to turn away was damn difficult.

In one short afternoon, Treble had had more of an effect on him physically than any of the women he’d met in town. Maybe it helped that she had a body that was sinfully perfect, making him think of fallen angels, but he was a doctor. He’d seen lots of bodies, many of them undressed.

The sooner he delivered her to Charity’s, the better.

With the “downtown” area covering only a half-dozen blocks, it didn’t take them long to reach Carter and Sons. Keith had just pulled up to the garage when a mechanic in dusty blue coveralls emerged from one of the open bay doors.

“That’s Ronnie,” he told Treble. “She’ll have your car working better than when you drove it away from the dealership.”

“She?”

There was no need for him to answer since Ronnie was removing her cap. Sleek red-gold hair fell to her shoulders.

“Huh,” Treble grunted. “You know, before you came to get me, I was expecting ‘Doc Caldwell’ to be a good bit older. And Ronnie’s definitely not what I anticipated. Lots of surprises for such a sleepy little town.”

Sleepy? A twinge of foreboding rippled through him as he regarded the woman seated in his truck. He’d watched her varied reactions to Joyous—apprehension over arriving, sassy rebuffs to an ex-boyfriend, nearly sensual enjoyment of good barbecue—but now he wondered how the town would react to her. Treble James looked like a wake-up call waiting to happen.

Chapter Four

Treble stepped down from the truck, shaking her head. She’d always teased Charity over her affection for routine. “Don’t you ever want to mix things up a little?” she’d asked her younger sister.

“Nope,” Charity had maintained. “Predictability suits me just fine.”

At the moment, Treble could use a few less surprises herself. “You’re the mechanic?”

The woman nodded. She was shorter than Treble, their height difference exaggerated by the mechanic’s flat-soled sneakers. Her clear jade eyes were lovely, but Treble wondered if men looked past the freckles bridging her nose and the shapeless, grease-stained overalls to notice.

“Ronnie Carter.” The redhead extended a hand, noticed some black smudges near her fingertips and winced, dropping her arm to her side. “Technically, Veronica. No one calls me that. My brothers use ‘Red,’ but only to make me crazy.”

Keith came around the side of the truck to stand with Treble. At his renewed nearness, her body hummed—it was like static electricity she couldn’t control. Try harder. The good doctor probably wouldn’t appreciate it if she drifted closer and stuck to his clothes.

“Afternoon, Ronnie,” he said. “Treble had some car trouble outside town, and I assured her you were the best in the state at taking care of the problem.”

“Flatterer.” Ronnie grinned at him, but then her eyes widened and she swung her gaze back to Treble. “Good Lord. You’re Treble Breckfield, aren’t you?”

“James. Treble James.” The distance she put between herself and her stepfather’s name was automatic, although at least Harrison Breckfield attempted to stand by his responsibilities. More than she could say for her biological father. “I’m Charity Breckfield’s sister. Er, Charity Sumner’s.”

“Wow. My brother Devin was crazy in love with you in high school.” Ronnie nodded thoughtfully. “I can see why.”

Treble couldn’t remember Devin but hoped she wasn’t awful to him.

“Daniel warned him that a guy two years younger didn’t have a shot.” Ronnie’s tone was matter-of-fact, not vengeful on her brother’s behalf. Good thing. A mechanic wielding a grudge was not someone you wanted tinkering with your engine.

Treble searched her memory for Carter brothers and finally landed on a name, though she couldn’t put a face with it. “Are you related to William Carter? He was in my grade. Salutatorian, I think?” Her high school graduation ceremony was a blur, mostly occupied by plans to leave that summer. Despite the times she’d been sent to the principal’s office for behavior problems, she’d kept her grades up and aced her SATs—college had represented her ticket out of town.

“Yeah, Will was the bookish one,” Ronnie confirmed. “Though you wouldn’t know it to look at him—he’s as hulking as the other two. He went to university in North Carolina and settled there. The rest of us stayed,” she said wistfully. Gifted mechanic or not, Ronnie didn’t sound one hundred percent satisfied with her life.

Well, who is? Treble ignored the impulse to draw out the conversation and brainstorm solutions; this wasn’t a radio broadcast. “So, Ronnie, are you as good with cars as I keep hearing?”

“No. Better.” The woman’s confident smile completely endeared her to Treble.

They chatted for a few minutes about where Trusty was parked, what the escalating symptoms had been before the vehicle died altogether, and where Treble could be reached.

“I’ll call you this evening at your sister’s,” Ronnie said after she’d filled out some paperwork and taken Treble’s keys. “I doubt I’ll have fixed anything yet, but I should at least have an idea of the problem.”

Moments later, Treble and Keith were back in the truck and en route to Charity’s house. Charity had issued several invitations to visit over the years, and Treble might have been quicker to accept any of them if her sister had moved more than four miles away from the Breckfield family manor. Treble wondered if she could ever step inside the ancestral home—built on profits of the century-old dairy—without immediately thinking that it seemed cold. She’d been four the first time she’d visited, once her mother and Harrison were seeing each other, and it had seemed large and drafty. Like the haunted houses in scary stories. It hadn’t improved her opinion that the place was full of antiques and Breckfield heirlooms that she was admonished not to touch.

At least Mom warmed it for a while. With her gone, the place had become positively glacial, full of long, mournful silence and, as Treble grew more rebellious in her teenage years, even colder arguments and chilly words.

“Hey.” Keith’s voice was amused. “I’ve seen people in hospital waiting rooms less nervous than you. Your car’s in great hands with Ronnie.”

“Hmm?” Treble followed his sidelong gaze to where she’d been drumming her fingers on the passenger side windowsill. “Oh, no, I…” On second thought, it suited her fine if he attributed her apprehension to vehicular woes and not her dubious homecoming.

“You what?” Keith prompted.

“I’m sure Ronnie’s terrific. I guess I’m anxious because I know the car’s on its last legs. Or tires, as the case may be. I need it to hold out until I find a house, get approved for financing and close.” The goal warmed her from the inside, and she smiled at the plans she couldn’t wait to start making. Decorating, furnishing, even landscaping. “My apartment’s become a bit claustrophobic over the past year.”

Keith nodded. “For me, the city got claustrophobic. A mentor of mine knew Doc Monaghan and let me know he was looking for a replacement. I’d never even heard of this place, but as soon as I moved…It’s like I could finally breathe again.”

She chuckled wryly.

“Guess that was corny,” he said, sounding more guarded.

“No. No, I was laughing at the irony. I feel free in Atlanta, whereas here I would suffocate.” Under expectations, the watchful eyes of nosy neighbors, the weight of the past.

“To each his own, right?”

“Exactly. To each her own.” Because her natural inclination was to fill dead air, when it became clear conversation had lagged, she turned back toward him. “So, did you always know you wanted to be a doctor?”

He stiffened, so imperceptibly she wouldn’t have noticed if her body weren’t bizarrely attuned to his. “It…seemed right for me.”

She hadn’t expected his profession to be a sore subject. Yikes, she’d promised her boss she wouldn’t lose her edge out here in the sticks, yet only a few hours in, she was already floundering her way through awkward chats.

“What about you?” Keith returned. “You always know you wanted to be a radio host? Charity makes it sound fascinating.”

Treble smiled self-consciously. “It probably seems more glamorous than it is because she’s lived in the same place her whole life and works for her dad.” The girl should have been named Patience; Treble would have snapped by now.

“You mean she’s easily impressed because she’s a local yokel?” Keith’s tone was deceptively mild, his delivery belying the disapproval of his words.

“I didn’t mean it quite like that. I adore Charity.”

He slanted her a look. “Yeah. I could tell you two are close.”

Was he being sincere? Had Charity painted a rosy picture of their sibling relationship? Which would be like her. Or was he being sarcastic, passively condemning Treble for not being a better big sister? He didn’t have that right.

I swear I’m better with people than this.

Well, not all people. Definitely not her stepfather. Or her actual father. Sometimes not even with her sister. But, normally, she was very popular with people who didn’t know her well.

It was being back in this town that was messing with her head. By the time she’d left here, she’d been full of misery and anger, feeling unloved and paradoxically going out of her way to be unlovable. She hoped for all their sakes that Charity had that baby on time and not a single day late.

“Just about there,” Keith said, apparently seeing—and misreading—her impatience.

She nodded, the cloudless sky outside her window vast. “I recognized this particular spot of nothing.”

Joyous had undoubtedly grown some over the years, but the town moved at a slower pace than the rest of the world, still relatively untouched by urban sprawl. Pastures and trees that had been there since before she was born existed today, and even though there were few landmarks on this last stretch before they turned onto the dirt road that would lead to Breckfield property, she could have found her way from here blindfolded. Having not been home in so long, the familiarity was unexpected. There were some blocks in Atlanta where new gyms grew overnight as if having sprung from magic seeds and, if you blinked, the restaurant you were used to driving past could be replaced entirely by a shopping center without you ever noticing the construction crews.

As promised, they reached Charity and Bill’s place a few seconds later. Keith took a left on Willy Wooten Drive—a mud strip probably no more than twenty feet long, named for a guy who’d once built a house there—and quickly encountered a paved fork. One finger of asphalt snaked its way up the hill and led to her stepfather’s house. Another jogged a shorter distance to a well-kept yard and honest-to-God white picket fence. Treble didn’t need to see the cheery Sumner stenciled on the mailbox to know this must be where Charity lived.

If Harrison Breckfield had ever run for mayor, he would have won by a landslide. So many townspeople were employed by or in some way affiliated with the dairy that the Breckfield family held a prominent position in the community. Yet Treble couldn’t help wondering why Harrison had never proposed that the town pave Willy Wooten or even offered to have it done himself—especially now that his pregnant daughter had to drive over it in all manner of weather conditions. His own vehicles must have jostled over the years as he plowed through puddles and potholes, but something about that very specific concrete, starting precisely at the Breckfield property and not one inch sooner, personified the man. He had clear boundaries. He stayed unswervingly within them and expected others to do the same.

There were both a garage and carport to the side, but Keith parked more casually in the curve of the circular driveway, right out front. The house was predominantly brick, although it had a cottage-style facade bordered by a railed-in wooden porch. Treble imagined Bill and Charity sitting in the double swing, discussing baby names and drinking cold lemonade. Of course, she could just as easily imagine Charity in the picturesque little house, singing as woodland animals helped her clean and making seven beds for seven little men.

Treble hadn’t finished climbing down from the passenger side of the truck when the screen door clattered and her sister appeared on the front porch. In deference to her current medical condition, Charity didn’t try to navigate the stairs and greet them in the yard. Still, her enthusiasm was evident even from several yards away.

“You made it!” she called to Treble.

“Thanks to your friend Dr. Caldwell.” Treble really was grateful to the man for riding to her rescue, even if their short time together had been…charged.

“Well, come in, come in. I have some iced tea freshly brewed,” Charity told both of them. She placed a hand over her distended belly. “Decaf, of course.”

Treble turned to collect her luggage, only to find that Keith had grabbed both suitcases and slung her duffel bag over his shoulder.

“You should at least let me get one of them,” she chided.

He half shrugged as he passed, repeating her words from their first meeting. “I’m able-bodied.”

I’ll say. Her gaze slid down from where his thick hair lay rumpled against his collar to his jeans.

She followed him up the stairs. Charity had stepped aside to make room for Keith and the baggage he carried, but as soon as Treble cleared the top step, the blonde swooped in for a hug. The sideways angle, not to mention the bulk of Treble’s unborn niece, made the embrace a little awkward but it was appreciated nonetheless. Treble couldn’t quite hook her arm around her sister so settled for patting her on the arm in greeting.

“Thank you for coming,” Charity said softly, still not letting go. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Treble said. “In triplicate. But, about my needing to breathe?”

Charity laughed, stepped back. “Guess I always was the hugger in the family.”

Well, it sure as hell hadn’t been Treble or the aloof Harrison Breckfield. “Like Mom. You have a lot in common with her.” As soon as tears began welling in Charity’s eyes, Treble wished she’d said something else. She struggled to lighten the moment. “Although, now that I think about it, that bone-crushing grip might have come from Harrison. Imagine the tackles you could have made if you’d played football!”

Harrison had been a college linebacker for the Tennessee Vols. At six foot three with steel-gray eyes, he was as formidable off the field as he’d reputedly been on it. Maybe Treble should have been smarter than to try making end runs around him, but she’d been sixteen. In theory, she was older and wiser now, but she was also a grown-up no longer seeking her stepdad’s approval. She was who she was, and she refused to make apologies to him if she liked her music loud and her heels high.

“Where’d I lose you ladies to?” Keith asked, sticking his head out onto the porch. He’d obviously set the bags down somewhere inside.

Charity sniffled. “Sorry. Just exchanging sisterly greetings.”

Keith glanced at the woman’s obviously teary expression, then shot Treble a look that bordered on accusatory. Two minutes and you already made her cry?

“We’re coming,” Treble said brightly. As soon as he retreated, she told Charity, “I hope I didn’t upset you. You warned me you were thinking about Mom a lot, and I didn’t mean to say anything that made you miss her more. I know I’m a poor substitute for her being here right now.”

Charity squeezed her hand. “It’s wonderful that you’re here. And I’m touched that you think I’m like her. Don’t worry about the waterworks. It’s the hormones. Honestly, all I do these days is cry—and eat Breckfield banana ice cream. Sometimes I cry while I’m eating the ice cream.”

Treble laughed, glad they were on less sentimental ground as they joined Keith in the cool, aromatic house. Charity’s air-conditioning bill must be a fortune, but the low temperature felt heavenly after driving in the heat for much of the day. Equally divine was the scent of spices and meat cooking. Treble had never been all that proficient in the kitchen, but she thought she smelled thyme and rosemary, underscored by sautéed onions. A little garlic? As her eyes adjusted to the comparative dimness of the living room, she stood still, breathing in the tantalizing scent. An archway at the far end led into a modest kitchen. Treble saw maroon laminate flooring and gold appliances.

“You.” Keith took Charity by the hand, steering her toward a rose-and-cream sofa. A rocker upholstered in matching fabric sat by the large picture window in the room, a wicker basket full of knitting supplies and remote controls tucked next to the chair. “Off your feet. Then explain to me how you whip up one of your gourmet dinners while adhering to your OB’s advice. Don’t make me call Dr. Whalen because you know she will kick your butt. Metaphorically speaking.”

Much as Treble wasn’t ordinarily a fan of men chastising grown women over their choices, she had to admit this was no time for Charity to be rolling out the welcome wagon. “He’s right. Well, I wouldn’t know about the doctor, but definitely the dinner part. Don’t you dare try to cook just because I’m visiting. You and this baby are what’s important.”