A second chance for his first love

Paul Woodward has always known Annie Finnegan was the one. But when she married his best friend, he moved away from their tiny hometown to try to forget the woman he could never have. When her husband passes away, Paul is heartbroken and wants to be there for the love of his life—but how can he, given the way he feels? As he returns to take over his ill father’s medical practice, though, it’s clear that Annie and her son are the family Paul longs for. As Annie heals and their connection grows, Paul will wait to find out if love really gives second chances...

“Thanks for the coffee.”

“Anytime, Paul. I mean it.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned in as though he was going to kiss her forehead the way he had yesterday at the clinic. As he moved, she inexplicably tipped her head back and looked up at him. His lips made contact with hers. The kiss lasted a millisecond, brief but electrifying. They both pulled back, startled.

Paul was the first to find his voice. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“I only meant to—”

“I shouldn’t have—”

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he said.

Neither had she. Or maybe she had. That would certainly explain why right now she wanted to grab the front of his shirt, pull him close and kiss him again, for real. The mortifying thought made her face feel like it was on fire.

“It’s not a big deal,” she said. Liar.

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Riverton, Wisconsin. This fictional small town, steeped in the culture of America’s heartland, is home to the Finnegan sisters—Annie, Emily and CJ—and I am delighted to share the second book in The Finnegan Sisters trilogy.

His Best Friend’s Wife is Annie’s story. She’s the eldest sister and hers is a story about honoring the past while moving on after the loss of a loved one. Although I consider myself to be a city gal through and through, I am fortunate to have grown up in a rural farming community and will always have an affinity for small towns and the simple life. And while I don’t have any sisters, Annie and I do have something in common—our love to cook for family and friends. I hope you’ll enjoy spending time in Annie’s kitchen.

If you read the first book in this series—To Catch a Wife—you’ll know the Finnegan sisters were raised by a single dad. In this book, their father discovers that while second chances may not happen often, they’re well worth the wait.

I love to hear from readers, so I invite you to visit my website at leemckenzie.com, where you can send me an email, sign up for my (mostly) monthly newsletter and learn more about my other books, including upcoming books in this series. Happy reading!

Warmest,

Lee

His Best Friend’s Wife

Lee McKenzie

www.millsandboon.co.uk

From the time she was ten years old and read Anne of Green Gables and Little Women, LEE MCKENZIE knew she wanted to be a writer, just like Anne and Jo. In the intervening years, she has written everything from advertising copy to an honors thesis in paleontology, but becoming a four-time Golden Heart® Award finalist and a Harlequin author are among her proudest accomplishments. Lee and her artist/teacher husband live on an island along Canada’s West Coast, and she loves to spend time with two of her best friends—her grown-up children.

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

For Willa

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE RIVERTON HEALTH Center was one of Annie Finnegan Larsen’s least favorite places in the world. A world that was admittedly small and familiar and filled with the people and places she loved. But this place was the exception. Bad things happened here. The only place she disliked more than here was the cemetery.

“I’ll need to see your insurance card.” The triage nurse had yet to look away from her keyboard.

Maintaining her outward composure, Annie plucked the card from her wallet and passed it across the counter. What were the odds that she would come to the clinic in a town where she knew everyone and encounter a nurse she’d never seen before? Anyone who knew her and her circumstances would be rushing to offer comfort and support, but not this young woman. She was fixated on her computer screen.

“Do you still live on River Road?” she asked.

Annie took a deep breath. “At Finnegan Farm, yes. I’ve never lived anywhere else. I’m here with my son,” she said. “He fell off a horse this morning. He could have broken bones, a head injury. He needs to see a doctor. Could we please look after the paperwork later?” She wished she had it in her to be forceful, or at least impatient. Instead, she was polite. Too polite for her own good.

Still, something in the sound of her voice must have caught the woman’s attention because she finally made eye contact and glanced around her computer monitor at Annie’s seven-year-old son. Then she swung her gaze to Annie, brows arched, eyes brimming with judgment.

“Mom, where’s Auntie CJ?” Isaac asked, ducking out from under the protective arm she had around his shoulders.

“She’s parking the truck, honey. Keep still, okay? The doctor’s going to see you right away.”

Besides, CJ was more problem than solution. Annie had let her sister convince her that Isaac was ready for junior rodeo, and clearly he wasn’t.

“I don’t want to see the doctor. I want Auntie CJ to take us home.”

“I’m right here, kiddo. How’re you holding up?” CJ, still dressed in full riding habit, minus the helmet, breezed through the double glass doors.

“We’re doing paperwork.” Annie prided herself in always keeping her cool and having a tight rein on her emotions, no matter what the circumstances. Why couldn’t she be assertive, more demanding? If she had those skills, then maybe she wouldn’t have failed her husband. Eric would still be alive and Isaac would still have a father. She had tried to convince Eric that he needed to see a doctor, to find out why he was in so much pain. She should have insisted. No, demanded. Instead, she had taken a step back and let him do the typical guy thing and soldier through the pain.

CJ slung an arm around Annie’s shoulder and led her and Isaac to the row of black leatherette chairs that lined two walls of the small waiting room. “Sit. I’ll handle this. We’ll have Isaac in to see the doc before you know it.”

“He should be in there already. He could be—”

“Annie, I’ve got it. Sit, relax. Okay, I know you’re not going to relax, but at least try to chill for a couple of minutes. Isaac’s fine. Look at him. He’s fine.”

Annie sat, guiding her son into the seat beside her, resisting the urge to pull her little boy onto her lap. Common sense told her that he was all right—he was walking and talking and insisting he wanted to carry on with his riding lesson—but what if he wasn’t? He was her son, her only child, and he was so little and so special and he didn’t have a father.

She tried to listen in as CJ spoke to the admitting clerk, then realized that her sister was deliberately keeping her voice low so Annie couldn’t hear. She was probably telling the woman that Annie was the one who needed medical attention.

Annie focused on the double doors that led to the ER, willing them to open and a nurse, or better yet, a doctor, to appear. She hadn’t set foot in this place in months, not since rushing her husband here with scarcely time to watch him take his last breath. Now she was here with her son, her precious boy and her only remaining link to Eric. Falling off a horse was not good. She should never have agreed to riding lessons, even though CJ was the teacher, and an excellent one at that. But Annie was his mother and it was her job to keep him safe. Given that this little daredevil was so much like his father, she had her work cut out for her.

CJ took the chair next to them, gently ruffled Isaac’s already unruly blond curls. “It’ll just be a few minutes. How do you feel?”

“I wanna go home and go back to the stable.”

Annie met CJ’s questioning gaze. “We’ll talk about that later, after—”

Stacey McGregor emerged from an office behind the front desk. “Annie, Isaac. Hi.”

Annie was instantly reassured by the familiar voice and the woman’s brisk efficiency.

“What’s this I hear about someone falling off a horse?”

“That was me!” Isaac said before Annie could respond, bouncing up from his chair. “I’m learning barrel racing ’cause I want to be in the junior rodeo.”

“CJ’s giving him lessons,” Annie said, gently pulling her son back into the chair. She and Stacey had graduated from high school together. She was an excellent nurse and great with kids, having three of her own.

Stacey kneeled in front of Isaac and attempted to smooth his unruly curls. “Horseback riding? I’ll bet you want to be a cowboy when you grow up.”

“Yup. I’m gonna have a hat and a lasso and everything.”

“I’ll just bet you will.” Stacey shifted her smile from Isaac to Annie. “A blue-eyed heartbreaker of a cowboy, that’s what he’s going to be.”

Isaac giggled, and Stacey stood and took his hand. “Come with me. I’ll take you and your mom in to see Dr. Woodward.”

“Oh. He’s still seeing patients?” Annie asked. She’d heard that Riverton’s long-time family physician had recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Heartbreaking news, but surely he wasn’t still practicing medicine?

“Sorry, I guess you haven’t heard. Not Doc Woodward Senior. His son.”

“Paul? He’s back in Riverton?” Annie followed Stacey into an examining room, simultaneously reassured to hear her husband’s best friend was in town and here to look after Isaac, and a tiny bit disappointed he hadn’t called to let her know he was home. She had always liked and admired Paul. It would have been good to hear from him. Keeping in touch with Eric’s past made her feel more connected to him. Although Paul had been away from Riverton for years, he was an important part of that past. She wondered if he knew that Jack Evans, her husband’s other best friend, was also in Riverton and about to marry Annie’s other sister, Emily.

“He dropped in to the clinic yesterday, just briefly, on his way into town.” Stacey tucked Isaac’s chart into the plastic holder on the door. “Today is his first shift.”

Okay, that explained why he hadn’t called. He probably hadn’t even unpacked.

“Can Auntie CJ come, too?” Isaac pleaded.

“Of course she can.” Stacey beckoned her to follow. “How’s everything out at Finnegan Farm?”

“Everything’s great,” CJ said. “Busy. My summer riding camp is winding down. We’re boarding two new horses, and I just took in a rescue horse from a farm near Pepin. What about you?”

“Everything’s good. I’m looking forward to having my kids in school next week. Even Ben’s looking forward to getting back to teaching. I mean—” She cast a worried glance at Annie.

Annie was quick to brush aside the woman’s concerns. “I know exactly what you mean. Eric used to get as excited about the start of a new school year as he looked forward to the end of the previous one. It’s a thing with teachers. Please tell Ben I said hello.”

“I will, for sure. Have a seat,” she said to Annie and CJ. “Isaac, can you climb up here for me?”

He nodded, and scrambled up onto the examining table.

“My goodness, you’re getting tall. What is your mom feeding you?”

Isaac giggled.

Annie watched from the edge of her seat, worried he could tumble off the high table if he didn’t sit still. She felt her sister’s hand curl over hers, silently reassuring.

“Are you looking forward to school next week?” Stacey asked.

Isaac nodded vigorously. “I’m gonna be in second grade.”

“Are you? So is my daughter, Melissa.” She held up a digital thermometer. “I’m going to slip this in your ear so I can take your temperature, okay?”

More nodding. “I know Melissa.”

“I thought you might.” The thermometer beeped. She looked at the digital display and then showed it to Isaac. “See those numbers, little man? Perfectly normal,” she said, noting them on his chart.

This offered Annie no relief. Fever was not a symptom of a concussion or, heaven forbid, a brain hemorrhage. She knew because, even against her own better judgment, she had looked them up on her phone while CJ had driven them to the clinic.

“Would you like to stay up here?” Stacey asked Isaac, handing him a couple of small coloring books that came with a colorful assortment of animal stickers. “Or jump down and sit with your mom?”

“I’ll stay up here.” Isaac opened one of the books. “Do I get to keep these?”

“You sure do.” Stacey turned to Annie. “Dr. Woodward’s just finishing up with another patient and then he’ll be right in to see you.”

“Thanks,” Annie said. She stood and moved to stand next to her son in case he started to feel light-headed, which was one of the symptoms they had to watch for.

Dr. Woodward. Paul. They had all known one another for most of their lives, although she and Eric hadn’t seen much of Paul since he’d left for college and then went on to study medicine at one of the universities in Chicago. He had stayed there and had been practicing at a big-city hospital ever since.

Eric had always been a man of action, a little impulsive, even. By comparison, Paul studied the angles, thought things through. Eric’s spontaneity had been tempered by his friend’s careful consideration of everyone and everything around him. She was beyond relieved that Paul was here. If anyone would take extra-special care of Eric’s son, it would be his best friend.

“See, Mom? This book’s got dinosaurs. This one’s Diplodocus. That’s one of the plant eaters. Can I really take these books home with me?”

“Stacey said you could so, yes.”

Isaac peeled the sticker off the sheet and stuck it to the matching shape on the coloring page. This was a good sign. His fine motor skills wouldn’t be so precise if his vision was blurred, another of the worst-case-scenario symptoms. She smoothed his hair and listened to him chatter about each dinosaur as he applied stickers to the page. Brontosaurus, Stegosaurus, Tyrannosaurus rex. Then he opened the second book.

“Jungle animals,” he said. “Is this a parrot?”

“I think that’s a macaw. Parrots have smaller beaks.”

“Maca-a-a-w,” he said, peeling and attaching the sticker to the page. “Caw, caw, ca-a-a-w.”

The door opened. “Someone told me there was a little boy in here who’s fallen off a horse. I wasn’t expecting a crow.”

Isaac giggled. “Uncle Paul!” He held up a hand and Paul high-fived it.

“Annie. How are you?” Paul asked.

Annie took one look at him and felt her spine soften. He opened his arms for her and she melted into them. She had forgotten how it felt to lean on someone, rest a cheek against a hard chest, breathe in a male scent with just a hint of woodsy aftershave. She pulled away. She should not be having inappropriate reactions to one of Eric’s best friends.

He moved his hands to her shoulders, leaned in and kissed the cheek that had just sought comfort on a shoulder that was broader than she remembered.

“Oh, Paul. It’s so good to see you. You have no idea.” She looked into eyes that were not green, not brown. Hazel, she decided. She had never noticed the color before. Now she was sure would never forget them.

The tip of her nose turned pink—she could feel it. Her face didn’t turn red the way a normal person’s did. Only her nose. Anytime she was embarrassed or flustered, or whatever it was she was feeling at that moment, she ended up looking like Rudolph on a bender. To cover it, she brought the fingertips of one hand to the bridge of her nose.

“Good to see you, too.” He kissed her again, on the forehead this time, and turned to Isaac. “And who is this young man?”

“I’m Isaac.”

“No way. Isaac Larsen’s a little guy about this tall.” Paul demonstrated by holding out his hand.

“Grandpa says I’m growing like a weed,” Isaac offered, setting aside the sticker books.

“Your grandpa’s right about that. Are you taking good care of your mom?” Paul asked, offering his hand to Isaac.

“Yup.” Isaac accepted the handshake and gazed up at him. “I feed our dog and help bring in eggs from the chicken coop. Me and my dad used to do that, but he died.”

Annie’s breath caught in her throat.

“I know.” Paul’s tone was solemn. “I still miss him.”

Listening to their exchange made Annie’s chest tighten. Although they hadn’t seen much of Paul in person, she had known he and Eric kept in touch, mostly by email and the occasional phone call. Of course Paul would miss him. After the funeral she should have done a better job of staying in touch.

“So, tell me about horseback riding.” Paul took a seat on a wheeled stool that brought him to eye level with her son.

“Auntie CJ’s giving me riding lessons.”

“That’s pretty cool. English or western.”

“Western.” Isaac’s enthusiasm was contagious. “I’m gonna be barrel racing at the junior rodeo and when I’m bigger I’m gonna be a real cowboy.”

Paul laughed, then exchanged a quick smile with Annie before he turned his attention back to her son. “What’s your horse’s name?”

“Zephyr.”

“Good name for a horse.”

Annie forced herself to stop hovering and took the chair next to CJ, who was rolling her eyes.

What? Annie mouthed.

CJ placed a hand over her heart and pretended to swoon, and it was Annie’s turn for an eye roll. Behave!

“Can you tell me what happened this morning when you were riding Zephyr?” Paul asked.

“I fell off.”

“You did? Is Zephyr a bucking bronco?”

Isaac giggled again. “Nope. But I’m gonna ride one when I’m a grown-up cowboy.”

Over my dead body, Annie thought.

“Were you wearing a helmet?” Paul asked.

Isaac nodded.

“Good.” Paul pulled a small instrument out of his pocket. “This is a flashlight.” He demonstrated by pressing on it and generating a beam of light. “I want you to look right at me so I can take a look at your eyes. Can you do that for me?”

“Yup.”

“Good job,” he said, slipping the penlight back in his pocket. “Pupils dilating just the way we like them to.”

Annie knew his comments were more for her benefit than her son’s. She appreciated his thoughtfulness even while she ignored CJ’s I-told-you-so elbow jab.

Paul held out his hands, palms up. “Now I need to see if you’re strong enough to be a cowboy. Can you press down on my hands as hard as you can?”

Isaac enthusiastically demonstrated his superhuman strength, repeating the test by pressing up, out and in against Paul’s hands. He laughed when one foot and then the other swung involuntarily in response to a tap to the knee with a little rubber hammer.

“Dude, have you been working out? Lifting weights?” Paul asked. “Training for the Olympics?”

“Nope. I help my grandpa, though. He has a wheelchair and he lets me push him around sometimes.”

“How’s your grandpa doing?” Paul looked to Annie for an answer as he ran both hands along her son’s arms, then gently flexed them at the wrist, elbow and shoulder.

“He rides horses, too,” Isaac said before she had a chance to answer.

Clearly surprised, Paul looked to Annie for confirmation.

“He’s amazing,” Annie said. “And yes, he rides. CJ runs a therapeutic riding program at the farm. Our dad was her test case and now he helps with the kids from time to time.”

“Kids with disabilities often lead sheltered lives,” CJ said, jumping into the conversation. “Seeing a man get from wheelchair to horseback and canter around the ring can be a real eye-opener for them. And for their parents, who can sometimes be a little overprotective.”

“No doubt,” Paul said. “Good to know about your program, too. Do you take referrals?”

CJ grinned. “You bet I do.”

Annie watched as Paul had Isaac lie back on the exam table and flex his legs while he talked to CJ. Apparently all checked out there as well.

“Can you sit up for me, champ? Good stuff. Now, do you remember how you landed when you fell?”

Isaac pointed to his left shoulder.

Paul turned to CJ. “Where was he riding? In a field, on a gravel road?”

“Oh, no. I give lessons in a covered arena. The floor has a thick layer of wood chips.”

“So you had a pretty soft landing,” he said to Isaac. “Can you peel off your T-shirt so I can take a look at that shoulder?”

Paul didn’t offer assistance, and Annie had to resist the urge to jump up and help. Instead, he closely watched Isaac’s movements as he bent and twisted and wriggled his way out of the shirt. Paul popped the earpieces of his stethoscope into his ears and held up the chest piece.

“Do you know what this is for?” he asked.

“Listening to hearts.”

“That’s right. I can hear what’s going on inside your lungs, too.” He reached behind Isaac, ran the tip of a finger along her son’s shoulder blade as he did. “Can you take a big, deep breath and hold it for me?”

Isaac’s narrow chest swelled.

“Good, that’s it. Now breathe out.”

Isaac let out a whoosh.

Paul moved the stethoscope. “Again.”

After several repetitions, he draped the stethoscope around his neck and examined her son’s shoulder more closely before he turned to Annie.

“You have a healthy little cowboy here. No sign of concussion, no broken bones. Even a hairline fracture would be causing some pain. He has the makings of a dandy bruise here on his shoulder, though.”

Annie stood to take a look. Sure enough, a red-and-purple streak marred her son’s pale skin. She lightly ran her fingers over it.

“Does that hurt?” she asked.

Isaac shook his head. “Can we go now? I’m hungry.”

“Sure. We’ll have lunch as soon as we get home.” She felt silly for rushing here, assuming Isaac might have a head injury but not checking to see if he had any scrapes or bruises.

Paul caught her hand in his as she withdrew it from Isaac’s shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze and held on. “You did the right thing, bringing him in to be checked out. His shoulder might be a little stiff and sore for a few days. An ice pack will help with that if you can get him to sit still for a few minutes.”

“Thank you. I was so worried.”

“Perfectly understandable. Anytime you have a concern, bring him in or give us a call. That’s what we’re here for.”

She noticed he didn’t say that’s what he was here for. It was a silly thought. Why should he? He ran his thumb over the back of her hand, though, before he let go and helped Isaac put on his shirt. She wrapped her other hand around the one Paul had released, wanting to hold onto the warmth and reassurance of his touch.

“Now that you’re back in town, you’ll have to come to the farm for a visit. Coffee, maybe, or dinner.”

He looked at her, his gaze a little intense and completely unreadable. “Coffee would be great. My shift here starts at ten so I could run out in the morning before I start work.”

“Tomorrow?” Is that what he meant when he said in the morning, or had he meant some morning? She wished her question hadn’t sounded so hopeful.

“Tomorrow works,” he said without missing a beat. He held out a hand to steady Isaac as he jumped off the table, then ruffled his hair before opening the door of the examining room. “You let your mom put an ice pack on that shoulder, okay? Doctor’s orders. CJ, good to see you again.”

“Likewise.” Not one to stand on ceremony, CJ wrapped her arms around his neck. “Good to have you back in town.”

“Good to be here.” He turned to Annie. “See you in the morning.” Then he was gone.

Her heart fluttered and the tip of her nose sizzled.

CJ looked her square in the eye.

“Don’t you dare start with the I-told-you-so’s,” Annie said. “You heard what Paul said. Bringing him here was the right thing to do.”

Her sister flashed an impish grin. “You were totally right. And hey, you even managed to land yourself a date.”

“Shhh.” She glanced at her son, but he was already out the door, sticker books tucked securely under his arm. “It’s not a date. It’s coffee with an old friend.”

“It’s a date,” CJ said.

“It’s coffee,” Annie insisted. “At the house, in the kitchen, with all of you hanging around.”

CJ slung an arm around her shoulders and they followed Isaac to the parking lot. For once, she seemed willing to let Annie have the last word. But as soon as they were in the truck, CJ was grinning again as she backed out of the parking space.

“I can’t speak for you. But Paul? He thinks it’s a date.”

“What’s a date?” Isaac asked.

“It’s when two people go out to dinner and a movie,” Annie said. “You know, like Auntie CJ does all the time.”

“Auntie CJ never goes for dinner with anybody. She always has dinner at home, with us.”

“Oh, that’s right. She does, doesn’t she?”

“Ouch. That was a low blow.” For a few seconds CJ put on her well-rehearsed I’m-the-baby-in-the-family pouty face, then the evil little grin was back. “Riverton isn’t exactly overrun with eligible men but you know, now that Paul Woodward’s back...huh. Maybe I’ll ask him to take me out for dinner and a movie.”

When are you going to learn? Annie asked herself. CJ never settled for anything short of having the last word. But two things were certain—having coffee with Paul was not a date, and no one else in her family was going to date him, either.

CHAPTER TWO

PAUL SAT IN a cubicle behind the nursing station, added a final note to Isaac Larsen’s chart and set it on the growing stack to be filed. He had grown accustomed to working with computerized medical records at Mercy Memorial in Chicago. After he settled in at Riverton Health Center, he would explore similar systems for this facility. If he decided to stay. Until his father’s illness had progressed to the point he could no longer work or take care of himself, returning to his hometown to live and practice medicine was never an option.

Now, with his blood still simmering from Annie’s casual embrace, he couldn’t decide if coming back was a good idea or the biggest mistake he’d ever made. She was more beautiful than ever, more devoted to family than ever, more... More Annie than he remembered. The hug had given them both a little jolt—he’d felt her awareness collide with his—then she had quickly pulled away as though she had accidentally touched an exposed wire. He knew she would deny her reaction if asked, so he wouldn’t. But he would take her up on the invitation to go for coffee tomorrow morning. Nothing would get in the way of that.

For now, though, he needed to make it through his first day.

Glancing at the roster, he saw he had one more patient to see before lunchtime. Mable Potter. Huh. She’d been his high school English teacher. Her daughter had made the appointment and was bringing her in to have her checked for memory loss. With her chart in hand, he sat a moment longer, trying to clear away thoughts of Annie, wishing he had the luxury to do nothing but dwell on them.

He had not been prepared to see her. Not like this. He’d had it all planned out. He would spend a few days settling in, then he would call her. In his head, he had rehearsed the conversation, steeled himself for the rush of emotion he would feel at the sound of her voice. He would act casual, off-hand, even though that wasn’t his style. She would be happy to hear from him, invite him out to the farm.

He had considered dropping by unexpectedly, as his long-time friend Jack Evans would have done, but that wasn’t his style, either. Too unpredictable. What if she wasn’t home? Or, worse yet, what if someone was there with her? Not that she was seeing anyone. Jack had assured him she wasn’t. It was too soon since Eric’s death, and that definitely wasn’t her style.

As these things tended to go, Paul’s carefully thought-out plan to see Annie on his terms—after he had mentally prepared himself for their first encounter since her husband’s funeral—had gone out the window. Instead, after a hectic morning of meeting the staff, seeing patients, figuring out the routine of a small but busy clinic, there she was. Tall and slender, wearing curve-hugging jeans and an orange-and-white, wide-striped sweater. Not a blond hair out of place. Troubled blue eyes.

Even now, the eyes haunted him.

The sadness, the lingering grief, was not a surprise. But the unexpected emotions that niggled his conscience, tugged at his heartstrings, were. Loneliness, a lack of purpose, fear. Her fear had troubled him the most. He had picked up on an almost obsessive conviction that her son had suffered a serious injury when, in fact, the kid hardly had a scratch and only minor bruises that would fade in a few days. Yes, an understandable reaction for someone whose young husband had died six months ago, but so unlike Annie. He had always seen her as the confident one, the person who fixed things, not the person who needed things fixed for her.

Still, if she was looking for a shoulder to lean on, he’d be happy to provide one, acknowledging that the idea was far from selfless. If he played his cards right, she might even be willing to lean on him more than a little. A guy could always hope.

Tomorrow, he reminded himself. Right now he had a patient to see, so he made his way to the examining room, tapped lightly on the door, let himself in.

“Good morning, Mrs. Potter. How are you doing today?”

“Do I know you?” The elderly woman’s steady, blue-eyed gaze swept him back a couple of decades. The woman sitting next to her, probably in her late forties or early fifties, wasn’t familiar.

“Twelfth-grade English. You were one of my favorite teachers at Riverton High. It’s good to see you again.”

Mable beamed at that. “I had a lot of students over the years,” she said. “I wish I could remember all of them.”

“No one would expect that,” he said, extending his hand. “But they all remember you. I’m Dr. Woodward.”

She didn’t accept the handshake, shook her head instead. “No, you’re not. Don’t be making up stories, young man. I know Dr. Woodward, and you’re not him.”

The woman next to her placed a gentle hand on Mable’s arm. “Mother, this is Dr. Woodward’s son. He’s a doctor, too.”

“Are you?”

Paul nodded.

“Well, then. He must be proud.”

Mable’s daughter gave him a look that begged for understanding. “I’m Olivia Lawrence. I mean, Potter—I’m using my maiden name again. I’m Mable’s daughter. Everyone calls me Libby.”

“Nice to meet you, Libby.” He accepted her perfunctory handshake and returned his attention to her mother. “My father is an excellent doctor. I only hope I can live up to his standards.” The words were true enough. His father had been a great physician, just a lousy parent. “Now, how can I help you today, Mrs. Potter?”

“Well...” She glanced nervously at her daughter. “I don’t remember.”

Libby gently took her mother’s hand. “It’s okay, Mom. We all forget things from time to time. Right?” She looked to Paul for affirmation.

“We sure do.” He sat on a wheeled stool. “The important thing to figure out is if you’re more forgetful than usual. Do you live alone, Mrs. Potter?”

“I did after my husband passed on, but now I have my daughter home with me.”

Libby smiled and nodded. “I’ve lived in St. Paul for many years—I’m a teacher like my mother—but I’ve had some recent, um, changes in my life and now I’m back in Riverton. I’ll be living with my mother and teaching second grade at Riverton Elementary starting next week.”

“Very good. You must be happy to have her with you.”

The elderly woman brightened. “I am. Especially since that good-for-nothing reprobate of a husband of hers didn’t come with her.”

Libby sighed. Paul suppressed a chuckle, trying to recall the last time he’d heard the word reprobate used in a sentence. Probably not since twelfth-grade English. “I remember you always were one to speak your mind, Mrs. Potter. Now if it’s okay with you, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“You go right ahead,” she said. “As long as they’re not too personal.”

Libby closed her eyes, shook her head.

After all these years, still not pulling any punches, Paul thought. The poor woman probably knew things weren’t quite right and she was scared witless. Geriatrics weren’t his strong suit, but for now he would go easy on her, he decided. Depending on what he learned, he might refer them to a specialist in the city.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “If you feel any of the questions are too personal, then you don’t have to answer them.”

“That seems fair.” But she clung to her daughter’s hand like a lifeline.

“How long have you lived in Riverton, Mrs. Potter?”

“All my life.”

He looked to Libby, who confirmed the answer with a subtle nod.

“So you must know pretty well everyone in town.”

“I suppose I do. I’ve taught a lot of them, too. And their children and their children’s children.”

“She even taught me,” Libby added, her soft voice filled with affection.

“And you were a good student. A good girl, too. At least until you married that good-for-nothing...”

Reprobate. She seemed unable to recall the disparaging word that had come so quickly just moments ago, and since it didn’t bear repeating, Paul pressed on.

“Where do you live?”

“On Cottonwood Street.” He knew that was true, could even picture her cute little one-and-a-half-story home a few blocks from his father’s place.

“Do you know what day it is?”

“Thursday. I know that because on Thursdays I go to the Clip ’n’ Curl to have my hair done.”

Close, but it was actually Friday.

“We did that yesterday, Mom,” Libby gently reminded her.

“Humph. You don’t say.”

“Can you tell me what you had for breakfast this morning?” Paul asked.

“Why do you need to know that?” Mable asked. She looked confused and sounded defensive.

“I’m just checking to see if you remember.”

“Well, if you must know, I had tea. And...porridge. I have that every day.”

Again, Libby’s almost imperceptible headshake indicated that this wasn’t accurate. Since nothing would be gained by contradicting her, he continued with some casual conversation.

“When I was a boy,” he told her, “I remember my grandmother telling me to eat my porridge because it would stick to my ribs.”

Mable beamed, and most likely assumed she had answered the question correctly.

Libby patted her hand.

As he suspected, her long-term memory was intact. The short-term, not so much. Based on personal experience, these were symptoms he knew all too well.

“I’m going to refer you to a specialist in the city,” he said to Libby. “I’ll set that up today and call your home with the details.”

“Thank you, Dr. Woodward. I—we—really appreciate it.”

“I remember you,” Mable said to him out of the blue. “You’re old Doc Woodward’s son.”

“I am.”

“You were in my English class, but that was a long time ago.”

“So, you do remember me.”

“Of course I do. You were friends with Jack Evans and that Larsen boy.”

“That’s right.”

“You were a better student, as I recall. Homework always done on time, good grades. And now you’re a doctor, too.”

“I am.”

“Well, your father must be proud. How is he, anyway?”

“He’s doing well.” There was no point in telling her that his father was a little lacking in the son-I’m-so-proud-of-you department, or that he was also seeing the Alzheimer’s specialist in Madison.

“And those other boys?”

“A couple of months ago, Jack was appointed Riverton’s new chief of police. He’s living here now and engaged to Emily Finnegan. And Eric Larsen...” Paul had to pause, steady breath. “He passed away six months ago.”

“He died so young?” Mable asked.

“Too young.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

Libby stood and urged her mother out of her chair. “We should go, Mom. Thank you,” she said to Paul.

“No problem. I’d like to see your mother again in two weeks. You can stop at the desk on your way out and have them set up the appointment.”

“I will. I hope late afternoons will work because I’ll be teaching during the daytime.”

“That won’t be a problem. I’ll be taking late appointments two days a week and for a few hours every other Saturday.”

Paul let himself out of the room and returned to his desk. He updated Mable Potter’s file, added it to the stack, then looked at his watch. He should run to his father’s place, check on the old man, make sure he had eaten the lunch Paul had left out for him that morning. He hated himself for thinking it, but few things had less appeal.

Stacey stepped around the partition, another chart in hand. “Sorry, Dr. Woodward. Another patient just came in. Would you like me to tell her to come back after lunch?”

“What are her symptoms?”

“Sore throat, nasty cough, low-grade fever.”

Paul reached for the folder. “I’ll see her now, then I’ll take a break.” One thing about being in a small town, he could leave the clinic and be anyplace in five minutes.

“Thanks. I’ll get her set up in an examining room.”

He glanced at the file, recognized the name immediately.

Rose Daniels.

* * *

ANNIE WENT THROUGH the motions of preparing lunch without giving a lot of thought to what she was doing. Then again, why would she need to? She had made hundreds, no, more like thousands, of lunches. She had been making lunches for as long as she could remember. So while she put on a pot of freshly gathered eggs to boil and sliced thick slabs of home-baked wheat bread, her mind was elsewhere and her emotions were not in keeping with her role as maker of family lunches.

Her reaction to seeing Paul had been nothing short of inappropriate. He was her husband’s best friend! She had been surprised to see him, and happy, of course, but not that kind of happy. It was easy enough to explain her reaction. She had been terrified that something might be terribly wrong with Isaac, angry with CJ for letting Isaac fall, impatient with the admissions clerk. Had her emotions been irrational? Of course they had. They had been out-of-character for her, and that meant all of her other actions and reactions had been equally over-the-top.

The timer buzzed. Annie removed the pot from the stove and transferred the eggs to a bowl of ice water. While they cooled, she finely diced a couple of celery stalks, minced several green onions and chopped a bunch of fresh parsley.

Paul wasn’t just Eric’s friend. He was her friend, too. Of course she was happy to see him and relieved to know that he would be taking care of her son. She hadn’t been able to rely on anyone but herself for a long time and it had been a relief to let someone else step in.

If she was being honest, she had at times resented Eric’s carefree life. While he had gone off to college and earned a degree, Annie had stayed in Riverton and cared for her family. After they were married, she had stayed at home and baked bread while Eric had stayed after school and coached the senior boys’ basketball team all the way to the state championship. While she washed, folded and put away a mountain of laundry, he took a group of students on a ski trip. In all fairness to her husband, he had never demanded any of those things of her. He only had to ask, and she was all over it. She had willingly taken on all of the responsibility. She always had.

And you probably always will.

One by one, she plucked the chilled eggs from the bowl of water, gave them a gentle smack against the cutting board and peeled the shells.

Annie had been only six years old when her mother left. Even in the early days before her mother walked out on them, Annie had vague recollections of being the caregiver, fetching her mother a glass of water from the kitchen and the bottle of pills from the bureau drawer because Mommy had a headache. Keeping her younger sisters entertained because Mommy needed to rest. Making lunch for her siblings because Mommy wasn’t feeling well that day. Looking back, life had actually become a little easier after their mother abandoned them because there had been one less person to look after.

Her father had ended up in a wheelchair after a stint in Iraq. The details of that event had always been sketchy because he had sheltered his daughters from the horrific details. He had been the one person in her life who had truly needed looking after and yet she had very few memories of ever actually doing anything for him.

She dumped the peeled eggs into a crockery bowl and mashed them with her pastry blender, which was much more efficient than a fork, then tossed in the chopped vegetables, sprinkled on salt and pepper, scooped in some mayonnaise and stirred.

By the time she started high school, Annie had been everyone’s go-to gal when it came to getting things done. She had organized bake sales and car washes, served on decorating committees, volunteered in the school library and served on student council. She had been a going concern and so had Eric. The difference had been that she created posters for the car wash to raise money for the boys’ basketball team and made arrangements to hold it at Gabe’s Gas ’n’ Go, while Eric showed up in board shorts and dazzled all the girls by stripping off his T-shirt. And no one had been more dazzled than she. She always had to hand it to him, though. No matter how many girls flirted with him, he was always quick to point out that he was Annie’s guy, strictly off-limits. She would have done anything for him, and he had never hesitated to ask.

Annie slathered butter onto slices of bread, spread them with scoops of egg salad, added leaves of fresh lettuce, cut the sandwiches in half and arranged them on a large white platter. There. Another day, another lunch. Time to call her father, Isaac and CJ. As she set out plates, glasses, napkins and a pitcher of milk, she found herself wondering what Paul was having for lunch. And then resisted the urge to pick up her phone and call him.

* * *

PAUL HAD HEARD an earful about Rose Daniels from his long-time friend, Jack Evans. She was from Chicago, twenty years old, the daughter of a street person who’d been murdered in the spring. Jack, still with the Chicago PD at the time, had been the lead investigator in the serial murders of three women, one of whom had been Rose’s mother. In one of those bizarre, small-world coincidences, it turned out Rose’s mother, Scarlett, a drug addict, was also Annie Finnegan’s mother.

Scarlett had left her family in Riverton when her daughters were too young to remember. After Scarlett died, Rose had found out about her mother’s abandoned family and had surreptitiously come to Riverton to check them out. Annie, being Annie, had taken the young woman under her wing and welcomed her into the Finnegan fold.

Jack had talked about the case at length because, being engaged to Annie’s sister, Emily, he had a vested interest in it. Paul remembered him saying that, as a child, Rose had been in and out of foster homes. Now, with Annie’s help, she had moved here and landed a waitressing job at the Riverton Bar & Grill. From what Jack had told him, Paul also knew the young woman had a serious drinking problem and the attitude that went along with it. Understandable for someone who’d grown up with none of the advantages, but his sympathy was overridden by his concern for Annie, who clearly had enough on her plate already. According to Jack, Emily had been devastated by the news of what had happened to their mother and still hadn’t warmed up to her half sister, Rose. CJ wasn’t a fan, either. Annie, however, had become the young woman’s champion.

Paul closed the chart, rapped lightly on the door of the examining room.

A throaty “Come in” was followed by a phlegmy coughing fit.

He opened the door and paused. He had expected to see a fresh-faced young woman with intelligent eyes and a ready smile—she was one of the Finnegan sisters. Sort of. Yet, aside from the eyes, nothing about Rose’s appearance hinted at a connection to the Finnegans. She was thin to the point of being gaunt and her face had a sickly pallor. Black liner emphasized the dark circles under her eyes. Her side-swept bangs were disproportionately long compared to the rest of her sleek, dark, short-cropped hair. She sat on the edge of the examining table wearing one of the clinic’s faded blue gowns over tattered blue jeans and scuffed, black combat boots.

“Hi, Rose. I’m Dr. Paul Woodward. That’s a nasty-sounding cough.”

She nodded, clearing her throat.

Paul selected a tongue depressor from a glass jar and tore off the paper wrapper. “Open up and let’s have a look at that throat.”

As suspected, her tonsils were swollen and her throat an angry shade of red. She exhaled with the “ah,” her breath a pungent blend of tobacco smoke and alcohol.

“I’ll take a throat swab and send it to the lab,” he said. “Just to be sure you don’t have a strep infection going on in there.” After he sealed the swab and labeled it, he reached for a prescription pad. “I’m going to prescribe an antibiotic. I want you take this twice a day for ten days. And no alcohol while you’re taking it,” he said, watching closely for her reaction.

“Oh. Sure. I don’t drink much anyway.”

Right. Except for prelunch cocktails that had her smelling like a bottle of gin. He tore the sheet off the pad, handed it to her. “What about cigarettes?” he asked.

She responded with a one-shoulder shrug.

With his stethoscope, he listened to her lungs rattle as she wheezed a couple of deep breaths in and out for him. “If you ever think about quitting,” he said with as much gentleness as he could muster, “I can give you information about smoking cessation programs.”

“Oh, I can quit if I want to.”

Okay, then. “Fair enough. If you’d like to stop at the desk and book an appointment for a checkup next week, I should have the lab results by Tuesday. And while you’re at the drugstore getting the prescription filled, ask the pharmacist for a good cough syrup.”

“Sure.” It was all she managed to say before launching into another coughing fit.

“Good. I’ll see you next week, Rose.” He left the examining room and closed the door behind him.

He could see why the younger Finnegan sisters hadn’t warmed up to their half sister, but he could also see why Annie had rushed to her rescue. This young woman needed all the help she could get.

CHAPTER THREE

ANNIE KNEW HER reaction to Isaac’s fall that morning had been over-the-top. Still, she played back Paul’s words over and over again. You did the right thing, bringing him in to have him checked him out. He had been gentle and patient with Isaac, and even gentler and more patient with her. Inexplicably, the back of her hand still sizzled from his touch. That reaction was also completely over-the-top.

She sighed, pressed buttons to preheat the two wall ovens. Her father had always said the kitchen was her domain. He was right. She loved this kitchen. She had planned and overseen the renovation down to the smallest detail and now it was, to her mind at least, the perfect combination of form and function, modern and vintage, all in a cheery combination of gleaming white with vibrant red and sunny yellow accents. This was the center of her universe, her very own command central, the one place where she felt completely secure and fully in charge. This was where everyone came to her for help and she gave it, no questions asked.

She lifted the flour canister off an open shelf, set it on the island next to the basket of eggs she had brought in from the coop not half an hour ago. From the fridge, milk and butter. Sugar, cocoa and baking powder from the pantry. From memory, she measured and sifted dry ingredients into a bowl. In another, she creamed the butter, eggs and sugar until they were pale yellow and velvety smooth. Isaac would have his favorite five-layer chocolate ganache cake for dessert tonight.

She pulled a set of cake tins from a cupboard, greased and floured all five and set them aside, ready for the batter. Folding the dry ingredients into the wet, she quickly stirred the mixture until it was smooth and poured the batter into the prepared pans and popped them into one of the ovens. After clearing away baking supplies and loading the utensils into the dishwasher, she turned her attention to dinner. Pot roast, she had decided earlier. A family favorite, and easy to make. She checked the temperature of the other oven and took out the roaster.

If she kept herself busy, she didn’t have to think about Isaac getting hurt this morning or how she had blamed the fall on CJ or how she had behaved like a neurotic parent at the clinic. And maybe she could avoid thinking about that thing with Paul. She didn’t need a shoulder to lean on. His familiar embrace had suddenly felt unfamiliar and new. It had caught her off guard, that’s all. Thank goodness he hadn’t noticed. But then, why would he?

She opened a bin, took out some potatoes. She had probably misinterpreted that moment with her husband’s best friend. She could call it relief that it was Paul who would examine Isaac, but that didn’t explain why she had invited him to drop by for coffee tomorrow morning. Nor did it explain why she had been secretly glad when he accepted.

But it was just coffee. Just Paul. He had been one of Eric’s best friends. He cared about her and Isaac the way friends did. The same way Jack did. Having Paul drop by for coffee was not a big deal, and she wasn’t the type to make something out of nothing.

So why was she overthinking this?

She browned the roast in a large skillet on the stovetop, transferred it to the roaster and slid it into the lower oven. Then she took a vegetable peeler from a drawer and attacked the mound of potatoes she had dumped in the sink.

She had loved Eric for as long as she could remember. Losing him in the spring had carved a huge hole in her life, one that left her aching and empty. Having Paul and Jack in Riverton would be good for her and Isaac. Especially Isaac.

Jack was about to become her brother-in-law and Paul was...just Paul, she reminded herself.

A movement at the veranda door caught her eye. Chester, the family’s aging retriever, sat patiently waiting to be let in. Annie dropped the last potato into a pot of cold water, then crossed the kitchen to let in the dog.

“Hey there, golden boy.” She gave his head a rub, fed him a biscuit from the jar on the counter. Chester crunched and swallowed the treat, ambled over to his water bowl for a drink, then carefully lowered his arthritic hips to the big red-and-gold plaid cushion that was his bed. For more than a year now, Isaac had been begging for a puppy. Annie had deflected his cajoling with a reminder that they already had a dog. Much as she hated to admit it, the old retriever wouldn’t be with them forever. The Finnegan farmhouse had never been without a dog and Annie knew she would have to relent one of these days. Just not this one.

With Chester snoring softly in his corner, she went back to work. She always welcomed an afternoon alone in the kitchen. After they’d come home from the clinic and had lunch, CJ had gone to work in the stable and their father had taken Isaac into town to pick up a few last-minute back-to-school supplies. They would be home anytime, though, and her solitude would come to an end. She loved her son’s boisterous boyishness, but she also cherished these moments of peace and quiet. There would be more of those moments once school started next week.

She could hardly believe her little boy was already in second grade. He loved school, especially reading and science and gym class, and already had a large circle of friends. He was so much like his father in so many ways, it made her heart swell with love and ache a little at the same time.

Eric would have been over-the-moon to have his two long-time friends in Riverton. With Jack about to marry Emily, he and Eric would have been brothers-in-law. He would have loved that. And now Paul was here, too. Still single and looking like a doctor on a Hollywood TV drama. What had they called that doctor on Grey’s Anatomy? McSomething. McDreamy? That was it. And that was Paul.

The shock from the way she had reacted to his embrace that morning stung again. She felt guilty, too. His relationship with her husband made these feelings inappropriate and downright disrespectful. Eric deserved better.

As she finished readying the vegetables for the pot roast, she could hear the front door swing open and Isaac barreled through the house, yelling a greeting. “Mom? Mo-om! Where are you?” He was heading straight for the kitchen because everyone knew this was the first place to look for her.

“Guess what!” He burst into the room, blue eyes alight, blond curls bouncing, grinning from ear to ear. “You’ll never guess!”

“Then you’ll have to tell me.” She pulled him close, carefully avoiding his bruised shoulder. “Using your inside voice.”

“We went to the hardware store ’cause Auntie CJ needed us to pick up a bridle for the new horse she’s boarding. And you know the dog that’s always at the store? Izzie?”

“I do,” Annie said, leery of the direction this conversation was headed.

“She has puppies! Five of ’em.”

Annie already knew this. She had gone into the hardware store earlier in the week to pick up paint for the chicken coop, and had immediately been drawn to the makeshift pen behind the sales counter, where Izzie had been sprawled on a blanket, nursing her impossibly adorable puppies. Having a soft spot for animals, especially an animal in need of a home, Annie had refused to let herself be drawn to those puppies. She already had all the strays she needed.

Isaac had other ideas. “A dog would be a good thing to get.”

“We have Chester.”

“But he’s not my dog, and he’s old.”

Both were true. Since Isaac was a toddler, Chester had tolerated him. Now he mostly ignored him. But a puppy? Puppies made messes on the floor and chewed the heels off shoes. Puppies needed to be housebroken and crate-trained.

Puppies were also a boy’s best friend. They taught kids to be considerate and compassionate and responsible.

“I need a puppy, Mom.”

“I’ll think about it,” Annie said.

“Yay!” Isaac raced back to the front door. “Gramps! We’re getting one of those puppies and we’re going to name him Beasley.”

Annie sighed. “Use your inside voice, please,” she called after him, but she knew he hadn’t heard. When it came to her son, she was a pushover, but he was all she had left of Eric and there was nothing she wouldn’t do for him.

Her father rolled into the kitchen. Isaac had climbed onboard and was sitting on his grandfather’s lap. He’d been doing this since he was a baby, but not for much longer.

“The way you’re growing, you’ll soon be too big to ride with Gramps,” she said.

Isaac flung his arms around his grandfather’s neck. “Then I’ll stop growing.”

Annie exchanged smiles with her father. “So what’s this I hear about a puppy?” he asked. His attempt at innocence didn’t fool her for a second and she immediately knew what she was up against. It wasn’t just Isaac who wanted a puppy, it was Isaac and his grandfather.

“I said I would think about it.”

The co-conspirators in the wheelchair exchanged a wink.

“So...” her father said. “Isaac tells me you saw Paul at the clinic this morning. Said the two of you have a date tomorrow.”

“It’s not a date. He’s just dropping by for coffee.” Annie felt her nose turn red as she debated which conversation was more awkward—dogs or dates.

* * *

EARLY SATURDAY MORNING, Paul fixed his father’s breakfast and served it to him at the kitchen table. Two soft-boiled eggs that Geoff Woodward deemed to be too hard, dry toast that wasn’t dry enough, coffee that was too strong. Afterward, Paul settled the cantankerous old man in his favorite chair with a newspaper, the television remote and a thermos of tea.

“I have patients I need to see this morning,” he said after he had washed the dishes and set them in the drainer to dry. Saying he was on his way to the clinic wasn’t quite true, although he did have to get there eventually. First he wanted to see Annie. He’d thought of little else since yesterday. If he was being honest, he didn’t just want to see Annie, he needed to see her.

“Fine,” the old man said. “Go ahead and leave me. You’re just like your mother.”

Paul knew better than to remind his father that Margaret Woodward had not walked out on her husband, she had died. Feeling a sense of abandonment was normal after the loss of a spouse—there was no point calling her a loved one, since he didn’t believe his father had ever experienced that emotion—and these feelings could be more pronounced in an Alzheimer’s patient.

“Walt Evans from across the street will stop by after lunch. He said he was hoping to have a cup of tea and a game of cribbage.”

“I hope he doesn’t mind me beating the pants off him.”

“I’m sure he won’t.” Their lifelong neighbor and the father of one of Paul’s oldest and best friends in the world knew as well as anyone that Geoff had always been a sore loser. Now if he lost, he was likely to toss the board across the room, pegs and all, and fling the deck of cards in its wake. Luckily for all concerned, Walt had been one of the few people who had managed to forge a genuine friendship with Geoff over the years. No surprise there. Jack’s father was always as cool as a cucumber, and Paul’s father was as approachable as a porcupine.

For now, Paul was comfortable leaving his father on his own in the house, knowing he didn’t yet have a tendency to wander. The disease would progress, though, and that day would come. Paul would deal with it when it did, but for now he could go about his day, confident that his father would still be here when he returned.

At first glance, Geoff was the same man he had always been—tall in stature, almost as tall as his son, hair not gray but silver, with the fit body and angular facial features of a man in his sixties. Of course, he was in his sixties. It was his mind that had decided to age prematurely.

It was the eyes that betrayed him. Sitting as he was now, ensconced in his recliner, remote in hand, staring vacantly at the dark TV screen...this was the man his father had become, and the speed with which the change had come about had been shocking.

Paul knew he should feel compassion for this man who was his father, but all he felt was resentment. For his entire career, Geoff had been a compassionate physician with an exemplary bedside manner. At home, he had ruled his family with a sharp tongue and an iron fist. Paul had looked forward to the day when he could flaunt his own medical successes in his father’s face and call him out on the years of verbal abuse. The Alzheimer’s had robbed him of the chance. It would have been one thing to have a mental sparring match with his father while he was sharp-witted and mean. Now, sadly, the old man was just mean, and having that conversation would be pointless.

For the millionth time in the past few weeks, Paul contemplated his fate and for the first time decided the fates had been fair after all. Riverton’s clinic needed a new doctor, his father needed someone to look after him and Annie was a single woman. None of these things would be easy, he knew that. He already missed practicing medicine at a big hospital. He’d had no idea how to relate to his father when he was in his right mind, let alone like this.

As for Annie, Paul had no idea how he would stop himself from acting like a fool. He knew one thing for sure, though—his shift didn’t start for two hours and Annie had invited him to drop by for coffee, so that’s exactly what he was going to do.

CHAPTER FOUR

TEN MINUTES LATER, Paul was behind the wheel of his car and heading out of town along River Road. The drive from town to the country brought back a lot of memories, most of them bittersweet.

As kids, he and Jack and Eric had ridden their bikes out here during summer holidays. That had been before they knew about Finnegan Farm or the oldest Finnegan girl, who’d been destined to earn the love of not one but two good men. In those days, they’d been more interested in doing what boys do best when there was no adult supervision—competing to see who could ride the farthest without touching the handlebars, who could spit the farthest when they were munching on sunflower seeds and who could string together the longest series of swear words. Fortunately for the women of the world, boys eventually grew into men.

Jack had been the first to get his driver’s license, and that summer had been a blur of illicit parties. By then, Jack was dating a girl named Belinda and Eric was dating Annie, leaving Paul on the sidelines. The girls he ended up being paired with were friends of either Annie’s or Belinda’s. Sometimes there was the occasional girl he’d mustered the courage to ask out himself. None of them had turned into girlfriends, though. He’d been preoccupied with Annie and his futile hope that she would realize he was a far better catch than Eric.

She hadn’t, of course. But that was then and this was now. He knew better than to think she could miraculously stop grieving the loss of her husband and realize Paul was the second love of her life. But now that she was single and he was home, he intended to rekindle their long-time friendship. After seeing her so upset at the clinic yesterday, he could tell she was struggling a little—maybe more than a little. He would be there for her. His might even be the shoulder she leaned on when the going got rough.

Just ahead he spotted the white gazebo on the riverbank. Situated on the narrow strip of public land that ran between River Road and the Mississippi, it had been built by Annie’s grandfather. There was a small parking area where anyone passing by could stop and enjoy the view. The landmark would always be known to locals as Finnegan’s gazebo. To Paul, it would always be the place where Eric had proposed to Annie, and where Annie had said yes.

Paul signaled, slowed and swung into the driveway then drove up the sloping, fence-lined gravel drive that separated two paddocks, one of which had a series of jumps set up in it. At the house, he parked in the roundabout next to a large white van and in front of a painted wooden sign, both embellished with the Finnegan Farm Bed & Breakfast name and logo.

The two-and-a-half-story farmhouse had been built at least a hundred years ago. As a teenager, Paul had spent a fair bit of time here. After Eric had married Annie and moved in, he hadn’t set foot in the place.

The clapboard exterior was still a crisp white and the trim was barn-red, just as he remembered. The wraparound screened porch was furnished with wicker and painted wood furniture. The white lace curtains in the windows, the old yellow dog sleeping on the welcome mat at the front door—it was as if time had stood still. Even the wheelchair ramp adjacent to the front steps had been there for as long as Paul had been coming here. Everyone in Riverton knew about Thomas Finnegan’s acts of heroism during Desert Storm and about the lives he had saved while almost giving up his own. Soon after he’d come home to his family in a wheelchair, his wife had abandoned him and his daughters. Annie, the oldest of the three, had taken on the role of caregiver and Paul knew she continued to fulfill it. The big question for Paul had always been...who took care of Annie?

* * *

ANNIE LOVED WEEKEND mornings. Every Saturday, her sisters gathered around the big kitchen island for coffee and muffins and sisterly conversation. The three of them had always been close, but after Eric died, she had valued these get-togethers more than ever. This morning she was anticipating another visitor, a little too eagerly, perhaps. She was sliding a pan of lemon-cranberry muffins into the oven when she heard the knock at the front door.

Paul! She hastily set the timer and made her way to the door. She opened it and felt her breath catch in her throat.

“Paul.”

“Good morning, Annie. I hope I’m not too early. When you invited me, I might have forgotten to mention that my shift at the clinic starts at ten o’clock.”

“Not a problem, and it’s definitely not too early. Come in, please.”

He stepped inside, seemed to hesitate before he opened his arms. She stepped into the awkward hug and instantly felt the same zing of awareness she’d had yesterday. CJ’s insistence that this was a date rushed through her mind.

Paul leaned down and planted a kiss on top of her head.

Definitely not a date, she reminded herself.

“Come to the kitchen. There’s fresh coffee, and I just put a second batch of muffins in the oven.”

“Wow,” he said as he followed her. “Eric wasn’t exaggerating. You really have made some big changes in here.”

“We renovated about five years ago, after I decided to open the B and B. The old kitchen was quaint but it sure wasn’t functional. We kept the original cabinets, but we painted them, and we kept these old farmhouse-style door and drawer pulls.”

“Those are original? They look as though they could have been installed yesterday.”

“You know what they say—everything old is new again.” She often congratulated herself on that decision. Now, when she checked out design magazines, she could see they were once again in vogue. The same could be said for Great-Grandmother Finnegan’s metal canisters, still lined up along the counter, their red lids with the paint chipped from years of use, the cherry-cluster decoration on the fronts faded but still cheery. Their contents still matched the stenciled labels—flour, sugar, coffee, tea.

“I wanted modern conveniences without sacrificing family tradition,” she said. The cabinet drawers were filled with fresh linens and towels and all the modern gadgets she used every day to prepare the meals she served to her family and guests. Nestled among them, though, were the old wooden rolling pin her grandmother had used to roll countless pie crusts and strudels, and the old hand-crank eggbeater that Annie and her sisters had been allowed to use before they could be trusted with an electric appliance. She indicated the upper cabinets. “We added these glass doors because I wanted to display this vintage crockery and glassware. They’ve been in the family for generations.”

“I’m impressed. I remember Eric’s emails about the work you were doing. It was hard to imagine him in a tool belt, though, wielding a hammer.”

“Eric was...helpful,” Annie said, giving a weak laugh. “Although I’m not sure the contractor would have agreed with that statement.”

Paul laughed, too. “That sounds like Eric, all right. How’s Isaac this morning?” he asked, taking a seat at the island.

“He’s fine.” She took a mug out of the cupboard, filled it with coffee and passed it to Paul. Her hand grazed his and gave her a little jolt.

“Thanks.” His smile had the same effect on her heart.

“After we came home yesterday, I tried putting an ice pack on his shoulder like you suggested, but he wouldn’t sit still long enough for it to do any good.”

“That’s a good sign.”

“It is. I’m sorry I was such a basket case yesterday, but I was so worried.”

“Annie, don’t apologize. Your reaction was completely understandable.”

“He’s already down at the stable with CJ. They’re saddling the horses for the kids who come every Saturday morning for riding therapy.”

“And your father?”

“He’s down there, too. He often rides with them.”

“Impressive. I’d like to come and watch sometime.”

“We can go down and check out the class this morning if you’d like.”

“Thanks. Maybe another time. I’m good right here for today.”

She was oddly pleased that he had opted to stay in the kitchen with her. “How’s your father doing?” she asked.

Paul sighed. “As sharp-tongued as ever. Now he just can’t remember why. Although, come to think of it, I’m not sure he ever had a good reason.”

“I’m sorry. I know a lot of people in town were surprised to hear that he was retiring, but everyone was shocked to hear he has Alzheimer’s. He seems too young for that.”

“Most people think of it as a geriatric condition but the truth is that as many as five percent of patients are afflicted before they turn sixty-five.”

“I had no idea,” Annie said. “That’s so sad.”

The timer pinged. She pulled the pan from the oven, dumped the muffins into a cloth-lined basket. She set out side plates and knives, butter and a small pot of her homemade strawberry-rhubarb jam, and placed the basket on the island. “Help yourself,” she said. “Lemon-cranberry, fresh from the oven, obviously, but they’ll cool quickly.”

“You won’t have to twist my arm,” Paul said. “They smell amazing, but I’ll only have one if you pour yourself a cup of coffee and sit with me.”

“Of course.” She wasn’t accustomed to sitting still in her own kitchen, but she refilled her mug and settled onto a stool, careful to leave an empty one between her and Paul.

“These taste as wonderful as they smell,” he said, after his first bite of the piping hot muffin he had sliced in half and generously slathered with butter and jam.

“I’m glad you like them. I bake muffins every Saturday morning. My sisters and I have a coffee date after CJ’s riding class is over, and I freeze the leftovers for family and guests who come to stay.”

“How’s that going?” he asked. “The bed-and-breakfast? It sounds like a lot of work.”

“It can be, but I’m already cooking and cleaning and making beds for the family, so it’s not a lot of extra work to do it for a few more people. And we’re only open through the summer and for the holidays, from Thanksgiving through Christmas. Not a lot of people book a holiday on a Wisconsin farm in the middle of January. And if they do...” She smiled at him over the rim of her cup. “They won’t make the same mistake twice.”

They both laughed at that.

“Makes sense,” Paul said. “I guess folks are searching for sun and surf at that time of year.”

He was easy to talk to and she loved that he made it easy for her to laugh, that he made it okay for her to laugh again. It was all so easy that she was startled when Paul checked his watch and stood to leave.

“Annie, this has been great but I need to get going. Otherwise I’ll be late for my first appointment.”

“I’m glad you came out this morning. It’s good to have you back in Riverton.” She meant it. She hadn’t realized how important it would be to have Eric’s friends around.

Paul stood, picked up his dishes and carried them to the dishwasher.

Annie rushed to her feet. “Don’t worry about those. I’ll take care of them.”

He gave her a quizzical smile. “I know how to load a dishwasher. I’ve been taking care of myself since I went away to college.”

“Right. Well, thank you.” He was a doctor. He took care of other people for a living, so without question he could look after himself. She just wasn’t used to being around men who did. Or if they did, she wasn’t accustomed to letting them.

“Walk me out?” he asked.

“Of course.” As they made their way down the hall to the door, she found herself wondering about Paul’s past. He seemed to be single, but there must have been girlfriends, serious relationships even. For all she knew, he was still involved with someone in Chicago. She could ask, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Outside on the screened veranda, they stopped and Paul turned to face her. “Thanks for coffee.”

“Anytime, Paul. I mean it.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders, leaned in as though he was going to kiss her forehead the way he always did. As he moved, she inexplicably tipped her head back and looked at him. His lips made contact with hers. The kiss lasted a millisecond—brief but electrifying. They both pulled back, startled, gazes locked.

Paul was the first to find his voice. “Um, I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“I only meant to—”

“I shouldn’t have—”

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he said.

Neither had she. Or had she? That would explain why right now she wanted to grab the front of his shirt, pull him close and kiss him again, for real. The mortifying thought set the tip of her nose on fire.

“It’s not a big deal,” she said. Liar.

They stood in awkward silence for a few beats and she wished she knew what he was thinking, but his expression gave nothing away.

“You’ll have to join us for Sunday dinner sometime.”

The invitation seemed to startle him. “Oh. Sure. Leaving my dad on his own for dinner will depend on what kind of day he’s having but...sure. We’ll play it by ear.”

“Right. I’m sorry, I forgot. I just thought, since Emily and Jack will be here, you might like to see them. And your father is welcome to come, too.”

Paul looked downright surprised by that suggestion. “He has a tough time now with new situations, new people. I’m afraid it might be too much for him. Maybe for everyone.”

“I see. I’m sorry.”

Paul shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “No need to apologize. It is what it is. I’ll see what I can do, though. It would be good to see Jack and Emily.”

“Do you have someone come in to look after him while you’re at the clinic?”

He shook his head. “He’s pretty good in the daytime, and Jack’s father drops in every day around lunchtime. If I can work something out with the Evanses, I’ll let you know.”

“We’d like that.”

“Okay, then. I’d better get going.” He pushed through the screen door and ran down the front steps to his car.

Annie stood on the veranda. She touched her fingertips to her lips as he drove down the driveway, onto River Road and out of sight.

* * *

PAUL DIDN’T REMEMBER a lot after that kiss. He recalled pulling out of the Finnegans’ driveway onto River Road. But his mind was a blur of images from the past and the present, so he had no recollection of making the drive to the Riverton Health Center. Yet here he was, parked in the space that, for years, had been reserved for Dr. Woodward. The name plate was now as worn and faded as the mind of the man who had parked his various Volvo sedans here over the past forty odd years. On Paul’s first morning here, Edna Albright, the clinic’s long-time office administrator, had declared how convenient it was for the health center that the sign didn’t have to be changed.

At the time, he had refrained from telling her that his being here was not a permanent solution. Coming home to care for his demanding, ungrateful father and cover for him at the clinic was meant to be a short-term fix. Eventually, the old man would move into a care facility, the clinic would find a permanent replacement for him and Paul would return to his position at the hospital in Chicago. He had been generously granted a one-year leave of absence. The clock was already ticking.

But being home meant being close to Annie, and he felt as though that brief kiss had already upset his carefully laid plans. He hadn’t meant to kiss her. She was his best friend’s wife. Strictly off-limits. For as long as he could remember, she had passively accepted his casual embrace, the light touch of his lips to her forehead. This morning, there had been a subtle, almost imperceptible change. This morning, she had altered the pattern by looking up at him, eyes awash with emotion, lips parted ever so slightly with an invitation he couldn’t have refused to save his life. And so he had kissed her, even though he hadn’t meant to. Now he couldn’t wait for an opportunity to do it again.

CHAPTER FIVE

AFTER PAUL LEFT, Annie didn’t know what to do with herself. So she made more muffins—carrot-pineapple this time. Then she whipped up a batch of cream-cheese frosting to slather on them as soon as they had cooled. Baking was easy. Reconciling herself with that kiss was not. Her sensible side doubted she could ever face Paul again. Her closely guarded inner self couldn’t wait to see him. In spite of that one unexpected moment they had shared, she liked the feeling of actually...feeling. Having him care for Isaac yesterday had made her feel safe. Being alone with him this morning was like dropping a match in a tinder-dry hayloft. As exciting as the heat of these initial flare-ups might be, she needed to be careful not to burn down the barn.

She put on a fresh pot of coffee and while the scent of it filled the kitchen, mingling with the aroma of fresh baking, she iced the muffins and arranged them on a footed Depression glass cake plate. Soon her sisters would join her and she liked having everything ready before they arrived.

“Hello! I’m here.” Emily let herself in the front door and breezed into the kitchen as Annie poured boiling water over the decaf coffee grounds she had spooned into the bottom of a Bodum.

“Is that for me?” she asked, pulling Annie into a sisterly hug.

“It sure is.”

“You’re the best. I’ve been dying for a cup.”

“You do know there’s no caffeine in it.”

“Doesn’t matter. I let the smell and taste of it trick me into believing it’s the real thing.” Emily set her oversize bag on the counter. “I have something for you.”

“You do?”

“Remember when I asked you about writing a weekly column for my blog? And you said you’d give it a try at the end of the summer after Isaac was back in school?”

Right. The Ask Annie column. Annie had not forgotten, but she had hoped her sister would.

“Jack gave me a new camera for my birthday, and it’s amazing. You should see the photos it takes.” Emily ran a hand over her belly. “This will be the most photographed baby in the world.”

Annie smiled at her sister’s enthusiasm over a gift that other women might find overwhelmingly unromantic from a man who had recently proposed. Not Emily. Since childhood, she had dreamed of becoming a journalist. Now she was a reporter for the Riverton Gazette, and a popular blogger with a recently signed book contract.

Emily pulled her old camera out of her bag. “I thought you might like to have my old one. For illustrating the column, although you can use it for anything. Isaac’s birthday parties, school events, whatever.”

Annie eyed the camera suspiciously. “You said you wanted me to answer a question about running a busy household, a farm, a bed-and-breakfast. You didn’t say anything about taking pictures.”

“Oh. I guess you don’t have to. I thought you might like to.”

“I don’t know the first thing about photography.”

“That’s the beauty of the digital age. You don’t need to know anything. I’ve put all the settings to auto, which means that as long as the light is reasonably good, the camera will do all the work. You simply have to point and shoot.” Emily thrust the device into her hands.

Annie cringed as she studied the undecipherable symbols that presumably indicated what the various buttons and dials were for. “What do you want me to take pictures of?”

“Whatever you like. Whatever will work with the column you’re writing.”

“I’m not a writer, remember? I have no idea what I’m going to write about.”

“Fine. We’re calling the column Ask Annie. Would you like me to give you a question to answer?”

“I think you’ll have to.” For the life of her, Annie couldn’t think of anything she did from day to day that anyone else would want to read about.

Emily glanced around the kitchen as though pondering what to ask, and then her gaze settled on the kitchen window and beyond. “Chickens. Farm-fresh eggs. That’ll be your first question. Is there any advantage to cooking and baking with farm-fresh eggs?”

“In a word, yes.”

Emily made a face. “Now you’re being difficult. Tell us about your chickens—what you feed them, how many eggs you get every day, what the eggs taste like. Maybe include a recipe or two.”

Annie found herself wishing she had never agreed to this. Emily’s posts on her blog were hugely popular, filled with humor and insight and charm about life in a small town. Why would her readers want to read about chickens and eggs? She had long accepted that Emily was a brilliant writer and that their younger sister was an accomplished horsewoman. Annie herself had none of those exceptional skills. She raised a family, prepared food, kept house. She loved what she did. Taking care of her family was enormously satisfying, but there was nothing earthshaking about any of the things she did.

As though Emily could read her thoughts—and given how close they had always been, she probably could—she gently took the camera from her and switched it on. “Just line up whatever you want to take a picture of in the monitor and push this button. Let me know when you’re ready to upload them to your computer and I’ll show you how. For the first column, I only need about two hundred and fifty words. Then we’ll take it from there.”

Never one to go back on a promise, Annie gave a reluctant nod. “Fine. I’ll give it a try. Now can we talk about you?”

She gave her sister a good look up and down. Her flowing tan-colored top, worn with a pair of off-white jeans and accessorized with gold hoop earrings and bangles, suited her perfectly and did an excellent job of disguising her expanding midsection. “You’re looking gorgeous this morning. New outfit?”

“Newish.”

“Your baby bump is getting very—”

“Bumpish?” Emily suggested.

Annie smiled. “It’s going to be more and more difficult to disguise this under a wedding dress.”

Emily shook her head. “Honestly, I’m not trying to hide. It’s not as though people don’t already know. But I did find a dress online that I really love. It has an empire waist with a full skirt. Really pretty.”

“White?”

“More ivory with just a hint of pink. They call the color champagne.”

“That’ll be perfect with your complexion. Is it a full-length gown?”

“Knee-length. I didn’t want anything too formal. I’ll show you a picture when CJ gets here.”

“Rose is joining us, too.”

The excitement in Emily’s eyes dimmed.

“She is our sister,” Annie reminded her.

“I know. I’m just not ready to share my wedding arrangements with her.”

“Fair enough. But you do realize you have to invite her, right?”

Emily sighed and gave a reluctant nod.

Rather than push the point, Annie changed the subject. “Have you set a date?”

“We have, finally. The last Saturday in September. We’ve decided to get married outdoors, in the gazebo, because we want to take advantage of the fall color.”

“Oh, my.” The gazebo. The place where Eric had proposed to her. Overcome with nostalgia and a fierce longing for her old life, Annie’s chest tightened and her breath clogged her throat. It was also the place where Jack had proposed to Emily, she reminded herself. She recovered before her sister noticed, she hoped, and pasted on a smile. “The end of September. Wow. Your big day will be here before we know it. Doesn’t give us a lot of time for planning.”

“There’s no need for a big plan. We want to keep the wedding simple, and we didn’t want to hold it until Jack’s mom was feeling up to it and his sister, Faith, could make it from San Francisco.”

“Makes perfect sense. How’s his mother doing?”

“She’s good. It’s taken her some time to recover from the fall she had at the start of the summer. The cast came off her arm last Wednesday and she’ll be starting physio soon. Jack and his dad and I will take turns driving her to appointments.”

“She must be so happy to have her son at home with her, even if it’s just until the two of you find a place of your own.”

“Well, that might already be taken care of.”

“You’ve found a place?”

“Not yet. His mom has always been a homebody and never wanted to travel, but after breaking her arm and having to rely on everyone else’s help, she’s decided she likes having other people take care of her. So his parents have decided to take a cruise this fall, right after the wedding. Go figure, huh?”

“Wow. That’s huge. Have they decided where they are going?”

“The Panama Canal, leaving from New York, I think, and ending up at Faith’s in San Francisco. She made all the arrangements for them. After they disembark, they’ll stay with her until Christmastime. They’ll be back in Riverton before the baby is born, and Jack and I are going to stay at their place, for now, while we look for a place of our own.”

“That’ll be perfect. What about a honeymoon?”

“We’re thinking next summer, maybe. Jack is barely settled into his new job with the police department and it’s too soon for him to take time off. And I want to finish my book before the baby’s born. For now it’ll feel good to move out of my apartment and into Jack’s place and be...” Emily’s stared dreamily into her coffee cup. “You know.”

“Husband and wife. A family. I totally get it, and I am so happy for the two of you.”

Annie was really and truly excited about the prospect of having one of Eric’s best friends for a brother-in-law, and especially about being an aunt. She had honestly given up hope of that ever happening. Now they were going to have a Christmas baby—a baby boy or girl who would be a much-loved addition to the Finnegan family.

Annie looked up and found Emily smiling at her. “I’ve been hoping to get you alone so I could ask you something.”

“Ask away.”

“I know the three of us had this thing worked out where I was your bridesmaid when you married Eric, and then CJ would be mine and you would be hers. That way everyone gets a turn.”

“That’s right. I’d forgotten all about that.”

“Me too, until CJ reminded me. The thing is, though, I’d really like you to be my maid of honor. It just feels right somehow. And then maybe CJ could be yours when...if you get married again.”

Taken aback, Annie stared at her sister. “That is not likely to happen.”

“Don’t be silly. Not right away, but you’re young and gorgeous and you’re sure to meet another man someday who’ll fall madly in love with you and your apple strudel.”

Annie’s thoughts inexplicably turned to Paul.

Emily reached across the island, took her hand and squeezed it. “It would mean the world to me if you would do this.”

“Of course I will. I’ll be honored.”

“Thank you.” Her sister sat back and smiled, seeming to look a little more smug than necessary.

Then, too late, Annie realized she might have landed herself in a bit of a sticky situation. “Who has Jack asked to be his best man?”

“Oh. Paul, of course. Have you heard? He’s back in Riverton now.”

The sound of CJ’s footsteps on the back veranda saved Annie from having to answer. For once, her little sister’s timing was impeccable.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.