A Perfect Fit For Three

by A Perfect Fit for Three (lit)

  Sweet mercy, Edie was right. The doctor is in and he is gorgeous.

  Describing a man’s face as “chiseled” always struck Lena as being clichéd, but here it described the rugged doctor perfectly. It looked as if his nose, his cheekbones, his chin, everything on his face looked cut from stone by a master craftsman. His thick, ebony hair was brushed nonchalantly to the side, lending a handsome and dashing quality. A Mr. Big meets Cary Grant. His dark brows hooded his deep brown eyes. She could easily get lost in those eyes and yet still feel right at home.

  Around his waist sat a large, brass belt buckle with a big Texas Lone Star in the middle. It took all of her energy not to continue her gaze down the front of his pants.

  The doctor, standing around six feet tall, possessed a commanding presence. Lena suspected that under his white doctor’s coat and his clothes stood a thick, masculine body with broad shoulders and strong arms. She imagined those arms were capable of mighty things, like carrying injured people to safety or successfully performing the Heimlich with one squeeze or lifting her up high above his head to—

  Lena shook her head to clear her mind of these absurd and indecent thoughts. She couldn’t understand why her heart beat so hard and fast and why a dull ache throbbed between her legs, something she hadn’t felt in ages. She wondered if she hit her head when she fell off the ladder and damaged more than just her wrist.

  “Hello, Ms. Morgan, I’m Dr. Stone. Ruth tells me you hurt your wrist.” He smiled and Lena could swear his eyes twinkled when he looked at her. He reached out a hand and shook her good one.

  As they touched, Lena inhaled his subtle, warm, woodsy scent. Her mouth went dry. She looked at his lips and licked hers, knowing what might quench her sudden thirst. She realized the doctor stood staring at her, waiting for a response.

  “Um…yeah…I…I fell because I was dusting and I was on a ladder because I was dusting a chandelier, which is pretty high up, but I fell, and then I landed on my wrist and I think it’s kinda swollen because I—”

  “Because you fell?” His grin widened, and yes, his eyes definitely twinkled.

  Lena tried to smile back and hoped her face didn’t give away how embarrassed she felt because of her ridiculous babbling.

  “May I?” He gestured to her wrist. She held it out to him and tensed up in anticipation of the pain she’d feel when he examined it, but she relaxed as soon as his fingers touched her skin again. For a moment, she closed her eyes. “Does it hurt, Ms. Morgan?”

  “Hmm?” Lena opened her eyes, startled. “Oh, no it’s fine, it feels fine.”

  “Really? Are you sure? What if I do this?” He bent her wrist slightly and tried to rotate it, but Lena flinched.

  “Ow, I guess it does hurt. At least, when you move it around like that.”

  “Well, it’s not broken, just a bit sprained. I’m going to put a splint on it, and when you get home, take an ibuprofen, put some ice on your wrist, and try to keep it elevated above your heart.” His hand went to his chest and something about it seemed so tender, Lena wanted to pop up and nestle herself against his body.

  “Okay, I think I can do that.” She swallowed and tried to steady her breathing.

  “Make sure you don’t use it at all, and let it rest for the next two days.” The doctor’s orders shook her from her reverie.

  “Don’t use it for two days? I can’t not use it. It’s connected to my hand and I’m in the middle of moving in right now. I can’t make Edie do everything herself,” Lena protested. “There’s just so much more we need to do, and I promised I’d use the peaches we picked to bake a pie for her tonight before they go bad. They’re at the peak of freshness right now and…”

  Lena’s throat tightened up and tears welled in her eyes. She hadn’t realized how stressed out and frazzled she felt and now she reached her breaking point. They planned for the bed and breakfast to be up and running in two days and that wasn’t going to happen if she only had one arm at her disposal during that time. Lena, a stickler for deadlines, prided herself on punctuality. She didn’t know if she’d be able to do it with both arms and now this.

  “Hey, shh, it’s okay. It’s going to be fine.” Dr. Stone held her left arm with one hand and gave her a tissue with the other before rubbing her back in a soothing motion. “Just take a deep breath, okay, and tell me what’s wrong.”

  Lena did as the doctor advised and tried to calm herself down. The back rubbing definitely helped, though the longer he rubbed the closer relaxation got to arousal. As the doctor started wrapping her wrist in a splint, she regained her composure.

  “My best friend and I just moved here to open a bed and breakfast, The Sweet Spot, and we planned on having it ready in two days. Now I just don’t see how that’s possible.”

  “And what’s the deal with the peach pie?”

  “I like to bake.” Lena just shrugged her shoulders. What else could she say? She obviously already sounded like a hysterical loon. It was a good thing this doctor wasn’t a psychiatrist. Otherwise, he might have committed her by now. Lena sighed and started to feel defeated again, the corners of her mouth turning down into a frown.

  “I see. It sounds like you are under a lot of pressure, Ms. Morgan, and it’s understandable that you’re feeling very stressed out. Now, is there a reason you have to have your B&B open in exactly two days?”

  Lena thought for a moment. “I guess, not really. It’s just that I like to be on schedule.”

  The doctor’s face softened and his seductive lips turned up in a pleasant smile. That twinkle in his eye reappeared, taunting her to get inappropriately close to this friendly and sexy man.

  “Okay, I’m sure you can work this out with your friend and take a little extra time. You’re in Liebling now and this town’s as laid back as they come. No one will mind. I promise.” Dr. Stone reached up from her wrist and put his hand on her cheek and Lena teetered on the brink of swooning.

  She leaned her face into it as she closed her eyes. It felt so amazingly right. Her entire body relaxed. She didn’t know how long they stayed in that position before he stiffened and pulled away. She opened her eyes and saw the doctor swallow hard, then turn away for a moment. Lena wondered if she did something foolish again and a brief, awkward silence invaded the room.

  The doctor cleared his throat. “Well, Ms. Morgan, your splint is finished and I’m sure everything will work out with your bed and breakfast. Please call the office if you have any more trouble with your wrist and we can set up an appointment. Ruth will have your paperwork ready when you leave.”

  Before she could even look down at her wrist to examine the doctor’s handiwork, he stepped out the door and disappeared.

  Hmm, that was strange.

  Lena shrugged and looked at her watch. It was getting late. She didn’t notice a wedding band, but figured he needed to run home and meet his wife for dinner. No man as dishy as that could still be single.

  Not that it mattered to Lena anyway, she convinced herself. She certainly didn’t have the time or the interest in having a man in her life right now, no matter how good looking he appeared. Just because he was devastatingly handsome didn’t mean she actually felt attracted to him, right?

  Chapter 2

  Brock got out of his classic 1953 Chevy 3100 seafoam-green pickup truck and headed toward his childhood home where his parents and brothers diligently prepared their weekly family dinner.

  His family owned this property for generations, working the land and cultivating the best wine in the Hill Country. Brock and his younger brother, Wes, the two eldest sons, stood to inherit this land one day to continue the family trade.

  Brock looked at the rows and rows of grape vines clinging to their trellises and heavy with fruit. Soon it would be time to harvest the grapes and begin the long process of fermenting and aging the juice to transform it into Stone Vineyard’s award-winning wine.

  “Hey everyone, Brock’s here! You’re just in time, son. We’re about ready to sit down.” Brock�
�s mother, Margarite, swung the door open and greeted him with a hug, reaching up on her tiptoes to peck him on the cheek.

  She paused as she looked her eldest son up and down. “My, you look happy today. Did you meet someone?” Her eyes brightened and Brock wondered how his mother always seemed to know everything that went on in their lives. Brock fidgeted and shrugged his shoulders, but he couldn’t hide the grin forcing its way onto his face.

  “I dunno, Ma. Perhaps.”

  “Perhaps nothin’. A mother knows and you, my boy, have met a lady and I expect you to tell all of us about her during dinner.” Margarite playfully jabbed Brock in the ribs as she spoke. “I ain’t gettin’ any younger and I want me some grandbabies soon.”

  Brock held out his arms in protest. “All right, Ma, but hold up on the baby talk. I’ve got to at least take the woman on a date first.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m just sayin’.” Margarite padded back to the kitchen to finish frying the chicken she undoubtedly marinated in buttermilk and her secret blend of spices. Brock inhaled deeply and instantly his mouth watered and his stomach growled, the go-to reaction his body always had when confronted with his mother’s cooking.

  His mind went back to Lenora. He couldn’t wait to sit down and tell Wes all about her.

  When he walked into the dining room he saw that his twin brothers, the youngest members of the Stone household, already sitting at the table.

  Jackson and Ethan, in their mid-twenties, were identical twins, except for their eyes. Jackson had green eyes and Ethan had blue. With their mop of golden-blond hair, these boys were heartbreakers for sure and Brock often wondered when they would ever settle down and start a family of their own. His brothers acted so rowdy, he doubted they would ever find a woman who could put up with their antics.

  “Hey, Brock, what’s this I hear about a lady?” Jackson asked with a mischievous smirk. Between the twins, he was the more aggressive one, always trying to start trouble.

  Brock inwardly cringed. My, how his mother’s voice carried, he thought.

  “I’ll tell everyone about her later. And really, there’s not much to say yet. I’ve only just met her. Anyway, where’s Wes? He’s really the one who needs to hear about her.”

  “He’s out at his studio, finishing glazing a pot before he fires it or something,” Ethan offered.

  He had always been the more cooperative of the two, but like his twin, he could also get in a bit of trouble now and then.

  Wes came in, holding a striking glazed vase. Wes mainly worked on the winery with his parents, but in his spare time he made pottery. That was his true passion, and even Brock, who knew little of art, had to admit some of his pieces looked truly remarkable.

  Wes walked over to his mother in the kitchen and kissed her on the cheek. “Here, Ma, I made this for you. Shoot, it smells incredible in here. I’m starving.”

  “Brock’s got a girlfriend,” Jackson teased.

  Brock swore, sometimes his brother still behaved like a foolish teenager.

  Wes’s eyebrow popped up. “Oh, really? I wouldn’t mind checking out the new girl in town.”

  “No, not really. I just met a girl, and I’ll tell you more about her later.” Brock knew how badly Wes also wanted to start a family together. He, too, longed to devote himself completely to one woman, working with Brock to make her the happiest woman on earth. With his heart on his sleeve, Wes was the hopeless romantic of the two of them.

  “All right, all right, stop teasin’ your brother. It’s time to eat.” Margarite set the steaming basket of chicken, covered in a red gingham dish towel to keep it warm, on their long dining room table. She directed her sons to grab the rest of the food from the kitchen and called out to her husbands, who worked just outside cleaning their equipment in preparation for the upcoming harvest.

  “Stan, Marsh! Come in here and wash your hands. It’s time to eat.” She sat down at the head of the table.

  As Brock’s fathers walked in, they each removed their dusty cowboy hats, bent down and kissed their wife on the cheek, and sat in the chairs on either side of her.

  “Okay, everyone’s here. Boys, dig in.” Margarite piled fresh salad into her bowl before grabbing a heaping of her famous mashed potatoes and the chicken she fried to crispy perfection.

  “Oh, hon’, this all looks so delicious. You’ve done it again.” Stanley helped himself to the bounty his wife whipped up that evening.

  “I think Brock has an announcement to make, everybody. Go on, son. Tell everyone about your new girl,” Margarite prodded.

  Brock’s face warmed slightly in embarrassment, but he proceeded to fill everyone in on the beautiful stranger who graced his clinic that afternoon.

  “Ma, I already told you, I haven’t even asked her out on a date yet.” Brock raked his hands through his hair and fiddled with the food on his plate with his fork. “I hardly know her.”

  “Son, you know her well enough to have had a goofy grin plastered on your face when you walked through the front door.” Margarite cocked an eyebrow at him, her forkful of salad in mid-air, hovering in front of her mouth.

  “Well?” Wes stared at him in anticipation, clearly dying to know more about this mysterious woman.

  “I only just met her. She came in with a sprained wrist—”

  “Wait, you’re banging one of your patients?” Jackson always had a way with words and Brock knew that one of these days they would get him into a hot mess.

  “Jackson! Watch your language at the dinner table. Now let your brother finish his goddamn story.” Marshall shot Jackson an icy glare, completely unaware of his own foul language.

  “I only talked to her and put a splint on her wrist. That’s it.” Brock shrugged his shoulders, holding both his palms up.

  “Okay, so what else? Who is she? What’s she doing in Liebling?” Wes pressed Brock for more details.

  “She’s new in town, and she and her friend just moved here to open a bed and breakfast. It’s called The Sweet Spot, just down the street a few blocks from the clinic,” Brock finished, glad to be done with the third degree.

  “I bet Brock wants to touch her sweet spot,” Jackson muttered under his breath but loud enough for the entire table to hear. Margarite shot him a withering stare and Brock rolled his eyes.

  “And? Anything else about this girl and The Sweet Spot?” Ethan asked.

  Jackson snickered quietly but refused to look Brock in the eye. It was just as well. They were both adults now, but Brock had no qualms with smacking his second-youngest brother around now and then like he did when they were kids.

  Margarite shot another withering stare at one of her twins.

  “What, Ma? I was talking about the B&B.” Ethan batted his eyelashes, giving his best impression of an innocent fawn.

  Brock’s face reddened, but now more from frustration than embarrassment. A brief, awkward silence ensued before his mother spoke up.

  “Now, now boys, no need to get snippy. I think that’s plenty to know about her for now. From the look on Brock’s face earlier, I’m sure she’s somethin’ very special.”

  She winked at Brock. Then she looked at her husbands affectionately and her eyes glanced upward as she seemed to reminisce about some blissful long-ago day.

  “That’s how it was with your fathers.” A jubilant smile spread across her radiant face.

  Even after all these years, his fathers still said she looked as beautiful as the day they first met. Stanley cleared his throat. Brock knew his father always hated sentimental moments in front of everyone and obviously wanted to change the subject away from his and his brother’s courtship of Brock’s mother.

  “Son, that was very interesting,” Stanley said dryly. “Does anybody else have anything productive to say?”

  * * * *

  Wes stalked up the creaky, wooden steps of the bed and breakfast that potentially housed his future wife.

  Brock’s confidence in his find piqued Wes’s interest and he decided he needed
to find out for himself if this girl really could be the one they’d already waited years for. He carried a case of wine, courtesy of Stone Vineyards, hoping it would provide the ulterior motive necessary to disguise the true reason for his visit. Hoisting the case with his right arm onto his hip, he peeked through the door’s stained glass before using his left hand to open it. The chiming of a little bell sounded to announce his arrival, though it didn’t look like anyone was there.

  “Hello?” Wes called out into the silent house.

  Every wooden floorboard sighed beneath his weight as he walked into the foyer. Wes admired the modern yet still cozy decor. Most everything in Liebling had an air of shabby chic and The Sweet Spot stood apart. Although a lot of the furniture appeared heavy and antique, the space was punctuated with modern and whimsical accents, such as little wooden figurines of animals and a curvy mod, turquoise table lamp with an off-white linen shade. A cushy velvet, forest-green couch with brushed stainless-steel legs sat against a wall in the living room. Wes figured it had to be one of those fancy designer pieces you could only find in more urban cities. He saw his reflection in the large, white-lacquered, Rococo-styled mirror and hoped Lenora Morgan would like what she saw. That is, if she was even there.

  “Is anybody here?”

  “Hey, sorry, I’m in the kitchen,” a voice called out from the other room. “I’ll be right there.”

  A radiant, auburn-haired beauty in a summery, sky-blue dress that showed off her slender yet shapely legs, walked in. Her petite frame couldn’t have been more than five foot three. He and Brock would certainly enjoy the ease of throwing her over a shoulder to carry her wherever they saw fit to bed down and ravage every tasty inch of her.

  “Hello, my name’s Lena, and welcome to The Sweet Spot.”

  She wiped her hands on the front of her apron and extended one with a bright smile. Wes noticed the splint on her other arm as his brother’s handiwork.

  Wes introduced himself and awkwardly tried to readjust the case of wine in his arms and then decided to place it on the ground. He took her hand and, even through all the calluses on his palm, he could feel the warm softness of her skin. Lena’s grip felt surprisingly firm, and he realized he unconsciously tried to be gentle with her and found her shaking his hand more than he shook hers. His father always said one could tell a lot about a person through their handshake and this girl was certainly a firecracker. He hoped his unintentionally weak handshake didn’t give her the wrong impression.