by Hope Ramsay
“We could start with the engagement party,” he said. “Dad made it clear that he really wants me to help.”
“I’m sure he did. But you’ve made it clear that you don’t want—”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“Oh.” She blinked.
“I want to make him happy. He’s ticked off at me right now.”
Her gaze widened a little. What was going on in that head of hers? She was hard to read. Maybe because her face was so adorable—like some anime character with a turned-up nose and eyes that were just a bit too big and too deep for her face. That big-eyed look could melt anyone.
“I don’t know…” Her voice trailed off as the waitress arrived with the food.
He tucked into his steak while she nibbled at her salad. No wonder she was so skinny. The salad had no protein, not even an anchovy.
“Are you a vegetarian?” he asked.
Her shoulders moved a little. “Not really, but I avoid meat when I can.” She eyed his steak. “You know…cows and carbon emissions.”
He swallowed a bite of pure grade-A, Angus beef. “Carbon emissions?”
She rolled her eyes. “Not to be indelicate, but methane from beef flatulence. It’s a big contributor to climate change. If everyone in the world ate one vegetarian meal a week, it would cut down on carbon emissions by a lot.” She eyed his steak again, but this time she licked her lips.
Maybe he should offer her a bite.
“So, about the engagement party,” he said.
She studied him, fork poised. The sober look in her big eyes and the tension in her shoulders told him that she wasn’t buying his BS. He would have to do a lot more work to earn her trust. He braced himself, ready to argue his case.
But instead of telling him to take a long walk off a short pier, she laid her fork down and nodded. “Okay. You can help plan the party.”
Whoa, wait. She just gave in? Without a fight. What was she up to?
He covered his surprise by popping a hunk of steak in his mouth and chewing. By the time he swallowed, he’d decided to play along with this charade. But he wasn’t going to underestimate Ella McMillan a second time.
“Have you found a venue?” he asked.
“No.”
“No? Well, we better get on that right away. We don’t have much time.”
She cocked her head, a little blush rising to her cheeks. “Sorry. I got sidetracked because Granny is moving into one of those new condos on Redbud Street and she has a lot of stuff to pack up.”
Why was she apologizing? “So what have you done so far?”
She looked down at her salad. “I’ve made a couple of to-do lists?” she said, but he couldn’t miss the uncertainty in her tone.
Maybe he should let her plan the party on her own so she could be the one to face Brenda’s ire when it turned into a disaster.
Wait…That was a pretty good idea.
But he’d have to help her steer the whole thing off the cliff. A nudge here and a suggestion there would be all he needed. And then, when Brenda had her bridezilla moment, Dad would realize exactly what he was getting into.
It was a delicious idea. Even better than the steak.
“I suggest that we get working on this party right away,” he said.
“Okay.”
“So, we need a guest list and a venue. I’ll talk to Dad about his must-invites. You talk to your mother, and you can call me tomorrow with a rough count. That will give us a start. And as for the venue, I’ll see what’s available at the yacht club on short notice.”
“The yacht club?”
“Yeah.”
“Uh, I don’t think so.” Ella shook her head.
“Why not?”
“I don’t think Mom would like the yacht club.”
“Oh, really? Why?” Here it came. Ella was about to unconsciously dish the dirt on her mother, and he was ready to take mental notes.
“I don’t know why. I just know she hates the yacht club. That’s the last place on earth she’d want to have her party.”
Perfect. He knew exactly what he had to do—make sure the party happened at the yacht club.
Chapter Six
On Wednesday morning, Ella got up with the chickens and spent the morning helping Granny pack and sort her stuff. By eleven o’clock, she was dusty and tired, so she took an iced tea break on the porch while a mockingbird serenaded her with spring birdsong. That bird’s song lifted her heart a tiny bit, which was a good thing because Doctor Domineering had left her feeling slightly useless.
Why had she allowed him to take over the party planning?
Simple answer: he’d made her feel incompetent or something. He was just like Cody: a big bully who was skilled at undermining her confidence. And besides, he had a point. She should have done more than make a few lists. She should have worked on Mom’s party instead of allowing Granny’s move to sidetrack her.
Besides, Mom hadn’t been pushing her the way she usually did. She seemed preoccupied with planning her Italian honeymoon.
She leaned her head back on the rocking chair and reviewed last night’s conversation with Dylan. He was going to be difficult to work with. Every idea she offered up had been rejected. Instead, he was hell-bent on having the party at the yacht club.
But every instinct told Ella that the best party for Mom would be something informal and stress free. Maybe a nice get-together on the beach, with lots of yummy Carolina barbecue and some beer and wine. But clearly Jim and Dylan wanted something swankier.
And what the heck. Mom wanted to make Jim happy, so maybe it would be better to let Dylan take the lead. He’d know exactly what Jim wanted. And with Dylan doing the heavy lifting on the party planning, she could give Granny the attention she needed.
Her phone vibrated. It was most likely Cody. He’d left five messages yesterday—an all-time high. He was evidently desperate for a fiddler. She pulled out the phone and glanced at it.
Yup. Cody. She pushed the ignore button.
The sound of Granny moving boxes around the living room reached her through the open windows. She needed to make Granny sit down. And Ella needed to get up, stop the poor-pitiful-me party, and go do something useful.
But instead, her finger hovered over the call button. Cody’s increasingly frantic messages were so seductive. He wanted her. He needed her. Maybe for the wrong reasons, but being wanted and needed was seductive.
She might have called him back, but Ashley Scott strolled down the path. “Hey,” she said. “You’re just the person I came to see.”
“Uh, if you’ve come to pitch me on the idea of hosting Mom’s engagement party at Howland House, I’m afraid Jim is leaning toward the yacht club, perish the thought.”
Ashley’s wide smile put Ella at ease. According to Granny, the innkeeper had her crap together. She was a single mom running an important business and, as a direct descendant of the town’s founding mother, was nothing short of Magnolia Harbor royalty.
Ella would love to have a life like that. She wouldn’t even mind single motherhood. Having kids had been another thing she and Cody had argued about. No home, no ring, no children. Just the road and her fiddle. As much as she loved playing music, the road was an empty life.
“I’m not here about your mother’s engagement party,” Ashley’s said.
“Oh?”
Ashley gestured toward the jostling board on Granny’s porch. “I haven’t jostled in years. May I?”
“Of course.”
Ashley sat down on the long wooden bench beside Ella’s rocking chair. The jostling board was ten feet long, made of Carolina yellow pine, and was designed to bounce when you sat on it. Ashley put it to use, bouncing on it for a few moments as a tiny giggle left her lips.
The idea of Ashley Scott giggling kind of blew Ella’s mind. But then the jostling board had a way of transporting people back to their childhood. Ella had grown up in Indiana and had visited her grandmother infrequently. But she’d almost lived
on the jostling board as an eight-year-old. And the board was one of many reasons she held Magnolia Harbor deep in her heart.
Granny’s wonderful old house was like the jostling board. Letting them go was going to be hard.
“Is your grandmother taking her jostling board to the condo?” Ashley asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t think her new lanai is big enough.”
“Well, if she’s not, I might be interested in buying it. When I was a kid, my grandmother took me to visit Patsy Bauman one time. She has one of these on her porch, and I spent the whole afternoon bouncing while Grandmother and Patsy were back in the kitchen drinking sweet tea and gossiping.”
Ashley closed her eyes as if she were savoring the moment. “I didn’t get to visit here often as a child,” she said after a long silence. “Dad was in the army, and we moved around all the time.”
“I was the same way,” Ella said. “Mom and I came to visit for Thanksgiving and sometimes in the summer for a couple of weeks.”
“I could jostle all day, but I came on a more important errand.” Ashley stood up and moved to the second rocking chair. “I wanted to talk to you about a job.”
“What?” Ella stopped rocking.
“I’m sure you know how the Piece Makers gossip. Your grandmother is not really one of the worst offenders, but it was only a matter of time before we heard about your situation. And I think I’ve got a solution.”
Her situation? Damn. Was all of Magnolia Harbor pitying her because of her precarious living situation? “What kind of solution?” she asked cautiously.
“I’m in need of an assistant. Someone to help with the breakfast service in the morning, and also take care of stocking the kitchen, handling reservations, and doing webpage updates. My helper, Judy, just moved away, and I’m desperate. I’ve interviewed a few people, but I haven’t found the right person yet, and in the meantime, I’ve got a few part-time high school kids helping out, but the kids are not always dependable.”
“Okay. But, um, I don’t have a lot of experience. Except, you know, playing fiddle in a country band.”
Ashley nodded. “I know. But this is entry level. And the best part is that I have a room at the inn that you can have rent-free.”
Ella got the picture. Granny’s friends had joined together to help her out. Was it charity? Not quite, but maybe.
Ella wanted nothing more than to take charge of her own life, but refusing this offer would be supremely stupid, and maybe even ungrateful. Ashley had a job and a room, which were the two things Ella needed most in order to start rebuilding her life.
Emotion hit her like a rogue wave. The lump that had been sitting in her throat all morning suddenly dissolved into tears that flooded her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. “Oh my goodness,” she said on a puff of air. “Thank you. Yes, I’ll take the job.”
She wiped the tears away just as Granny came through the front door and said, “Oh, thank the Lord. I was afraid you’d turn out to be stubborn and proud like your momma.” Then Granny turned toward the innkeeper. “Ashley, if you want to make me an offer on the jostling board, it’s definitely for sale.”
* * *
Dylan knocked on the exam room door and walked in when Mrs. Whittle gave him the all clear. His patient was in her midforties with sharp features and prominent cheekbones. She was painfully thin, as if she might be suffering from a wasting disease.
Mrs. Whittle was a teacher at the elementary school, so he’d met her a time or two around town, but this was his first time treating her as a patient. She’d been in his father’s care for the last few years, but before that, according to her file, she’d been hither and yon, consulting one expert after another, none of whom could find anything wrong with her.
“Hello, Mrs. Whittle,” he said in his best bedside voice. “What seems to be the problem today?”
“Where’s Doctor Jim?” she asked, nervously gazing at the door and then back toward Dylan.
She was the third or fourth patient so far who hadn’t been happy to find themselves shifted into his care. Dad’s patients loved him, and with good reason. Dad was so lovable.
Him, not so much.
He was determined to earn their trust. But Ginny Whittle was going to be a hard one, precisely because she’d been on a medical odyssey, searching for relief and never finding it. He sized her up and jettisoned the notion that her symptoms were somatic. She had lost weight since her last visit, and that wasn’t in her head.
He continued to make eye contact. “I know it’s stressful to be shifted off to the new guy in town, but my dad is cutting back on his hours because he’s getting married. So he asked me to take over your case.”
“How old are you?”
People asked him this question all the time, even though he was thirty-one and had graduated from med school with honors. He’d given some thought to growing a beard, but people didn’t like bearded doctors. And they certainly didn’t like doctors who showed their annoyance. Med school had insisted on hours of doctor-patient training, so he’d mastered the art of the impassive stare even though he was weary of having his competency endlessly questioned.
“I’m old enough to be board certified,” he replied. It wasn’t the funny comeback Dad might have used to defuse the situation, but Dylan sucked at that sort of thing.
Mrs. Whittle sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “I see you didn’t get your father’s charm.”
“What can I do for you today?” he asked again.
She leaned back in the chair and begrudgingly described symptoms that might have been a urinary tract infection or possible signs of diabetes. She complained of thirst and also of frequent trips to the restroom.
He glanced down at her paper records, irritated that Dad had yet to digitize his practice. Maybe now was the time. If Dad was going off with Brenda for a month, Dylan could install a new data system for the practice. Ginny Whittle’s file was a mess, filled with pages and pages of symptoms and tests. They’d done a blood sugar test within the last six months. It had come back normal, so the thirst was probably not diabetes.
But what else could it be? He was stumped.
He chatted with her for a few more minutes, maintaining eye contact and using language that wasn’t filled with medical jargon. At every turn, Ginny Whittle questioned his wisdom and the competency of every doctor she’d seen in the last few years. She was angry and unpleasant, but then again, his intuition said that she had a right to be.
“I’m going to do my best to figure out what’s going on.”
Her shoulders slumped as he explained the tests he was going to order for her. He decided that he would move heaven and earth to find a diagnosis for her. But telling her that wouldn’t win her over.
Words were cheap. Mrs. Whittle needed action.
He didn’t blame her for leaving the office in a grumpy mood. She’d probably tell all her friends that young Doc Killough wasn’t nearly as good as his old man. But it didn’t matter. He was on her side.
Toward the end of the day, as he was sitting in his office rereading Mrs. Whittle’s voluminous case file, Dad strolled into his office and took a seat. “So I heard you ordered a bunch of tests for Ginny Whittle.”
Great. Dad wanted him to take over the case, but here he was second-guessing him. “You think I shouldn’t have?”
“It’s a pretty big expense for her.”
Dad was right. But dammit, if Dad wanted him to take over this case, he needed to let him take over.
“She wasn’t happy to see me instead of you.”
“So you ordered these tests to get on her good side?”
So much for that lame excuse. Maybe he should challenge his father’s assumptions about Mrs. Whittle. “Something is wrong with her,” Dylan said, capturing his father’s gaze. In the year Dylan had been sharing a practice with his father, Dad had never once called a diagnosis into question.
“She’s had all these tests before.”
“I kno
w, but—”
“Well, let’s hope her insurance company doesn’t balk.”
“Yeah, let’s hope,” he said, covering his annoyance. Dad had this way of knowing all the details about his patients, even their financial situation. Dylan didn’t understand how or why Dad let himself get so involved with the people he cared for. Getting involved could be emotionally draining.
And in this case, maybe Dad had missed the truth because of his emotional involvement. But Dylan didn’t want to pick a fight, so he let it slide and changed the topic of conversation.
“By the way,” he said, “I had dinner with Ella last night.”
“Oh, good. So you apologized?”
“Yeah. We’re all good. We’re working together on the party, which I know will make you happy. Speaking of which, I need an estimate of the number of guests you plan to invite. We were thinking about scheduling it at the yacht club.”
“The yacht club would be perfect. You think they still have space on such short notice?”
“I checked. There are a couple of evenings available. We aren’t going to get a Friday or Saturday.”
“That’s fine. Let me talk to Brenda, and I’ll get you the list tomorrow.”
“So you don’t think Brenda will have a problem with the yacht club?” he asked.
Dad shook his head. “No. Why?”
“No reason. Just trying to make your bride-to-be happy.”
Dad leaned forward a little. “I’m sure she’ll be very happy when I let her know that you and Ella are working together on this. That’s really the most important thing, you know. And I’m sure that one day the two of you will look back fondly on this time. You’re lucky to be getting a sister like her.”
“I never wanted a sister.” Dylan blurted the words without thinking. Damn.
Dad laughed out loud, as if he’d misread Dylan’s words. “No, I guess you never did want a sister. I recall you asking Santa for a little brother before you figured out that I had to find a wife for that to happen.”
Dylan’s face heated. Dammit, Dad needed to stop reminding him of the stupid stuff he’d done as a kid. How was anyone, least of all the practice’s patients, going to take him seriously if Dad kept telling embarrassing stories about him?
