Outside The Lines

by Kimberly Kincaid

  “It’s not going to bring Jeremy back.”

  The words escaped before he could pull them back or put them out, and Blake closed the distance between them with quick strides. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  “I’m well aware that my work here won’t bring your brother back.” His mother’s admission stunned him into silence. “But neither will all those double shifts you do down here in the emergency department.”

  Ouch. This conversation was taking on all the properties of a train wreck, complete with the inability for Blake to look away. “I’m not making myself sick, mom. Anemia is no joke. You have to take it easy.”

  “Alright, fine. Have it your way.”

  His head whipped up. “I’m sorry?”

  A tiny smile ruffled her demeanor, but there was little humor in it. “Don’t look so shocked. And don’t go getting any crazy ideas, either. I’ve served this hospital in multiple roles for over twenty years, and that’s not changing. But we’ve made some adjustments to one of our larger projects, and they’re going to require quite a bit more hands-on coordination than we anticipated.” His mother gestured to the folders he’d forgotten he’d been holding with a monster death grip. “I’ve done quite a bit of the groundwork and will continue to be involved in the event, but if it will make you feel better, I’m certain we can keep you busy. If your schedule allows.”

  Touché, Mom. Still, for this, Blake was willing to concede. He pulled out the chair adjacent to hers, relief sliding through his veins. “I’m sure I can figure something out. What’s the project?”

  “As you know, Brentsville Hospital holds an annual fundraiser for a worthy charity. Since this is the twentieth anniversary of the event, the board has decided to do something rather special.”

  He flipped the glossy edge of the folder on the top of his stack, scanning the overview page while mentally dusting off the tuxedo that had been lurking in the back of his closet for God knew how long. “Charity events are usually pretty straightforward. Black tie, great food, open wallets.” Blake had been to no less than a dozen galas and fundraisers for various causes, and he’d seen his mother plan probably twice that many.

  “This year is a bit different,” his mother said, right at about the same time his eyes snagged on the words Carnival For A Cure.

  Whoa. “That’s kind of an understatement, don’t you think?” Blake asked as he continued to read, and damn, this overview didn’t so much step outside of the Brentsville Hospital box as it took a sledgehammer to the thing. Instead of following the same old ho-hum guidelines for the financially well-endowed, the carnival was something that would involve the entire community, a true grass roots effort to raise both money and awareness.

  It was absolutely unlike anything they’d ever done at the hospital. And it was hands-down one-hundred percent freaking brilliant.

  His mother sat perfectly still for a moment before saying, “Perhaps it’s a bit unconventional. But I…the board felt it was time to take a different approach.” Her voice downshifted into something dangerously close to softness, and Blake dropped the folder shut.

  “I think it’s a great idea. What do you need from me?”

  “Well, as you can see, this isn’t a project of little magnitude. The board has discussed appointing someone to act as a hands-on events coordinator. We’ve handled all the preliminary planning and vendor selection, and we’re prepared to manage the fundraising with the silent auction, of course. But we need a liaison to organize the actual site work, especially with city officials and the catering staff.”

  Blake sat back in his chair, his mind turning over the logistics. Physically coordinating an event of this scope would drain even the fittest person’s energy down to fumes. His mother might have the will to do the job twice over, but the hands-on groundwork was going to be a major undertaking.

  One that would not only take the pressure off of her, but would help countless people. People who needed care.

  He opened his mouth to tell her he’d do it, but she continued before he got the chance. “You should also know that the board chose the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation as this year’s charity. The vote was unanimous.”

  Shock, and something deeper Blake didn’t want to pin a name to, boomeranged around in his ribcage. “You planned this event for Jeremy?”

  She paused. “The charity is selected based on a number of merits, and it was time to give the event itself a face-lift. The board agreed that it made sense to do something community-based for everyone to enjoy. Including those affected by the disease.”

  The image of his brother’s face, mouth tipped up in mischievous laughter like it so often did before he got really sick, stood front and center Blake’s his mind, and it hammered his resolve into place. “I’d like to fill the liaison position. If that’s okay with you.”

  This time, his mother’s smile was genuine as it softened the shadows around her eyes. “Wonderful. I’ll inform the board. Your first step will be to meet with the restaurant owner to discuss catering. Her proposal was quite impressive. It’s in the folder, of course.”

  “Of course,” Blake agreed, tamping down a laugh as his mother flipped into business-mode. God, she probably managed daily schedules in her sleep. “Who’s the point of contact?”

  “A woman by the name of Serenity Gallagher, at Mac’s Diner. I’d suggest cultivating a good relationship with her. You two will be working shoulder to shoulder for the next six weeks.”

  #

  “Orders up! Chicken pot pie, meatloaf special, two American burgers, both with fries.” Jules reached into the hot window separating Mac’s kitchen from the narrow galley of space behind the main counter, grabbing one of the oversized white plates with her good hand. She lowered it to the counter to repeat the process with dish number two, but Serenity was quicker on the draw.

  “If I’m not mistaken, you’re supposed to be taking it easy for another couple of days.” She slid the plates from the deck with ease, arranging a fat slice of tomato over the toasted Kaiser roll on each before offering them up to a passing waitress for delivery.

  Jules chose a shrug over a scowl. “I am taking it easy, now that the lunch rush is pretty much over. And anyway, it’s been two days since I burned myself. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

  Okay, so she might’ve just reserved her own personal hand basket to hell for the out-and-out untruth, but come on. People needed to be fed, and Jules’s arm didn’t hurt badly enough to keep her from work. Plus, if she didn’t keep her brain clicking at maximum capacity, it defaulted to a pair of smoky green eyes framed by sand-colored lashes, eyes that crinkled just enough at the edges when a rare smile traveled up from the jawline beneath…

  So yeah. She definitely needed to work.

  “Hmm.” Serenity followed Jules to the tiny alcove at the far end of the front counter, where they kept paper goods and extra stock. “That wouldn’t happen to be because you got such attentive medical care, would it?”

  Her best friend’s expectant brow lift, bright stare combo might’ve caused lesser women to crumble, but Jules was a northie, right down to her core. No way was she giving in.

  “I heal fast. Guess I’m just lucky.” She tugged the elbow-length sleeve of her black T-shirt over the tattered edge of her bandage in an effort to maximize the whole out of sight, out of mind thing, but Serenity didn’t bite.

  “Jules. Stop doing that tough-girl thing you do and talk to me.”

  “I don’t do a tough-girl thing.” Okay, now she broke out the scowl. “And anyway, I’m not sure what there is to talk about.” Jules reached for a box of straws, but Serenity stepped in her path, her voice dialed down to her most staunch don’t-give-me-that-crap setting.

  “Well, let’s see. I might just be shooting rubber bands at the night sky here, but perhaps we should discuss the fact that you were once engaged to the hottest thing to ever wear Brentsville Hospital scrubs, it clearly didn’t culminate in wedded bliss, and you neglected to oh, tell your best fr
iend of four years anything about it.”

  “I never said anything because there’s nothing to tell.” And she’d thought the fib about her arm not hurting was bad. Still, skipping down memory lane wasn’t going to change anything, and spilling her guts about the past wouldn’t hurt Blake any less.

  Which was exactly what she’d been telling herself for the last forty-eight hours. Straight.

  “Bullshit,” came Serenity’s answer, albeit with way more interest and concern than heat. “I couldn’t tell whether you two were going to kill each other or kiss each other senseless. No way is there not a story there.”

  “I’m not kissing anybody!” Jules’s words rode out on a high chirp of surprise, and she planted her palms into the low-slung hips of her cargo pants, despite the squall of protest from her forearm. “Look, it was a long time ago.”

  “And?”

  Damn it, Serenity could match Jules’s stubborn any day of the week. “And it didn’t work out.”

  “But something must’ve worked if the two of you were going to get married.” A ribbon of shock uncurled over Serenity’s face, and her eyes darted to the apron knotted around Jules’s waist. “Oh, honey. Were you…”

  Jules blinked for a second before her train of thought landed in the same station as Serenity’s. “Oh God, no. I wasn’t pregnant.” As much as she didn’t want to dive back into her past, it was probably better to just come out with it than have Serenity’s imagination running rampant. “I was poor.”

  “Oh.” Serenity shifted in the entryway to the alcove. “Well, you were, what, twenty-one? Who’s not living on a budget at that age?”

  “I wasn’t living on a budget,” Jules said, although there was nothing but truth in the words. “I was living in a firetrap in Battery Heights no bigger than our storage closet in the back, and working sixty hours a week to afford even that.”

  But even clawing her way from paycheck to paycheck was better than being bounced all over the foster care system where no one had wanted her. Not that she was coming out with that. Blabbing about this part was bad enough.

  “Still.” Serenity shook off her momentary look of surprise. “Not having any money doesn’t make you a bad person. Blake obviously didn’t think so if you two were serious.”

  Jules closed her eyes for a second too long. “Does the name Frances Fisher ring any bells?”

  “The president of the board of trustees at the hospital?”

  “Yup.”

  Wait for it…wait for it…

  Serenity gasped. “Oh, shit. Blake is a Fisher-Fisher? As in, the most wealthy and influential family in Brenstville?”

  Bingo. “He’s not just any Fisher. He was Preston and Frances Fisher’s oldest son. Now he’s their only son. Blake’s brother, Jeremy, died of cystic fibrosis eight years ago, when he was twenty.”

  “God,” Serenity murmured, a streak of sympathy crossing her face. “That’s really young.”

  “He was resistant to a lot of the standard treatments, and his poor health put him low on the list for a lung transplant. Still, doctors were hopeful Jeremy would have a few more years, so when he declined rapidly and couldn’t fight the illness, his death left everyone shell-shocked.”

  Jules’s heart gave a sharp twist at the memory of the younger, definitely more mischievous Fisher, and she smiled in spite of her sadness. Even on his bad days, Jeremy had always had a grin on his face, especially when Jules would sneak him extra chocolate chip cookies from the university’s cafeteria when she worked. Although she’d been careful not to show the extent of it, Jeremy— and Blake, for that matter— had never cared that Jules didn’t have two nickels to rub together the entire year she’d known him.

  But their mother knew the extent of it tenfold, and she’d cared enough for both of them put together. But telling Blake the real reason she’d left would’ve smashed the family ties that had already been shredded when Jeremy died.

  She’d never thought it would smash his heart instead.

  Jules cleared her throat and stuffed the thought—and the feelings that went with it—back down in her chest. “A few months later, Blake proposed and asked me to go to the city with him while he went to medical school, but it was impulsive, and it would’ve been a mistake. So yes. We were…” totally, insanely, naively in love with each other “…engaged. But it was only for a short time, and now it’s over.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes.” No. God, what was wrong with her? She wasn’t meant for a man like Blake Fisher, no matter how much her stupid heart had hammered at the sight of him the other day. “I was surprised to see him back in town, sure. But it was just a one-time only run-in. It’s not going to happen again.”

  Serenity’s gaze flicked to a spot over Jules’s shoulder, her kitchen clogs giving up a soft squeak on the tile as she took a step in to murmur,

  “Well somebody might want to tell him that, because unless I’m seeing things, the good doctor just walked in the door.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jules turned on her heel, a thousand thoughts crashing through her head as she watched Blake slide easily onto one of the stools at the counter, but only one was loud enough to make sense over her mental free-for-all.

  His eyes were locked into place over hers. And the look on his face was sexy as sin.

  “Jules.” The word coming from her best friend was caught between a question and a warning. “Maybe you should go talk to him.”

  “I didn’t plan for this,” Jules whispered, surprising herself, and damn it. She always had a plan. She’d learned a long time ago that it was an absolute necessity if she wanted to land on her feet.

  And Blake was the only person who could lay waste to her steadfast balance.

  “Maybe not,” Serenity agreed quietly, taking the box of now-crushed straws from Jules’s grasp. “But he’s looking right at you. So you might want to come up with something.”

  Jules dragged her gaze back over the expanse of the white and chrome counter until it reached the spot where Blake sat, her breath playing hopscotch in her lungs. His eyes snagged on hers for one last brief second, ninety percent serious and ten percent smoldering, before he dropped his chin toward the menu in his hands. Despite the knee-jerk urge to turn and run, a stronger, deeper-seated instinct rooted her into place.

  She’d run eight years ago. Right now, even if it hurt, she owed him some common courtesy.

  Jules grabbed a pot of coffee from the hot station behind the counter and pushed her feet forward without thinking.

  “Afternoon, doc. Is this a house call, or are you hungry?”

  He slid a glance over the top of his menu, and since when were plain old jeans and a button-down shirt so freaking hot? “A little bit of both, maybe. How’s your arm?”

  “Better than it was.” Not the unvarnished truth, but at least it was a step in the right direction.

  “You having trouble with any of the care?” Blake tipped his chin at the crooked gauze pad being held to her forearm by curling medical tape and sheer dumb luck, and Jules swiped her arm behind her back as she leaned it to fill his coffee cup with the other hand.

  “Nope, not at all. You still have a sweet tooth?”

  A grin shot over his mouth, but it lasted only a second before he arranged it into a well-mannered smile. “I might.”

  Her return chuckle took her completely by surprise, but oh God, it felt good bubbling up from her belly. “Do me a favor and work on your poker face. I’ll be right back.”

  Jules moved through the swinging door to the kitchen, bolstered by the familiar motions of getting food from prep to plate. She grabbed a dessert plate from the stack by the pastry station and made quick work of filling it with the biggest apple turnover left in the quick-pantry, adding an extra swoop of satiny glaze over the just-warmed dish before returning to the dining room with it firmly in her grasp.

  “What’s this?” Blake asked, eyeing the plate as she slid it across the polished counter betwee
n them, the baked-to-perfection pastry leaving the scent of cinnamon-sweet goodness in its wake.

  “It’s an apple turnover. They’re Mac’s specialty. But…” She hauled in a deep breath. “This one comes with a side order of I’m sorry.”

  Blake’s fork clanked to the counter. “You don’t owe me an apology, Jules.”

  “Actually, I do. I was…” Scared. Trying to protect you. Vulnerable as hell. “Young. I handled things badly, and for that, I apologize.”

  For a second that lasted roughly ten minutes in Jules’s head, nothing but the muted sounds of the end of the lunch rush passed between them, until Blake said, “I didn’t come here for you to apologize.”

  “But I—”

  “Jules,” he interrupted softly, but she hurtled on, desperate.

  “I hurt you, and I—”

  He grabbed her free hand from its spot on the counter, drawing her forward as he simultaneously repeated, “Jules.”

  The unexpected gravel shaping her name sent a shot of surprise and something a whole lot darker up the plumb line of her spine, leaving her with nothing but a series of rapid blinks and a watered-down what? on her lips. Blake’s eyes flashed, the same stormy green as the ocean in a thunderstorm, and he pinned her in place with his stare.

  “I don’t want you to say you’re sorry.”

  “Oh.” The word collapsed from her lips in more of a throaty sigh than the stubborn affirmation she’d intended, and she swallowed hard. “You don’t?”

  “No.” Blake lowered his attention to their hands, the calluses on his thumb sliding roughly over her knuckles as he blanked his expression and let her fingers go. “I came here for something else. In fact, it’s something that has nothing to do with you and me.”

  “Okay,” Jules said, extending the word by several syllables to form a question as she belatedly recovered her wits. “What’s that?”

  “The Brentsville Hospital Carnival For A Cure.” He pulled a crisp, dark blue folder from the laptop bag he’d propped over the bar stool next to him. “I’m the event coordinator, and Mac’s is the catering restaurant. I came to see Serenity so we can get a tentative schedule set since it looks like she and I will be working pretty closely together for the next six weeks.”