Best Medicine, The

by Brogan, Tracy

  “Evie?”

  “Holy shit! Geez, Tyler, you scared me half to death. What are you doing out here in the rain?”

  He looked terrible. Aside from being drenched, his suit was torn and there were smudges of dirt all over that nice white shirt.

  “That’s kind of a funny story,” he said quietly. “If you let me back inside the hotel, I’ll tell you.”

  I wanted to say no. I wanted to stay mad. He’d hurt my feelings. He’d made me cry in front of my parents. And he’d broken my heart.

  But he was Tyler. And so I said, “Fine. I just came out to get the luggage.”

  I opened the car door, and he reached in to get both bags. The walk back in was silent. I wanted to kick him in the shins for scaring me, hurting me, worrying me. And most of all, for making me think we had a great thing going and then tossing it away just because I’d nicked his pride.

  We got back to the room, and he changed into a pair of dry jeans and a T-shirt in the bathroom. I wanted to change too. This maid of honor dress was miserable, and it felt like I’d had it on for about nine days. But all I had were my clothes for the drive home tomorrow and a slutty nightgown that I had hoped would have been ripped off me by now.

  I sat in the middle of the bed, and Tyler came to sit beside me. I took that as a positive sign, but I still had no idea of the state of our affair.

  “So where the hell have you been?” I asked.

  He ran a hand over his hair. “Well, you know that beautiful creek that runs through the property? The one we could see during the ceremony?” He adjusted the pillows and leaned back.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, the banks of that are pretty damn steep. And slippery. And impossible to see once it gets dark.”

  “Are you telling me you fell into the creek?” I felt a spark of vindication. I wasn’t proud of that, but there it was.

  “Pretty much. I spent about two hours down there, trying to find a spot to get back into the yard. Pulling on tree branches that I could reach. Slipping back into the water. I took on a couple of muskrats. That was pretty scary. Mean little bastards.” He moved another pillow and patted it for me. I ignored that.

  He kept talking. “Then I finally scrambled my way up and out and back to the patio. I watched you talk to that old guy in the lobby for a while. I should’ve come in then, but I just felt too . . . absurd.”

  I nearly wanted to laugh. At him. With him. But I was still too upset. I couldn’t help being a little bit glad that he’d been suffering. I was my parents’ daughter, after all.

  “Well, it serves you right. Why did you go stomping away like that? I don’t understand why you’re so mad at me.”

  He sighed, big and heavy. “I know. I know you don’t, Evie, but I had a plan, and you messed it up.”

  He sounded like his brother. Whatever plan he had, this was not my fault. “What plan?”

  “I sold my boat.”

  I turned toward him so fast my spine cracked.

  “You what? Why would you do that? You love that boat.”

  His gaze at me was earnest, raw. “Yeah, I do. But I love you more.”

  Joy, confusion, frustration, hope—they hit me from every angle and with such varied intensity I nearly fell off the bed.

  “I don’t understand, Tyler.”

  He reached out and took my hand. “I saw that list of what you thought was the perfect husband, and it made angry. Not at you, at me.” He looked down and toyed with the bracelet on my wrist. “I wanted to be that guy. And I could have been. I could’ve gone back to school, Evie, but it was easier to quit. Easier to blame my mom’s situation or Scotty or my knee or whatever. But the fact is, I could’ve figured it out. I just felt sorry for myself. It was hard when my dad died. But shit happens, you know. You dust yourself off and try again.”

  “But that’s what you already do. You do dust yourself off and try again. More than anybody I’ve ever known.” How could he not see that?

  “Yeah, maybe.” His voice was frustration cloaked in resilience. “At any rate, I sold the boat so I could pay off those debts and give myself a clean slate. It’s time to give up a dream that is never going to provide financial security. I need something more concrete. More reliable and lucrative. You see, the thing is, Evie, I don’t worry too often about impressing people. I am who I am. People know me. But since meeting you, for the first time in my life, I’m wishing I was more. More because I want to be . . . enough for you.”

  My heart squeezed tight at his vulnerability. “I don’t need you to be more. I just need you to be you. You are enough for me.”

  “You say that, but I’m not sure it’s true. You want marriage and kids and financial security. I don’t want to spend my life wondering if you have regrets about any of that.”

  “Tyler, the marriage and the kids can wait. And the financial security I already have. The only thing I don’t have is somebody to share my time with. That’s the thing I want the most. That matters more than degrees or income.”

  “Not according to your list.”

  “Forget the list. It was stupid and ignorant. And if I made one now it would have completely different things on it.” I moved a little closer.

  “Oh, yeah? Like what?” The tiniest of smiles tilted his lips.

  “Like sense of humor, and honesty, and generosity.”

  He frowned a little. I scooted closer and lay down on my stomach so I was looking up at him as he leaned back against the headboard.

  “Perfect facial symmetry.”

  And the smile was back. Finally, some dimples. “What?”

  “Your face has perfect balance. It’s one of the first things I noticed about you. But you know what I’ve learned about you since then?”

  “What?” His voice dropped lower, huskier. I might get to wear that racy nightie after all.

  “I’ve learned that you’ll look after me when I’m sick, that you love dogs, that you’ll do anything and everything necessary to take care of the people you love. That’s the stuff that really matters, Tyler. That’s the stuff that made me fall in love with you.” I moved up as he slid down so we were lying side by side.

  “You do?”

  I nodded. “Very much. I love the way you laugh, and make me laugh. I love how you worry about me. And honestly, I love that you want to restart your dad’s charter company. I’m incredibly sad that you sold that boat.”

  His smile dimmed. “I’m sad that I sold it not knowing you’d already paid those bills. But nothing has been signed yet.”

  “You think you could cancel the sale?”

  “There’s no money in fishing, Evie. I’ll never be rich.”

  “I don’t need you to be rich. I just need you to be you.” I kissed him then, because I simply couldn’t wait any longer. The last few hours had been awful, thinking he was gone from my life. Because I loved Tyler Connelly, whether he was a paramedic or a fisherman or a dog walker. None of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was that he was mine.

  And mine I made him. We kissed, and we tussled, and we soared. My maid of honor dress was thoroughly dishonored by the time we were through, but Tyler and I were satisfied and happy. We were in love. It just took a little leap of faith.

  Cuddled up on the covers a while later, I traced my finger along his tattoo. “So what’s the first thing you noticed about me?”

  Tyler chuckled. “Honestly?”

  “Of course.”

  He smiled, big and bright. “The glitter in your hair. I was kind of drunk, you know. I thought you might be an angel. Turns out I was right.”

  Acknowledgments

  No book is written alone, and I am truly grateful for the support and friendship I’ve received as this one grew from the tiny glimmer of an idea to a full-fledged love story.

  Thanks to my dedicated and tireless team at
Montlake Publishing. I appreciate you more than you will ever know.

  Thanks to my agent, Nalini Akolekar. Your guidance, support, and sense of humor keep me sane and grounded. You are Wonder Woman, but in a more tasteful outfit.

  Thanks to Elizabeth Otto for sharing, at a moment’s notice, her invaluable insight into being an EMT. Thanks to Anna Pakiela for sharing her knowledge and patiently explaining to me various aspects of the legal system, especially since my own corrections officer was unavailable for comment. Thanks to Dave Pierangeli for providing additional legal guidance on this book. Any errors in those areas are entirely mine. (Now might be a good time to also thank Dave for moving furniture for me upon occasion.)

  Thanks to the beautiful Madeline Martin. She knows why, but I’ll let her explain that herself.

  Thanks to Robin Allen for suggesting M&M’s scatter when they hit the floor. That was just the metaphor I needed!

  Thanks to Cherry Adair for her support, enthusiasm, and her Post-it plotting madness.

  Thanks to the handy little translator inside my computer that magically adapted English phrases to Portuguese. I sincerely apologize for any mangling I may have done to that beautiful language.

  Thanks to Kelsey Shipton for her wonderful help with Hold on My Heart, and for not being mad that I failed to thank her sooner!

  Thanks to Samhita for always making me belly laugh, and for pointing out there is no sport in shooting a goat. Thanks to Jane, Sheila, and Kim for packing up my house so I could move three days after this book was finished. Thanks to Gabby, Hillery, and Meredith for being the eternal sunshine in my life. And for never revealing where I’ve hidden the bodies.

  Thanks to Alyssa Alexander, Kimberly Kincaid, and Jennifer McQuiston. For so many reasons. They are countless but I hope you know them all. Thanks to Kieran, Liz, Catherine, Darcy, Ash, Tammy, and Kim. Your friendship keeps this job fun, even during those moments when it’s . . . well . . . less fun.

  Thanks to Adam Levine and Phillip Phillips for unknowingly providing the soundtrack to this story.

  Thanks to Paul Walker for unknowingly providing inspiration to many a romance writer. A light has gone out. You will be missed.

  And last, but never least, thank you to my husband, kids, sisters, and wonderful family members who have given me more support than any one person deserves. I am blessed. Without you guys, none of the rest matters.

  About the Author

  Allie Gadziemski, 2012

  Past or present, Tracy Brogan loves romance. She read her first swashbuckling adventure at age sixteen and knew right then she was destined to become a novelist. She now writes fun and breezy contemporary stories about ordinary people finding extraordinary love, and lush historical romance full of royal intrigue, damsels causing distress, and the occasional man in a kilt.

  Tracy is a Romance Writers of America® RITA finalist for Best First Book, and a two-time Golden Heart finalist. She’s the bestselling author of Crazy Little Thing, Highland Surrender, and Hold on My Heart. She resides in Michigan with her husband, their children, and their overly indulged dogs.

  Tracy loves to hear from readers, so please contact her at tracybrogan@att.net, or visit her website at TracyBrogan.com.