Love on a Deadline (4 page)

“You think I'm being silly, don't you?” Fortunately, Hollis didn't wait for his response. “Things have been a little . . . stressful . . . lately. Connor's agent wants him to be more accessible to the public, especially now that the producer is already talking about a sequel to
Dead in the Water
.”

“Answering a few questions and smiling for a photograph or two won't put a damper on your wedding day.” Ethan tried to put his sister's mind at ease the way he had when they were kids. By giving her a hard time. “The holes in the roof of the boathouse are another story.”

He was rewarded with a gurgle of laughter. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“Are you kidding? You're my favorite sister.”

“I'm your
only
sister.”

“A minor technicality.”

“I guess I should call Connor and break the news that our secret wedding isn't a secret anymore.”

“Once you explain that none of the
Register
's subscribers live outside the county line, he'll be okay with it.”

“I know.” Hollis sighed. “I just wish Mom wasn't so determined to give me the wedding of her dreams.”

Now it was Ethan's turn to laugh. “Don't worry. She's too far away to hijack your wedding plans.”

“She has a cell phone, and she's not afraid to use it. What we need is a distraction.” Ethan could almost hear the wheels
turning in his sister's head. “You
could
tell her that you've been thinking about turning down the offer from Midland Medical. That would take the attention off my wedding.”

Confession time.

“I'm not thinking about it anymore,” Ethan admitted. “I called Dr. Langley this morning and let him know I accepted another position.”

He'd confided in Hollis about Dr. Heath's offer, but the shriek that followed his announcement was a clue she hadn't expected him to accept it. Not when he'd worked so hard for a place in Dr. Langley's ER. “What made you change your mind?”

“Dr. Heath mentioned how difficult it is to find doctors who are willing to relocate to small towns.”

“So you're saying Red Leaf needs you?” Hollis teased.

“Maybe.” Ethan watched a bald eagle circle lazily over Jewel Lake. A few months ago he'd been so focused on his work, he probably would have missed it.

Ethan had missed a lot of things until God—and a patient he'd referred to as “Bed Two”—got his attention.

Red Leaf might need him, but Ethan had a feeling he needed Red Leaf even more.

“It's all about harmony in the relationship.” The sequined hem of Sybil Greene's caftan dusted the floor as she swayed in front of the microphone.

Mac was beginning to feel a little seasick.

“Are you getting this down?” a voice hissed in her ear.

“Got it, Mrs. Baker.” Mac minimized solitaire on her tablet and tapped out the word
harmony
.

“If you practice these methods, I promise you'll have amazing results.” Sybil gestured toward the PowerPoint screen with the practiced grace of a game show hostess and an awed hush fell over the room.

The local garden club had invited the self-proclaimed “plant matchmaker” to speak at their monthly meeting. Sybil claimed if you put certain plants together, they brought out the best in each other. Halfway through the lecture, Mac had come to the conclusion that it was pretty sad when a vegetable was able to maintain a successful relationship and she spent Friday and Saturday evenings alone.

Not that Mac
wanted
to be in a relationship. Number one, looking after Coach and working full-time at the newspaper didn't leave her much time to socialize. Number two, it didn't make sense to invest her time and energy in a relationship when she didn't plan to stay in Red Leaf. And number three—

Ethan's face popped up and Mac held back a sigh.

That
was number three.

No matter how much time had gone by, Ethan's face had a tendency to pop into her thoughts at the most inopportune times. Like when she was out on a date. Or watching a football game. The dates were few and far between anyway, but football? When your dad coached the sport? Kind of difficult to avoid.

There'd been moments of weakness when Mac let herself imagine what would happen if she saw Ethan again. But none of the possible scenarios that had played out in her mind had prepared her for the reality.

Ethan had smiled at her.
Smiled
. As if he was genuinely happy to see her. Which led Mac to one simple conclusion, and she didn't need a PowerPoint presentation to prove it. Recognizing someone didn't necessarily mean you
remembered
them. Or a promise you'd made.

Which only made it more aggravating that she hadn't been able to forget
him.

Applause erupted around the room, signaling the end of Sybil's presentation.

Mac worked her way up to the podium, winding through the mob of enthusiastic gardeners who'd surrounded the platform like groupies at a Newsboys concert.

After snapping a few photos, Mac snagged a lemon bar from the dessert table and jogged across the parking lot to her car.

Eight thirty. More than enough time to make some popcorn—no butter, no salt—and watch a movie with Coach, but not enough time to sneak onto Ethan's property and take the photographs her boss had requested.

Grant had been waiting at Mac's desk when she walked into work that morning, armed with a double shot of espresso and a dozen pastries she'd picked up from the Sweet Bakery. The espresso to counteract a sleepless night—Mac blamed Ethan for that—and the pastries for Grant's bad mood when he found out she hadn't completed her assignment.

“Where are they?” The editor hadn't so much as glanced at the white cardboard box balanced in Mac's hands.

“I, um, haven't taken them yet.”

“It's our front-page story, Mac! I need those pictures by tomorrow morning.”

“You'll have them.” Unlike some people, Mac kept
her
word.

“Great!” Grant grabbed a blueberry Danish. “You come through on this and maybe I will let you interview the senator.”

“Really?”

“Maybe,” Grant corrected. “I'm planning to go fishing tonight so you can handle the plant mulch maker, right?”

“
Match
maker.” Mac had forgotten all about the garden club meeting.

She blamed that on Ethan too.

A pale yellow moon peeked out from behind a cloud as Mac parked the car in the driveway. A light glowed in the living room window, a good sign that her dad had taken her advice to relax after the first day of practice.

“I'm home—”

A muffled cry drowned out the creak of the front door and Mac's satchel hit the floor with a thud.

“Dad?” She sprinted down the hall, a silent prayer—
Please, God, let him be all right
—tumbling from her heart as she skidded around the corner into the living room.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

It took Mac a moment to process the scene that greeted her.

Coach, sitting—
upright
—on one end of the sofa, a bowl of popcorn separating him from Snap, their black Lab.

And sprawled in Mac's favorite chair, wearing jeans that molded to the muscular contours of his legs and a faded Red Leaf Lions sweatshirt, was Ethan Channing.

“Is everything all right?” Coach tore his gaze away from the
television long enough to frown at her. “You look a little flushed.”

“I thought . . . never mind,” Mac gasped. “I'm fine.” Now that she knew her dad wasn't having another heart attack.

“You remember Ethan.”

Because it was phrased as a statement and not a question, all that was required was a nod. Which was a good thing, because at the moment a nod was the only thing Mac was capable of.

“Your dad mentioned you were covering a meeting tonight.” Ethan's easy smile made Mac's heart skip another scheduled beat. “We didn't expect to see you until ten.”

Funny. Mac hadn't expected to see
him
at all. “Coach didn't mention we were going to have company.”

“Ethan isn't company,” Coach interjected. “He stopped by
to say hello, and we decided to watch some of the old games. Relive the glory days.”

High school hadn't exactly been the glory days for Mac, but it was impossible to miss the light shining in Coach's eyes.

Her dad never played favorites when it came to his players, but Mac could tell he had a soft spot for Ethan. After practice they would hang out in Coach's office and talk about plays and strategies or watch footage from the previous game. Mac didn't mind. It had given her an opportunity to watch Ethan.

“You're welcome to join us.” Ethan's smile had grown wider, and with a jolt of horror, Mac realized she was guilty of doing it again.

“It's almost nine.” She cast a pointed look at the clock on the fireplace mantel. “I'm sure Coach is tired after the first day of practice.”

“Coach is fine,” her dad grumbled. “And I don't need two kids ganging up on me, making sure I get enough sleep and eat all my vegetables.”

“You're helping me out.” Ethan didn't appear the least bit insulted that Coach had just referred to him as a kid. “I'm a rookie doctor—I need the practice. No pun intended.”

Mac refused to smile, knowing it would only encourage him. “I thought that news was strictly off the record.”

“I made an exception for your dad.” Ethan stretched out his legs, looking way too comfortable for Mac's peace of mind. “He's going to be my first official patient. Isn't that right, Coach?”

Coach's gaze slid back to the television. “I'll try to work it around the practice schedule.”

A statement, Mac thought wryly, that pretty much summed up her entire childhood.

When the trees turned scarlet and bronze in the fall, the town of Red Leaf turned blue and gold, the windows of every storefront on Main Street proudly displaying the school colors. Following a Red Leaf tradition that predated Mac's years at high school, before every home game the players and cheerleaders would ride to the field on the back of a flatbed truck decorated with crepe paper streamers.

The cheerleaders wore the players' letter jackets over their uniforms, and Mac would hear them arguing in the locker room over whose turn it was to wear Ethan's. Kristen Ballard usually won because she and Ethan were a matched set in terms of looks and popularity.

It didn't seem to matter that Mac had spent hours making posters and the miniature papier-mâché footballs that hung from the tailgate. Even when Coach was the driver, she'd never been invited to sit with the team.

The one time Mac had scraped up the courage to scramble onto the back of the float, Hollis had stared at Mac like she was a stain on her cheerleading sweater and then coolly informed her that there wasn't any room.

It wasn't the first time Hollis had snubbed Mac, but she'd never done it in front of a group of people. People who hadn't come to Mac's defense or
made
room.

At least Ethan hadn't been there to witness her slink back to the front of the truck and take her place next to Coach in the passenger seat . . .

“Have a seat, sweetheart.” Her dad set the bowl of popcorn next to a bottle of root beer on the coffee table, freeing
up a space on the couch. “This is going to bring back a lot of memories.”

That was what Mac was afraid of.

“I—”

A cheer erupted from the television and drowned out the excuse she'd been frantically trying to come up with. Mac glanced at the screen just in time to see the camera zoom in on the cheerleaders, who wore short blue skirts and sweaters as white as their smiles.

Hollis stood at the top of the pyramid, of course, directly under the floodlight. On the scoreboard behind her, the numbers under the home and opposing team were the same.