4. Dr. Beckett Whistler
Dr. Beckett Whistler
June MacCord’s granddaughter from Michigan, of all places, is coming to stay with her.
Really? Her family is sending a grandkid to keep an eye on this woman whose greatest desire in life is to hot-wire a car.
A grandkid . What on earth are they thinking?
Now I’ll have to babysit both June and the kid.
In a bad mood, I stomp to the mailboxes at the bottom of the steep driveway.
Just as I reach where the driveways split, a bright blue Ford Ranger pickup pulls in and parks.
Instead of opening the door, the driver turns the volume all the way up.
I am concerned for my own eardrums, but then a woman gets out of the passenger seat, and now I’m worried about my eyes.
Granddaughter this may be, grandKID this is not.
She’s short and petite, and her blonde hair is pulled up in a ponytail with streaks of pink running through it. She’s wearing black stretchy pants that stop just before the shin and a hot pink short sleeve shirt. I am entranced by her graceful movements as she strides to the back of the truck.
The man has already stalked inside. He’s taller than her, and clearly muscular, with the kind of gym muscles that only come from an insane amount of protein and intense workouts. Annoyance that he left without so much as asking if she needed help carrying her things makes my frown deepen.
I scowl at the door to Miss June’s house, where the man disappeared.
Dad’s lectures about manners around a lady unlock my frozen body, and just as I’m about to call to the woman and ask if she needs help, she begins carrying a veritable Leaning Tower of Pisa up the driveway.
She buckles a little under the load but keeps going.
Who is this tiny woman? And how is she so strong?
I watch in fascination, again frozen, but this time in admiration, as her legs carry her up the steep slope.
The side door of June’s house swings open, and I see the man watching me. His bemused expression tells me that he misinterpreted my admiration of the way the woman’s legs chugged up the driveway as appreciation for her glutes.
Fine. Just because being friendly is hard for me doesn’t mean I have lost all sense of manners. I didn’t stare. I just noticed her attractiveness and moved on.
Anger rears its head as I think about this woman—who is clearly too good for this man—carrying her things up the driveway. Is basic chivalry dead? I certainly did nothing to resuscitate it just now, but really, what kind of a deadbeat boyfriend is this guy?
My throat cords as the man in the doorway waves at me.
What if he’s her husband?
I shake my head to clear the thought just in time to hear the woman yell ‘HEY’ and crumple down. The door swings closed.
Stupid Hippocratic Oath.
She fell. She could be injured. It’s not my property. I’m not on duty. But I swore I’d do no harm. I swore that I’d help.
I tuck the envelopes—bills, of course—into my back jeans pocket and stride over to June’s and knock on the side door.
The granddaughter opens it. “Can I help you?” she asks. I get a good look at her blue eyes, thick lashes, and pink lips.
I raise my sunglasses and perch them on my head. “Yeah, uh, is everything ok? Did anyone get hurt?”
She laughs. “No.” Then she sticks out a hand. “Hi, I’m Brooke. I’m staying with my Meemaw for a while so she can heal up.”
A screeching noise hits my eardrums. “Who’s there, Brooke?” June yells from somewhere within the house.
Brooke studies me while I stare at her and try not to notice how very pretty she is, or the small scar to the left of her eye. Stitches that didn’t heal quite right.
She jolts me back to reality when she says, “Uh … ok. I don’t know what to tell her. Who are you?” Her hand is no longer extended, and I’m an idiot.
Annoyed at myself now, I answer, but my mouth is dry, and my upper lip sticks to my front teeth.
I must look exactly like Beast interacting with Belle.
Thinking of Beauty and the Beast makes me think of Addie, and thinking of Addie always brings out the worst in me.
It’s not a total surprise to me that when the words come, they are biting. “Dr. Beckett Whistler.”
She rolls her eyes at my pretentiousness.
Who really introduces themselves so formally when we’re neighbors? I am the opposite of a friendly neighbor.
“Brooke?” June calls again. “Who’s there?”
My eyes are malfunctioning because I’m not telling them to stare at her, but they’re locked on her pretty face, and when she hollers back, “No one, Meemaw!” and slams the door, I know I royally messed up.
I tromp back to my house, letting thoughts of Addie flood my brain. I haven’t felt anything for a woman in a very long time, but I felt something just then. I don’t like it.
My phone buzzes in my back jeans pocket, and I pull it out. It’s my best friend, Ben. “Hey,” I say into the phone.
“Hey, a couple of us are going hiking. You should come.”
“Yeah. When and where?”
“Logan met a tourist … so Endless Wall at six.”
“He didn’t want to take her to Nuttleberg? Better places to make out along that trail,” I quip. Logan is definitely a ladies’ man, and he certainly uses his charms on the tourists.
Ben’s laugh is mirthless. “C’mon, Beck. You can’t fault him for looking for love—”
“Yeah, well, I found it already, and we know what happened there.”
“Ok. Beck is blue, we get it. You’ve been blue for what, four years now? It’s time to get back out there, man.”
“You try it first.” It’s a low blow, and I know it, but I don’t care. Telling me to get over Addie is like telling Ben to get over his first motorcycle. It’s a rust bucket on two wheels, but he won’t give it up.
“I’m going to let that one go, but are you coming to Endless Wall?”
I take a breath, hold it, count to three, and blow it out again. “Fine, but if Logan gets too handsy, I’m out.”
“We know,” Ben retorts before hanging up.