Kiss the Bride (29 page)

“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.

Dread trickled down Mac's spine. “Which game are you watching?”

“Homecoming 2005. Lumberjacks versus the Lions.” Coach chuckled. “Never going to forget that game.”

Unfortunately, neither would she.

The camera panned the players sitting on the bench and then paused on a familiar face.

Her
face.

“Is there another root beer?” Mac pitched her voice above the cheerleaders' screams. Desperate measures and all that.

“On the coffee table—help yourself.” Her dad pointed at the television. “Look! There you are, Pumpkin.”

Mac stifled a groan. The nickname described the color of her hair anyway.

She stood on the sidelines, wearing a lion suit because Beetle Jenkins had come down with a case of food poisoning
during seventh-hour study hall. It wasn't the first time Mac had subbed as the school mascot, but she hadn't realized the costume was so . . .
big
. And fuzzy.

Mac hadn't realized the camera was trained on her, either. She'd yanked off the headpiece—probably so she could breathe—but instead of an intimidating jungle animal who prowled the sidelines, urging the fans to cheer for their team, Mac looked more like a little girl dressed in footie pajamas who'd just woke up from an afternoon nap. Flushed cheeks. Hair every which way.

Gazing adoringly at the star quarterback as he ran for a touchdown.

And she'd thought homecoming had been humiliating the first time.

Coach shook his head. “You had amazing instincts, Channing.”

“I don't know about that.” Ethan's gaze shifted to Mac. “I don't think I always saw what was right there in front of me.”

The bottle of root beer slipped through Mac's hands, but she caught it before it hit the floor. “I should take Snap for a walk.” The
w
-word roused her faithful Lab from his evening nap but Mac beat him to the door.

She'd bolted from Ethan that night too.

Only this time—
thank you, God—
he didn't follow her.

Ethan woke up the next morning to the mournful call of a loon. He rolled out of bed and squinted at the clock, amazed to discover it was almost seven. He hadn't slept more than
five hours in a row since he'd started at Midland Medical, the hospital where he'd completed his residency.

The competition to fill a spot on Dr. Langley's team was fierce, and sleep had become a luxury Ethan couldn't afford. The doctor expected his residents to give 100 percent so Ethan had given 150 percent. Langley mentored only one resident and he'd chosen Ethan, a decision that had ultimately led to an invitation to join his team.

He still wasn't sure when—or how—to break the news to his mother that he wasn't returning to Chicago. Sometimes Ethan thought her aspirations were even higher than his. He'd overheard his parents arguing once. Heard her telling his father that he was wasting his medical skills in a place like Red Leaf.

Until a few months ago Ethan might have agreed with her.

He'd embraced the long hours. The blare of sirens outside the hospital that jump-started a rush of adrenaline. The pressure of making split-second decisions that had the power to save a person's life. Now he was trading in the challenge of a busy ER for a family practice in the sleepy little town where he'd grown up. A town with grass instead of concrete. Trees instead of skyscrapers.

Ethan lifted the shade that overlooked the backyard.

Lots of trees. Trees that dropped needles and leaves and pinecones.

He was beginning to wish Hollis and Connor had picked a day in December to get married. The number of tasks on Ethan's to-do list suddenly seemed a lot longer than the number of days he had to accomplish them.

He skipped a shower, knowing he'd only have to take another one later, and extracted a T-shirt and his oldest pair of jeans from the suitcase.

A half hour later, armed with a cup of coffee and a bucket of sealer he hoped was just as strong, Ethan climbed the ladder he'd found in the shed. From the roof of the boathouse, he had an unobstructed view of the lake and the yard.

And trespassing reporters.

Mac was striding down the flagstone path to the water, camera in hand, clearly on a mission to take her photographs for the newspaper.

Ethan thought about calling her name, but he had a gut feeling that when it came to Mackenzie Davis, the element of surprise would only work in his favor.

Or not.

Because Mac suddenly veered off course and headed straight for the boathouse. The breeze toyed with a silky ribbon of mahogany hair that had already escaped the confines of her ponytail. In figure-hugging jeans, a plaid button-down shirt, and hiking boots, she looked more like a camp counselor than a journalist.

“What”—Mac parked her hands on her hips and glared up at him—“are you doing?”

Ethan grinned down at her. “Triage.”

“Triage,” Mac repeated.

“It's when you assess a situation and choose the most—”

“I
know
what the word means. But you're the one who's going to need a doctor when you fall through that roof and break both your legs.”

Ethan didn't look the least bit disturbed by the possibility. “The boards are only rotten in a few places.” He thumped one of the shingles with the heel of his shoe. “Hollis thought the boathouse would be a good place to set up the food for the reception.”

“It still doesn't explain why you're up there.”

Mac had set her alarm an hour early so she could take pictures of the venue and have them on Grant's desk before he poured his first cup of coffee. And maybe to avoid Ethan.

Okay. Avoiding Ethan had been her main motivation.

Mac wasn't sure what to expect when she'd cut through the trees between the two properties. Maybe a scene straight
from
Father of the Bride
with a swarm of makeover bees already hard at work. Mowing the grass. Pulling weeds. Sculpting hedges into topiary swans.

The last thing she expected to see was Ethan standing on the roof of the boathouse. Alone. Looking like the cover model for the August edition of
Outdoorsman Monthly
in a T-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders and a pair of jeans so old they'd faded to a soft January blue.

And he healed people to boot.

Sometimes life just wasn't fair.

Ethan swung down from the ladder and landed in front of her in one fluid motion. “I'm the one who's going to fix it.”