Love on a Deadline (3 page)

Ethan wrestled down his irritation as the young woman in the
gazebo turned to face him.

His mother had threatened to hire a professional wedding planner even though Hollis insisted that she and Connor wanted to keep things simple.

A word that wasn't in their mother's vocabulary. Neither was the word
no
. Ethan loved the woman dearly, but this was exactly the kind of thing she would do. There was no getting around it. His mother was a steamroller in Ralph Lauren and pearls.

Still, it didn't give Ethan license to shoot the messenger. A very attractive messenger—even if she
was
looking at him the way a character in a cheesy horror flick would look at the ax murderer who'd just stepped out of the shadows.

“Sorry.” Ethan took a step backward, lifted his hands to show her they were ax-free. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

If possible, the woman's big brown eyes got even bigger.

Now she was staring at him as if she knew him . . . and that was when it occurred to Ethan that he knew
her
too.

“Mac?” He tested the name cautiously, still not trusting his eyes. Until she nodded.

“Ethan . . . um . . . hello.”

He couldn't believe it. Mac Davis—the scrawny, freckle-faced girl who'd perched on the bleachers taking stats or handed out water bottles during halftime—had been a fixture at every football game. But the nickname no longer seemed to fit.

Ethan's gaze swept over her, confirming that some mysterious metamorphosis had occurred over the past ten years. Mac's hair, once the color and consistency of copper wire, had deepened to a rich mahogany. It spilled over her shoulders, framing a heart-shaped face that Ethan would have, if pressed, once described as cute. He would have been wrong. Mackenzie Davis was . . . beautiful.

The coach's daughter. All grown up. The thought made Ethan smile. Until he realized that Mac wasn't smiling back. She was inching toward the doorway of the gazebo.

“Excuse me. I have to take some photos while the lighting is still good.”

This was probably his cue to let her go with a polite nod. But at the moment Ethan felt more curious than polite. “Photos?”

“For the
Register
.” Mac held up a digital camera as proof.

“You're a photographer?”

“Reporter. I have a lot of competition, though, because everyone in town tries to do my job and they don't ask for compensation.”

It was such an accurate description of Red Leaf's thriving grapevine that Ethan couldn't help but grin. “You moved back here after college?”

“Last summer. Before that I was an intern at the Milwaukee
Heritage
.”

“You didn't like it?”

“It wasn't that.” Mac hesitated. “The . . . timing wasn't quite right, so I came back.”

Ethan suspected there was only one reason why Mac had passed up an opportunity to work for a prestigious newspaper like the
Heritage
and returned to Red Leaf. “Coach? He's doing okay?”

“It depends on which one of us you ask.” The shadow that skimmed through Mac's eyes landed like a punch in the center of Ethan's gut.

Ben Davis had been more than Ethan's high school football coach and mentor; he'd been a friend. A friend Ethan had lost touch with over the years because he'd been consumed with being the best, and it had affected his priorities. Coach had always claimed he was more concerned about producing good men than good football players. In that respect he'd failed the man twice.

“What happened?” Ethan was almost afraid to ask.

“A heart attack, but you know my dad. He acts like all he did was stub a toe. Dr. Heath warned him to slow down a little, but Coach and I can't seem to agree on what that means.”

“I'll talk to him.”

“No offense, Ethan”—the gold sparks in Mac's eyes told
him
she'd
taken offense—“but if Coach won't listen to me, what makes you think he'll listen to you?”

“He won't have a choice.” The words slipped out before Ethan could stop them. “I'm taking over Dr. Heath's practice at the end of the month.”

“Taking over . . .” Mac choked. “Doctor . . .”

“Channing.” Ethan smiled. “But that's strictly off the record for now.”

A doctor.

What perfect timing. Because Mac was pretty sure her heart had stopped beating the moment Ethan Channing stepped inside the gazebo.

“You look a little surprised.” He tipped his head, and the silky swatch of ink-black hair he'd never quite been able to tame dipped over one eye.

Surprised
wasn't quite the word Mac would have chosen.

And his smile . . . Mac hadn't realized it was etched as deeply in her memory as the initials
EC
were etched in the wood less than three feet from where he stood.

Oh. No.

She shifted to the left, blocking the bench from view. At least she hadn't been stupid enough to carve
her
initials next to Ethan's the night of the homecoming dance. Ninety percent of the girls who attended Red Leaf High School had
had a crush on the star quarterback, so any one of them could have been the culprit.

“I didn't know Dr. Heath was leaving.” Or that Ethan had followed in his father's footsteps and pursued a degree in medicine. But then again, not asking questions when she called home from college had been part of Mac's “leave Red Leaf behind” campaign.

“A group of medical missionaries who are opening a clinic in Haiti asked Dr. Heath to partner with them. He contacted me a few weeks ago and asked if I would consider taking over his practice.” Ethan's smile surfaced again. “That's off the record, too, by the way. He wants to tell his patients before a formal announcement is made.”

After Dr. Heath told his patients, Mac knew a formal announcement wouldn't be necessary. The news would be all over town before the next issue of the
Register
went to press. Ethan's father and Frank Heath had been close friends as well as colleagues, and after Monroe's death, Dr. Heath had kept the clinic going on his own.

Now Ethan planned to take his father's place.

Mac had assumed he'd returned to Red Leaf for Hollis's wedding. The thought of seeing Ethan on a regular basis caused her heart to stall all over again.

“Do you and Coach still live next door?”

“Yes.” The same house. The same room.

The only thing that wasn't the same was that Mac refused to fall victim to Ethan Channing's irresistible charm. Again.

“I really should get going.” She tried to duck past him but Ethan snagged her elbow.

“Careful. That's stinging nettle.” He guided her around an innocent-looking plant sprouting between the steps. “I'm beginning to think a controlled burn might work better than a bottle of weed killer. I can't believe how neglected the place looks.”

That's what happens when you don't come back for ten years, Mac wanted to say.

After Dr. Channing's funeral, it was as if the family had cut all ties with the town. Ethan's mother closed up the house the summer after he graduated, but when no F
OR
S
ALE
sign appeared in the yard, everyone expected the Channings to divide their time between Chicago and Red Leaf.

The house had remained empty all summer and during football season. Over Christmas break, it had been Willie Meister's plow truck Mac saw in the driveway, clearing a path that no one used. No one returned the following summer, either. Or the one after that. Mac finally stopped looking out the window when she heard a vehicle rumble past.

An empty house didn't stop people from reminiscing about the family, though. The name
Channing
was stamped on gold plaques all over Red Leaf, from the door on the library's addition to the playground equipment in the park. Photographs of Hollis in her cheerleading uniform still lined the walls of the high school, and even now when Mac went to a football game, someone inevitably mentioned how Ethan had led the Lions to victory over the Lumberjacks during the play-offs his senior year, breaking several state records on his way to the end zone.

No wonder Grant wanted to make Hollis's wedding front-
page news. It was like the royal family returning to Balmoral Castle.

A thought suddenly occurred to Mac. “Are you . . . staying at the house?”

Ethan looked confused by the question. “Of course.”

Of course.

Red Leaf suddenly felt even smaller.

“I know it's kind of big for one person, but it's completely furnished.” Ethan bent down to pick up a pinecone and sent it sailing into the trees with the practiced skill of someone who still tossed around a football now and then. “Mom claimed the stuff wouldn't fit in our condo, but I think it gave her an excuse to leave Dad's collection of antique fishing reels and the bearskin rug behind.”

One. Person.

Mac swallowed hard. By now she expected there would be a beautiful, accomplished Mrs. Ethan Channing and two-point-four equally beautiful, accomplished Channing children.

She slowed her steps in order to put some distance between them and scanned the property for another “before” shot that would satisfy her editor.

“Do you know where the ceremony is going to take place?”

Ethan stopped so abruptly she almost plowed into him.

“Ceremony?” he repeated.

“Hollis's wedding.”

“That's why you're here?” Ethan didn't raise his voice, but something in his tone set off a warning bell in Mac's head.

“I told you I was taking pictures for the
Register
.”

“I thought you were getting some nature shots. An eagle. The sunset.” Ethan gestured toward the lake. “How did you even find out about the wedding? It's supposed to be a secret.”

“A secret?” Grant hadn't mentioned that. And it didn't sound like Hollis, the girl who'd flirted with the editor of the school newspaper just to get her picture on the front page. Every week. “My editor received an e-mail with the details this morning.”

“Who
sent
the e-mail, Mackenzie?” he asked softly.

Mac hiked her chin and forced herself to look him in the eye. “I . . . I can't say.”

Ethan took a step closer, invading her personal space. “It was my mother, wasn't it?”

“A good reporter never reveals her source.” Even though Ethan's cologne, a woodsy, masculine equivalent of truth serum, was in the process of breaking down her resistance.

“Never?” A slow smile drew up the corners of his lips. “That sounds like a challenge to me.”

Mac silently disagreed. Keeping her head on straight and her heart in line with Ethan Channing working in Red Leaf—and living next door—that was going to be the challenge.

“Mom did
what
?”

“Contacted the
Register
about the wedding.” Ethan held the phone away from his ear and braced himself for the fallout.

“I can't believe it! She knows how Connor feels about his privacy!” Hollis wailed. “We chose Red Leaf because we wanted a quiet place to exchange our vows.”

Of course their mother knew that. But she had obviously decided that when it came to her only daughter marrying Connor Blake, a little publicity was better than no publicity at all.

“It will still be quiet.” Even without the newspaper story, Ethan couldn't guarantee privacy, not in a town the size of Red Leaf. “I doubt you'll have to worry about paparazzi hiding in the trees.”

Just beautiful, brown-eyed reporters . . .

“Ethan? Are you listening to me?”

“Of course I'm listening.” And thinking about Mackenzie Davis, something Ethan had been guilty of doing quite a bit over the past twenty-four hours. Their conversation the night before had ended in a stalemate, but Ethan was already looking forward to the next one.