A Doctor for Keeps. Lynne Marshall

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      “Good. That’s good.” He sounded hesitant. “Steven will be excited.”

      And what about you? She’d been around the country a few dozen times, but she wasn’t bold enough to ask. Was her crazy physical reaction every time he came around by any chance mutual?

      Did this Viking from the bland house next door have any soul? Any passion? He seemed to be bound by courtesy and what was expected of him. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something must have happened to make those invisible walls so high. Yet Steven was as lovable and huggable as a soft teddy bear.

      At least Kent hadn’t spoiled the boy with his standoffish attitude. Yet.

      With his mission accomplished, and without further words, Kent had already turned to leave.

      “Tell Steven I’m really looking forward to going, okay?”

      He tossed a thoughtful gaze back at her, took her in with a leisurely tour of her entire body. It was the first sign of life she’d seen in him since the night they’d met in the dark, giving her the inkling that maybe her physical response to him was reciprocated.

      A subtle shiver rolled through her, and she clutched the shawl tighter and closer to her neck.

      “I’ll do that,” he said. “We’ll pick you up on Saturday morning around ten.” And off he went, almost smiling, down the steps and toward the dark path home.

      “Got it,” she said softly, grateful the boy would be along to ward off the unexplainable reaction she had to the big guy with the aloof attitude.

      * * *

      Saturday morning was cool and damp, and Desi pulled her hair tightly back into a bun and covered it with a knit cap, careful not to catch her huge hoop earrings. She zipped her thin hoodie to the neck and did the final is my butt too big in these jeans? check via the full-length mirror. The doorbell rang and she stopped obsessing over what nature had given her and hustled out the bedroom door.

      Gerda had answered the door already, and Steven and Kent hung back just outside on the porch, talking quietly.

      “Oh, good, you’re ready,” Gerda said when Desi appeared at the top of the stairs. “I’ve got to go. Need to be there a half hour before the parade starts.”

      Desi rushed down the steps. “Don’t let me hold you up.”

      Gerda was already on the porch and halfway toward her car in the driveway. “See you there!”

      “We’ll be by your booth for some aebleskiver later,” Kent said.

      Gerda’s smile widened, setting off a network of wrinkles. “I’ll make some fresh just for you,” she said, looking at Steven.

      She’d be manning the Daughters of Denmark bakery booth all afternoon after playing grand marshal. Somehow the old woman had become a figurehead for Heartlandia, and it was another duty she’d hesitantly accepted.

      Pride broke into Desi’s chest and she waved to her grandmother. “I’ll be cheering for you!”

      The car door closed and Gerda continued to smile as she backed out. It always caught Desi off guard how much of her mother she saw in her grandmother’s face. So far they hadn’t talked nearly enough about her mother, maybe because it was still too painful, but little by little they’d begun to forge their own cautious relationship.

      After Gerda had gone, Desi looked at Kent. “Do I need an umbrella?”

      “I’ve got it covered,” Kent said, obviously enjoying his first glance at Desi, shaking her up with his sharp blue eyes. “You look like a Scandinavian flag.”

      Stopped in her tracks, Desi did a mental inventory of her choice of colors. A bright blue knit cap and red sweatshirt. “Gee, thanks. Just what every girl longs to hear.”

      “You look cool, Ms. Desi,” Steven said, beaming at her.

      Maybe she’d ignore the father and hang out with the son all morning. “Thanks, Steven.” She stopped herself from messing his shaggy, nearly white-blond hair, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate it—especially if he was planning to spend his allowance on her. And she had every intention of paying him back with the money she earned from her part-time calligraphy jobs.

      “We better get going.” Kent nudged Steven along with a hand to his neck. Steven halfheartedly tried to kick his dad’s leg. Kent played along, kicking back, missing by a mile. The boy giggled.

      Feeling a bit like a third wheel, Desi followed them off the porch toward the curb.

      They rode over in a white—why was she not surprised—pickup truck, sitting three across with Steven between them. After a brief silence, Steven spoke up.

      “The sons and daughters of Heartlandia first came together to start this festival fifty years ago,” Steven recited like a tour guide for the city. “The early summer festival celebrates our Norwegian, Icelandic, Finnish, Swedish and Danish heritage—” he stumbled over some of the words, but managed to spit them out pretty well for an eight-year-old “—from the early fishermen settlers first stranded on our coast.” He stopped long enough to swallow. “Our first peoples, the Chinook, saved and nursed our shipwrecked forefathers to health and taught them the secrets of hunting and fishing the waters of the great Columbia River.” A quick picture of Linus explaining the meaning of Christmas to Charlie Brown came to mind with the quiet yet capable way Steven told his city’s history.

      “Okay, Steven, you don’t need to repeat your entire class presentation for Ms. Desi.”

      “I liked it. Thank you, Steven.”

      “As you can tell,” Kent interjected, “Hjartalanda is proud of both the Scandinavian and Chinook heritage.”

      “We have a special celebration for the Chinook peoples in—” Steven screwed up his face, eyes up and to the right. “What’s that month, Dad?”

      “October.”

      “Yeah, October. Then we have a beer barn, too, so that gets the old farts to come.”

      Desi sputtered a laugh before she could stop herself.

      “Watch the language,” Kent warned benevolently. “And, Steven, that’s not exactly why we have the beer barn. It’s—”

      “That’s what you said to Officer Gunnar that time.”

      Kent flashed a sparkling look at Desi over Steven’s head. He enjoyed his son as much as she did. She lifted her brows. You get yourself out of this one.

      “That was just an observation between him and me, and for your information, I said ‘geezers,’ not ‘farts.’”

      Steven giggled. “Fart is a funny word. I like it better. Fart, fart, fart.” He dissolved into a fit of giggles.

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