Trouble in Tennessee. Tanya Michaels

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      “It’s not as if there aren’t willing women,” she’d teased, threatening to count the number of foil-covered casseroles in his freezer.

      He’d considered deflecting her interest in setting him up by suggesting she encourage her dad to date instead—Harrison needed something in his life besides control of the dairy business and grueling workweeks. But even though it had been a long time since Charity’s mother died, Keith didn’t push the idea of a replacement romance. Losing family was hard, and Charity had mentioned how much she’d been missing her mom lately.

      “I suppose you think it’s pitiful that I called my sister and begged her to come be with me?” Charity had asked.

      “Of course not.” The only thing Keith hadn’t understood was why Bill and Harrison had been so shocked Treble agreed. If Keith’s older sister were still alive, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her.

      “Keith.” Treble’s voice was soft, but persistently inquisitive. “Are you okay?”

      He met her eyes, not sure what to make of the woman. Her gaze was filled with what seemed like empathy, hardly the selfish person she’d been painted as in unflattering gossip. He understood better than most the value of a fresh start. Maybe Treble had changed, maybe she’d returned not only to help her sister but to earn her stepfather’s forgiveness for whatever youthful transgressions were in her past.

      “I’m fine,” he assured her, “but a lousy lunch date, huh?”

      “Well, you won’t be winning any awards for witty conversation, but you’re easy on the eyes, so it balances out.” Leaning forward, she lowered her voice conspiratorially. “You do know there’s a blonde in the corner who’s been checking you out, don’t you?”

      His gaze darted in the direction she’d subtly indicated, and he spotted elementary school receptionist Dinah Perkins having lunch with two other women. When Dinah caught him noticing, she smiled and offered a small finger wave. Moments later, she and her girlfriends huddled into hushed conversation. Either they wanted to know who the stranger was sitting with Dr. Caldwell, or they already knew and, like Rich Danner, were intrigued by Trouble—er, Treble’s—return to Tennessee.

      “Friend of yours?” Treble asked Keith.

      “Just a friend,” he stressed.

      How long had it been since he’d had a girlfriend? Med school and his stint at the hospital had been hectic, and since moving here he’d been…cautious. There’d been a few dates and a nice weekend when a female friend had come to visit, but if his love life hadn’t completely flatlined, its prognosis wasn’t rosy, either. Eventually, he wanted to find the right woman to make his fresh start complete, but now that he was fitting in, he didn’t want to jeopardize that with social missteps. Citizens gathered round their own, and if Keith broke up with a local girl, he risked becoming an outsider again. Maybe he was overanalyzing, but he hadn’t felt at home anywhere in a long time.

      It wasn’t something he was willing to lose.

      “About done?” he asked Treble.

      She nodded. “I’ve taken up enough of your day. If you can swing me by the garage so I can give the mechanic my keys, you’ll be rid of me soon.”

      Standing, she leaned over to grab a couple of napkins and clean off the table. He found himself looking straight into a tempting view of her cleavage. Stop ogling Harrison’s daughter! But forcing himself to turn away was damn difficult.

      In one short afternoon, Treble had had more of an effect on him physically than any of the women he’d met in town. Maybe it helped that she had a body that was sinfully perfect, making him think of fallen angels, but he was a doctor. He’d seen lots of bodies, many of them undressed.

      The sooner he delivered her to Charity’s, the better.

      With the “downtown” area covering only a half-dozen blocks, it didn’t take them long to reach Carter and Sons. Keith had just pulled up to the garage when a mechanic in dusty blue coveralls emerged from one of the open bay doors.

      “That’s Ronnie,” he told Treble. “She’ll have your car working better than when you drove it away from the dealership.”

      “She?”

      There was no need for him to answer since Ronnie was removing her cap. Sleek red-gold hair fell to her shoulders.

      “Huh,” Treble grunted. “You know, before you came to get me, I was expecting ‘Doc Caldwell’ to be a good bit older. And Ronnie’s definitely not what I anticipated. Lots of surprises for such a sleepy little town.”

      Sleepy? A twinge of foreboding rippled through him as he regarded the woman seated in his truck. He’d watched her varied reactions to Joyous—apprehension over arriving, sassy rebuffs to an ex-boyfriend, nearly sensual enjoyment of good barbecue—but now he wondered how the town would react to her. Treble James looked like a wake-up call waiting to happen.

      Chapter Four

      Treble stepped down from the truck, shaking her head. She’d always teased Charity over her affection for routine. “Don’t you ever want to mix things up a little?” she’d asked her younger sister.

      “Nope,” Charity had maintained. “Predictability suits me just fine.”

      At the moment, Treble could use a few less surprises herself. “You’re the mechanic?”

      The woman nodded. She was shorter than Treble, their height difference exaggerated by the mechanic’s flat-soled sneakers. Her clear jade eyes were lovely, but Treble wondered if men looked past the freckles bridging her nose and the shapeless, grease-stained overalls to notice.

      “Ronnie Carter.” The redhead extended a hand, noticed some black smudges near her fingertips and winced, dropping her arm to her side. “Technically, Veronica. No one calls me that. My brothers use ‘Red,’ but only to make me crazy.”

      Keith came around the side of the truck to stand with Treble. At his renewed nearness, her body hummed—it was like static electricity she couldn’t control. Try harder. The good doctor probably wouldn’t appreciate it if she drifted closer and stuck to his clothes.

      “Afternoon, Ronnie,” he said. “Treble had some car trouble outside town, and I assured her you were the best in the state at taking care of the problem.”

      “Flatterer.” Ronnie grinned at him, but then her eyes widened and she swung her gaze back to Treble. “Good Lord. You’re Treble Breckfield, aren’t you?”

      “James. Treble James.” The distance she put between herself and her stepfather’s name was automatic, although at least Harrison Breckfield attempted to stand by his responsibilities. More than she could say for her biological father. “I’m Charity Breckfield’s sister. Er, Charity Sumner’s.”

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