The Groom Came Back. Abby Gaines

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СКАЧАТЬ think it’s wise to see someone local. They’re all members of Rotary and know your dad. I use a firm in Memphis for my loans. We could go there.”

      “Are they okay?”

      She wrinkled her nose again, which somehow drew Jack’s attention to her lips, full and pinky-red. “They’re good value. And they’re right across the road from my bank.”

      He tsked. “Imagine if people chose their doctor that way—cheap and handy to the bank.”

      “No one would do that. Doctors are much more important than lawyers.” Her eyes were wide and innocent.

      Jack was torn between amusement and exasperation. Callie had a mischievous streak a mile wide. Lucy would be the same, if she were still alive. He put the thought aside.

      “I have a buddy in Memphis who had an irregular marriage situation,” he said.

      She snickered at his choice of words.

      “I’ll call him,” Jack said, ignoring her. He saw his mom emerge from the restroom. “I’ll find out who he used, set up a meeting.”

      “I’ll leave it with you,” Callie said.

      Mission accomplished.

      BY THE TIME THEY GOT Brenda home, there was no trace of tears. She confessed to Dan that she’d had “one of my turns, sweetie, but I’m all right now.”

      “Not again,” Dan said. Callie wondered if Jack noticed that his father’s impatience bordered on rudeness. And that Brenda’s repeated apology had a take-it-or-leave-it-edge.

      Callie left. Jack called later to say he’d arranged for them to meet his friend’s lawyer in Memphis the next evening. For a guy who paid so little attention to his family, he was taking quite an active interest in their divorce.

      The drive to Memphis took nearly three hours, so it would be a late night and Callie would have to close Fresher Flowers early, at four.

      Closing early meant hustling her Monday afternoon regulars—a mother whose toddler loved to sniff the flowers; two elderly men; three women who circled the shop together complaining about the prices—out the door before they were ready.

      As she tried to shepherd them out without being rude, Jack pulled up in the black Jaguar. He got out of the car, frowning when he saw the Open sign in her window.

      Callie frowned back.

      He observed the departing shoppers’ empty hands. “Did any of those people buy anything?”

      “Not this time.” Callie brushed at the lily pollen on her skirt, even though experience told her she needed to lift it off with sticky tape, then hang the skirt out in the sun. Predictably, the yellow streaks didn’t budge from the white cotton. “I get a few people coming here because they find flowers restful, or the scent brings back memories,” she said. “And those old men…I think they’re lonely.”

      “So is bankruptcy. There was no one in here last time I came, either.”

      “You were here and you spent a hundred dollars,” she said acerbically. “As far as I’m concerned your money’s as welcome as anyone else’s.”

      Jack held up his hands in a butting-out gesture. “What do we need to do to get out of here?” Oh, yeah, we’re having a truce.

      Together, they brought in the tubs of flowers from outside. Jack’s clothing was immaculate, his jeans and long-sleeved, bronze-colored polo shirt fitting as if custom-made, but he didn’t seem concerned about the threat of pollen or other dirt. Callie chalked up a small point in his favor. His thick dark hair and chiseled cheekbones, on the other hand, were not pluses. They only encouraged women to fawn over him. When she got married for real, Callie thought, if she got married for real, she’d never find a guy as good-looking—her shallow side felt a pang of regret—but at least she’d find someone unselfish.

      Jack waited while she locked up, then held the car door open for her.

      The Jaguar was every bit as luxurious as it looked. Virtually no engine noise penetrated the interior; Jack pressed a button on the console and Norah Jones wafted through discreetly located speakers.

      As they pulled away from the lights at the intersection of Main and Fifth, Callie waved to a group of men. One of them waved back.

      “Who was that?” Jack asked.

      She rolled her eyes. “Your cousin Jason.”

      “Thought so.”

      “With his brother, also your cousin.”

      “Excellent guys,” he said.

      “So excellent that you don’t remember what they look like from one day to the next.”

      “Hey, I didn’t get a more than a glimpse of them just now.”

      Callie cautioned herself against launching into Jack with an accusation that he hadn’t recognized his family because he didn’t give a damn about anyone in Parkvale. Truce, she reminded herself again. She’d bet money he liked being criticized even less than most people. So when she said her piece tonight, she’d do it without yelling.

      She pressed her lips together as Jack turned right and joined the interstate. She adjusted her seat, tested the smoothness of the leather upholstery with her fingers, then checked the glove compartment. Empty. She fiddled with the climate control for her side of the car. Cool air fanned her face, lifting her hair. She flipped the visor down to check if her hair was mussed. Hmm, not the best…She combed her fingers through it.

      “Are you ADHD?” Jack asked.

      Callie froze midcomb. “Will you stop doing that?”

      “What?”

      She dropped her hands into her lap. “Stop suggesting there’s something wrong with me every time I pull a face or scratch my nose.”

      “I don’t.” He sounded genuinely surprised.

      “Sometimes a squint is just a squint and a scratch is just a scratch.”

      “I’m a doctor. I notice these things.” He was using his calming-a-crazy-patient tone again.

      “And stop talking in that irritating voice.”

      “You mean this one?” he said soothingly.

      She reached across and smacked his arm. Encountering solid muscle beneath his polo shirt, she whipped her hand away. Neurosurgery must be a lot more physical than she thought.

      He looked down at his arm, where she’d touched him, then glanced sidelong at her. “ADHD might explain—”

      “Stop,” she ordered. “You don’t have to be a doctor every minute of the day.”

      He frowned. “Of course I do. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed what those are.” He waved at the variegated-leaved, deep red wildflowers growing alongside the interstate.

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