A Coldwater Warm Hearts Wedding Read online

  “Hope so,” Mr. Evans said. “He comes from good stock, I hear. Aren’t the Harpers related to the Walkers, Heather?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Levi is my cousin several times removed. His mother’s uncle was my grandmother’s first cousin or some such thing.”

  Levi was eight or so years younger than Heather, but she remembered him from the big Walker reunions. Levi had been the self-proclaimed leader of a whole gaggle of little boys that styled themselves the “Monkey Troop.” They terrorized the great-aunts piecing quilts and then made off with the pies before the rest of the picnic things had even been laid out. No watermelon was safe from their predations. No jug of Kool-Aid stood a chance against their not-so-stealthy marauding.

  No one held those youthful indiscretions against Levi now. Since he was family, Heather had been tested for a possible partial liver donation. Unfortunately, she was not a match. If he didn’t get a liver soon, he’d have more to worry about than missing a football season.

  Heather focused back on her patient at hand. Mrs. Evans was trying to referee while Lacy and her sister wrangled about whether the bridesmaid dresses should be tea length or drape to the floor. Heather was grateful that their argument was distracting their mother. Once the box was checked to indicate whether or not the patient was willing to be a donor, no one going into surgery should be subjected to a prolonged discussion about transplants.

  Mrs. Evans was blinking more slowly now. It was time.

  Heather told the family. The good-byes took a while because there was a lot of kissing and hugging involved. Through it all, Mrs. Evans assured them that everything would be all right. She stared at the closed curtain once more, as if thinking hard about her son, Michael, would magically summon him. When he didn’t appear, she sighed.

  “I’m ready.”

  Heather pulled back the curtain and started pushing the wheeled bed down the hall.

  Then Mrs. Evans waved her hand in the air and sang out gaily, “If anything happens, give my liver to that football player!”

  Behind her, Heather could hear the Evans family chuckling despite their tears. Shirley Evans was a wonderful human being. She so deserved the support of her entire family.

  If Heather ever ran into Michael Evans again, she’d happily lock him in an examination room with a first-year proctology resident and let the new doc practice till he got it right.

  However long it took.

  Chapter 2

  Going back to Coldwater Cove feels like returning

  to the scene of the crime. Guess in some ways, it is.

  —Michael Evans as he roared into

  town on a big-ass Harley

  Mike pulled off his helmet and swung it at his side as he strode toward the hospital entrance. A new wing had been added since he’d left town, but as far as he could see, Coldwater General was still a piddle-squat excuse for a hospital.

  Why hadn’t his dad taken his mother to Tulsa at least?

  Cancer.

  The word set his gut roiling. His parents had always ragged him about being a risk taker. Now they were the ones taking chances. If he’d had anything to say about it, his mom would have been transferred to the Mayo Clinic as quickly as he could arrange it.

  He’d have gotten a second opinion. He’d have found the best oncology team on the planet. He’d . . .

  No, he wouldn’t. They never would have allowed it. Michael had burned his bridges to the watermark when he’d left town. It was a wonder anyone even bothered to track him down to let him know about his mom’s illness. As it was, the news had come to him through a maze of contacts, like a twisted six degrees to Kevin Bacon thing. By the time he’d learned what was happening, there was no way to get back to Coldwater Cove in time to do anything.

  Mike pushed through the heavy glass doors—no newfangled automatic ones for Coldwater Cove!—and headed toward the information desk. The strong scent of Pine-Sol wafted up from the old linoleum. Fluorescent lighting hummed overhead. But before Michael reached the blue-haired lady who volunteered behind the desk, his father rounded the corner. The old man was flanked by Mike’s sisters. Crystal had draped herself over their dad’s arm, while Lacy was hand in hand with a big guy who seemed vaguely familiar.

  George Evans stopped dead and stared at Michael as if he didn’t recognize him. That was no surprise. It had been nearly a decade since they’d parted.

  Badly.

  Mike wasn’t sure he’d have known his dad either without Crystal and Lacy at his side. The old man seemed shorter than he remembered. Frailer. As if he’d shrunk into himself a bit. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his cheeks looked damp.

  His father had been crying. So had Mike’s sisters.

  Oh, God.

  “Where’s Mom?” he asked, panic rising in his throat.

  Crystal kept her hand tucked into their father’s elbow, more to prop him up than to steady herself, Mike suspected. But his sister Lacy left the guy she was leaning against, ran to Mike, and clung to his neck, sobbing afresh.

  Oh, no. He was too late.

  Lacy chanted his name between blubbering. Then she pulled back and smiled up at him through her tears. “She’s going to be so happy.”

  She. “Mom’s OK?”

  “Yes, she’s out of surgery and resting now.”

  “But you’re crying.”

  “Well, that’s partly your fault. I’m happy to see you, you big dope.” Lacy punched his shoulder. “As far as the rest of the tears go, we held tough for as long as we could, but once we got the good news about Mom, we sort of let go.”

  “So it wasn’t cancer after all?” Relief washed over him.

  “Oh, no. It was,” Lacy said, giving him yet another tight hug. “She had a lumpectomy but the mass was pretty well contained. Doc Warner thinks he got it all. There were no cancer cells in the lymph tissue samples. That means he doesn’t think the disease has packed its evil little bags and done any traveling.”

  Mike released a pent-up breath. “So that’s it. She’s going to be OK.”

  “What do you care?” His father finally found his tongue and barreled toward him. He stopped only inches away, glaring up at Mike. “You couldn’t even be bothered to show up in time to see your mother before she went into surgery. It would’ve meant the world to her. God knows why.”

  “Dad, give him a break,” Lacy chided. “He’s here now.”

  His father snorted. “A day late and a dollar short. That’s you, Michael. Always has been. Obviously, nothing’s changed.”

  George Evans straightened his spine, turned, and strode toward the exit with Crystal still attached to his arm. Mike’s older sister didn’t look back, and he didn’t expect her to.When they were growing up, he and Crystal had been polar opposites. While she made the honor roll, his grades meant he was always in danger of being held back a year. Not that he was stupid. Far from it. Most of the time, school had simply bored Mike out of his mind.

  “Don’t take anything Dad says to heart. He’s been through a lot these past few days.” Lacy gave Mike another hug. It was easy to remember why she was his favorite sister. “He doesn’t mean it.”

  “Yes, he does.” Mike watched as the hospital doors whooshed closed behind his dad and Crystal. “And the old man is right. Nothing’s changed.”

  “Well, a few things have.” Lacy waggled her left hand in front of his face. A tasteful diamond in an antique setting flashed on her ring finger. She indicated the big guy behind her. “You remember Jacob Tyler, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah. The football jock.” Mike extended a hand and Jake gave it a shake.

  “We’re getting married the Saturday after Thanksgiving,” Lacy went on. “Say you’ll be there.”

  “Heck, say you’ll be the best man.” Jake grinned and slapped him on the back. “May as well keep this thing on the Evans side of the family. That way I don’t have to pick one of my brothers over the other. They can both be groomsmen. In fact, if they don’t shape up, I may bust them back
to being ushers.”

  “I don’t know about being in any wedding.” Mike took a step back. He wanted to stay long enough to make sure his mom was OK, but he didn’t expect to be sucked back into life in Coldwater Cove. “I doubt I’ll be around that long.”

  Lacy’s brows drew together in distress. “Oh, Mike, you’ve got to be. Mom’s going to need you.”

  “But you said she was going to be OK.”

  “Doc Warner is optimistic, but he can’t say she’s cured. He’s ordered a full course of chemo and radiation,” Lacy said. “And you know how mom is. She wants to do them both at the same time so she can get her treatments over with quicker.”

  Mike tried to suppress a smile and failed. “That sounds like her. Mom always tackles everything like she’s killing snakes.”

  Lacy nodded in agreement. “And since this time she’s killing cancer, I’m glad of it. But it’s not going to be easy on her. That’s why you need to stick around.”

  Obviously, his little sister believed he had nothing to go back to. That no one needed him elsewhere. Well, he couldn’t blame her. His dad saw him as a shiftless drifter. It was no surprise that Lacy did, too.

  She was just nicer about it.

  “You can stay with me,” she offered. “I’ve got a couch that makes out into a bed.”

  “Not necessary.” She probably thought he couldn’t even afford to take a room at the shabby no-tell motel out on the highway. In fact, Mike had already reserved the ranch house at the Ouachita Inn, a restored nineteenth-century treasure on the other side of Lake Jewel. “I got it covered.”

  Lacy looked pointedly at his helmet. “My couch may not be the Hilton, but it’ll beat the pup tent you’ve got strapped to your bike.”

  Mike didn’t wonder why Lacy hadn’t suggested he stay at their parents’ big house. Even though there was plenty of room, they both knew that wouldn’t fly. “Let me worry about where I sleep, little sister. Now, where’s Mom?”

  “Second floor. Ask at the nurses’ station. Before they could assign her a room, Mom shooed us all out while she was still fresh from recovery. Dad skipped breakfast this morning and lunchtime has come and gone. She was worried about him so we were taking him to the Green Apple for something to eat.”

  “Did he skip his coffee too?” Mike asked.

  Lacy nodded. George Evans’s brew was legendary, both for its strength and its awfulness. It was an acquired taste, but their dad had been drinking the stuff so long, anyone else’s coffee was like a shriveled bean dipped in tepid water to him.

  Lacy nodded. “So that accounts for his surliness toward you.”

  Mike cast her a wry smile. They both knew that wasn’t true. Even if Dad had jolted down six cups of his coffee that morning, his reaction to Michael would have been the same. But Lacy’s lie was kindly meant. “Guess I better find Mom.”

  “After you’re done here, come by the Green Apple Grill,” Jake said. “You can have supper on the house.”

  Great. His sister thought he couldn’t keep the rain off his head, and his future brother-in-law felt the need to feed him. He didn’t know which was worse, his father’s bare antagonism or Lacy and Jake’s suffocating overprotectiveness.

  “I may drop by later, then,” he said because they both looked so hopeful about it. Mike guessed he couldn’t afford to alienate the one part of the family that was still speaking to him. Then before they could start making any other decisions for him, he headed toward the elevator.

  He made it two steps before Lacy practically tackled him with another hug. “Oh, Michael, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you. Thank you so much for coming home.”

  He hugged her back. The scent of his sister’s hair flooded his mind with memories. She smelled of new-mown grass and crisp fall leaves and the long Indian summer evenings when they were kids, chasing fireflies on the lawn.

  Had he ever really been that innocent?

  Home, she says. Mike wasn’t sure where that elusive place was, but he was pretty certain it wasn’t Coldwater Cove.

  Not for him. Not anymore.

  * * *

  Heather updated Mrs. Evans’s records. She’d be released tomorrow, but she had a long row to hoe. Heather was still trying to convince her to give herself a little time to recover from surgery and do some physical therapy before starting her other treatments. A lumpectomy wasn’t as invasive as a full mastectomy, but Mrs. Evans would have muscle weakness in her left arm where the lymph nodes had been removed. It could linger for some time. But even a week of regular exercises to regain her strength would help before starting on chemo and radiation. At the moment, her friend’s mother was set on leaping into treatment right away.

  Heather checked her schedule. No more surgeries were planned for the day, so she only had the two postoperative patients to manage for the rest of her shift. Aaron Bugtussle, the twelve-year-old who’d had the emergency appendectomy that morning, was still feeling pretty tough. He wouldn’t touch so much as the lime Jell-O on his lunch tray. Tina-Louise “Grandma” Bugtussle had smuggled in a possum pie, which she claimed was his favorite, but even that hill-folk delicacy failed to tempt the boy’s appetite.

  Heather counted Aaron’s refusal to scarf down possum as a sign of intelligence, but the kid still needed to eat.

  “I hope the next shift can get some chicken soup into him,” Heather told Glenda Scott, the CNA on duty.

  Glenda nodded and looked up from her cell phone, a guilty expression on her face.

  “Sorry, Heather. This app is so addictive.” Glenda had been thumbing the small screen, popping the digital Bubble Wrap that served as her wallpaper. She shoved her phone into her pocket and tucked the strand of iron-gray hair that had escaped her cap behind her ear. If Glenda ever started coloring her hair, no one would believe the slender, energetic woman was in her fifties. “But the silly thing sure is a good stress reliever.”

  “You need to take a break?” Heather asked. Glenda was pulling a double shift since the hospital was woefully short staffed.

  “Naw. Half a minute of popping bubbles and I’m good to go,” Glenda said. “You know, while I was popping, it came to me that we ought to find out if the Bugtussle boy plays football. He has to be firing on all cylinders before we’ll let him out of here. If he has a game coming up and doesn’t want to read about it in the papers, he might start eating.”

  “Good idea.” Heather cast a sidelong glance at her coworker. She wondered if it was Glenda’s life outside the hospital that caused her to need a stress reliever. “How’s it going with Lester?”

  “There is no ‘with Lester,’ so there’s nothing going,” she said with a shrug. “He comes over on Sundays and mows my lawn. I let him drink a glass of tea on the porch. That’s it. Besides, I’m off men.”

  If she wasn’t, she should have been. Glenda was still technically married to Lester, but her husband had been an alcoholic early in their marriage, and a homeless bum who’d deserted his family for a decade or so after that. Now Lester Scott was off alcohol, seeing a therapist for his PTSD and anger issues, and trying to turn his life around with meaningful work and better choices. Mowing Glenda’s lawn every week was one of his small ways of trying to make amends.

  Heather was all for second chances. In fact, she and the Coldwater Warm Hearts Club, a service group she’d founded, had been instrumental in helping Lester take his first steps back into society. But it wouldn’t pay for Glenda to be too forgiving.

  Not yet anyway.

  “Trust, but verify, that’s my motto,” Glenda said. “After Lester replaces the shingles on my garage, I may give him an Oreo to go with his tea. But only if he cuts off that stupid man bun he’s trying to grow and shaves his beard.” Then she surprised Heather with a low whistle.

  “Oh, my!” The older woman fanned herself with her hand. “Hottie alert on your six.”

  Heather frowned. “I thought you were off men.”

  “I am off men,” Glenda admitted. “But that doesn’t m
ake me dead. Looking never hurt anybody. And this fellow’s well worth a look.”

  Most of the men Heather met were too married, too old, too young, or too gay. If she met a new man that didn’t fit into any of those categories at Coldwater General, it would be time to alert the media. Heather shifted slightly so she could get a glimpse of the guy in question from the corner of her eye without seeming to ogle him.

  Glenda was right. He was worth two looks.

  His dark hair was a couple weeks past needing a cut. Dressed in biker leathers, he was the poster boy for trouble on two legs. Some impressive ink crept from under his white T-shirt and up one side of his neck.

  Heather normally didn’t go for men with tats, but this guy’s neck would have seemed naked without it. She didn’t recognize the pattern. It flowed and twisted back on itself like a bowlful of long-tailed commas that had been dumped in a blender with a handful of mathematical symbols. The effect was both brainy and “whoa, baby!” at the same time. The unusual tattoo drew her gaze up to his angular face. His jaw was dusted with a couple of days’ worth of beard. The eyes beneath his dark brows were gunmetal gray.

  Her belly did a couple of backflips, but in that giddy endorphin-infused moment, Heather figured out who he was.

  Michael Evans.

  He seemed to know her, too, because one corner of his mouth turned up in a crooked smile. “Well, if it isn’t Stilts Walker.”

  After all those years, the nickname still stung.

  “That’s Nurse Walker to you,” she said icily.

  “Is that an invitation to play doctor?”

  Heather barely stifled the impulse to reach across the counter and smack his handsome face. She wasn’t sure where he’d been for the last ten years or so, but he hadn’t lost his easy drawl. Low and rumbly, it was disgustingly easy on the ears.

  She drew herself up to her full five eleven and a half. Usually that was enough to cow most men, but she’d need to wear heels to go eye-to-eye with Lacy’s bad-boy brother.