Vegas Wedding, Weaver Bride Page 8

  In her absence, silence descended.

  Penny closed the laptop and stood. She picked up the teapot, clearly intending to refill his cup.

  “I’d rather suck on the mulch I was spreading outside.”

  She pressed her lips together, looking almost like she wanted to smile as she set the pot back down on the silver tray.

  There was no reason for him to stay there. It didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense that he felt reluctant to leave. He stood. “I’d better finish the mulch.”

  “Your grandmother does employ people to handle the grounds.” Her gaze seemed focused on his chest and he realized he’d pressed his hand to the ache in his side.

  “I know.” He leaned over and grabbed one of the scones from the tray. There was a set of glass doors leading out to the brick patio and he headed toward them. “Tell Vivian I’ll be in touch.”

  Worry filled Penny’s eyes and he knew it wasn’t on his grandmother’s behalf. But he was hanged if he knew how to make things better. He couldn’t go back in time to prevent Lansing’s damn-fool stunt in Las Vegas. They could only go forward and deal with the situation that they did have.

  It was true when it came to Penny.

  And it was true when it came to his entire career.

  As he pulled open the door and went outside, he wasn’t sure which one was going to be more of a problem.

  * * *

  “Thanks, Sherry.” Penny nudged the credit card receipt she’d just signed back to the woman behind the counter at the print shop. “I appreciate the quick turnaround on the posters.” It had only been two days since Vivian approved the design and instructed Penny to show it off to Quinn.

  Sherry was grinning. “I appreciate the business.” She patted the plastic-wrapped stack. Templeton for Town Council was visible through the film. “You could have had them printed in Weaver.”

  “I didn’t even consider it,” Penny admitted. Sherry had always done the printing for Dr. Templeton when Penny had run his practice. She had experience with Sherry Clemmons’s shop, and none with the new Copies-n-Print business in Weaver. She picked up the heavy package of posters. Given the opportunity, Sherry would talk her ear off and Penny still had a few errands to take care of once she drove back to Weaver.

  “Are George and Susie still in Florida? My folks are debating retiring in Florida versus California. Mom wants Florida, of course, since that’s where my aunt is. So—” Sherry’s eyebrows went up “—how are they doing?”

  Her former schoolmate wasn’t talking about her own family. She was talking about the Bennetts who’d moved to Florida after Andy died. “Fine, last I heard.” It was truthful, albeit entirely misleading since Penny had avoided her foster mother’s attempts at communicating with her since they’d left Weaver. It was cowardly on Penny’s part, but it had always been too painful. At the time, Penny hadn’t been able to share her grief over Andy with anyone. Not even the family that Susie and George had become to her.

  Uncomfortable with the reminder, she pushed her hip against the door, opening it. “Gotta run, Sherry. Thanks again for the quick turnaround.”

  “You bet.”

  Outside, Penny’s car was parked at the curb and she balanced one end of the bulky package against the roof so she could open the passenger-side door.

  “Need some help there?”

  She looked over to see David Templeton coming out of the bank next door. Ordinarily, the sight of her former boss would have brought nothing but pleasure. But she hadn’t seen Dr. T since before the Las Vegas trip, and now all she could think about was the fact that he was Quinn’s father.

  And she hadn’t seen or heard from Quinn in two days.

  “I’m fine,” she said and quickly dumped the posters inside the car before he reached her. “Just busy running errands for your mother.”

  The pediatrician wasn’t as tall or as brawny as his only son, but he’d otherwise passed on his good looks. Only now did Penny really see the strong resemblance, though.

  And Quinn would likely pass on the same thing to his son.

  Something inside her stomach squiggled around.

  “I heard about her running for the town council in Weaver.” Dr. Templeton shook his still-dark head. “It would be typically outlandish if I didn’t know she’ll never follow through.”

  Penny wasn’t sure about that. “She seems pretty serious about it. She even wants to schedule a debate with the other candidate.” A suggestion that had earned Penny an earful from Squire Clay when she’d called the rancher to try and arrange it.

  “A debate. For a town council seat.” David shook his head. “Don’t be surprised if she tries to buy the election,” he warned.

  “Is that even possible?”

  “With Vivian’s money and Vivian’s penchant for getting her own way, anything is possible.” He hesitated for a moment.

  “Her health has been fine,” Penny offered. “She hasn’t even had any doctor appointments in the past several months.”

  His lips pursed slightly. He inclined his head. “Thank you.”

  He was a good man. A decent man. And she hated seeing the discomfort in his expression. “How’s everything at the office? Margaret still working out all right?”

  The lines in his forehead eased. “She’s not you, but since I had to replace you, she’s been a good choice. I wouldn’t have known it if not for your recommendation. The only thing I knew about Margaret was that she was Matty’s mom.”

  The praise made her flush. Matty was two years old now and one of Dr. T’s patients. “I’m glad it’s still working out for everyone.”

  “Yes, but don’t forget. When working for Vivian becomes intolerable—and sooner or later it will—you’ll still have a place at my office. Always.”

  She didn’t think that Margaret would appreciate the sentiment, but Penny did. “Thanks. Right now working for your mother has been fine, though. Varied, that’s for sure.”

  “Delia mentioned the Las Vegas trip. Well—” he smiled ruefully “—she told her mother, who told me. I hope Vivian at least gave you a little time to yourself to enjoy.”

  She nodded quickly and jangled her car keys. She wanted to stay far, far away from the topic of Las Vegas. “I’d better get going. And I’m sure you’ve got the usual load of patients this afternoon.” She edged toward the curb. “Give everyone my best.”

  “I will.” He waited on the sidewalk until she’d gotten in her car, and lifted his hand in a wave as she drove away.

  The encounter had her so rattled, though, that as soon as she turned at the next intersection, she pulled into the first parking lot she passed, just so she could take a few minutes to gather her wits.

  Vivian’s image looked up at her through the plastic-wrapped posters.

  Everywhere Penny turned, Templetons were there to watch. And her head was pounding as a result.

  The parking lot belonged to a small strip of retailers—one of which was Braden Drugs—and after locking her car, she headed toward it. With a cola and a pack of acetaminophen bolstering her, maybe the winding 30-mile drive back to Weaver wouldn’t feel quite so tedious.

  The small store was cool and a little dim, which was nice after the bright sunshine, and she went straight to the rear of the store where the refrigerator case was located. She plucked a can of soda from the display and pressed it to her neck as she turned to look for the pain reliever aisle.

  The sight of a familiar helmet-haired woman, though, had her ducking down the nearest aisle. She had no desire to run into Francine Meyers. One of Penny’s happiest days as a teenager had been when she’d been removed from Francine’s fostering care. She hovered out of sight until she saw the top of Francine’s head moving down another aisle.

  Encounter averted, she exhaled and turned.

  Stor
k Stick Special!

  Penny nearly ran right into the sign that was listing crookedly from the shelf.

  She hesitated. Started to reach for the white box with the image of a stork bearing a baby on it.

  “Oh, hey!”

  She jumped like she’d been bit and blindly grabbed the closest item to the white box. But it wasn’t the dreaded Francine who’d turned into the same aisle. It was Delia Templeton.

  And Penny was caught red-handed with a box of condoms in her hand.

  She felt her cheeks flush guiltily. “Delia. What, uh, what a surprise.”

  Delia looked down at the Braden Drugs apron she was wearing. “I guess.”

  The lightbulb went on. “I didn’t realize you worked here.” Delia hadn’t mentioned a thing about a job when they’d gone to Las Vegas.

  “I just started,” Delia said, looking vaguely embarrassed. She was equally as dark-haired as Quinn, but was as petite as he was tall. “How...how are you?”

  “Fine.” Delia hadn’t seemed to notice the small box in her hand, and putting it back on the shelf would only draw attention to it. “You?”

  “Fine.” Delia hesitated. “I, um, I’m glad to run into you like this, actually. I never told you how sorry I was for not speaking up about what happened in Las Vegas.” She adjusted the Stork Stick advertisement, but the sign slid sideways again.

  Delia was only a few years younger than Penny, but Penny felt decades older. “I think we’re the ones who owe you something—our thanks. Quinn told me you dumped out the drinks before we could finish them.”

  Delia lifted her shoulder. “I’m still sorry.” She held out her hand. “I can ring those up for you if you want.”

  Before Penny could make up some excuse, Delia had taken the condoms and the can of soda from her and was already heading to the front of the store.

  Feeling resigned, Penny followed. She supposed the condoms were better than a pregnancy kit. She imagined purchasing that would have garnered more curiosity on Delia’s part.

  Unfortunately, when they got to the register, Francine was already standing there. There also was a clerk ringing up a customer so Delia handed back Penny’s items. She grinned a little mischievously. “Tell Quinn I said hello.”

  Francine had glanced behind her. She gave the box of condoms in Penny’s hand a look that set Penny’s nerves on edge.

  She boldly set them on the counter, right under Francine’s judgmental nose and raised her eyebrow, daring her to say a word.

  Francine sniffed and turned her back on Penny.

  That was just fine with her.

  Chapter Seven

  “Honey, you’re not eating. What’s bothering you?”

  Quinn looked over at his mother. Season Templeton was as blond as Quinn’s father was dark. And even though she’d retired from her psychology practice when she’d had Delia, she still had the ability to see inside his head when he least wanted her to.

  Or maybe that was just what all mothers were able to do.

  Either way, he didn’t want to get into what was bothering him. “Still trying to get used to having good grub.” To prove it, he sliced off a hunk of the steak she’d grilled to a perfect medium rare and shoved it into his mouth. The steak was smoky and buttery and pretty much perfect.

  It went down like a hunk of sawdust.

  And judging by his mother’s expression, she knew it.

  But she merely passed the salad she’d made along with the steak and baked potatoes to Quinn’s dad. “David,” she prompted wryly when he didn’t even notice because he was busy looking at his cell phone.

  “Sorry, hon. Was just checking tomorrow’s schedule that Margaret sent.” He set down the phone and took the bowl. “I saw Penny in town today.” He was busy transferring lettuce onto his plate and missed the way Quinn’s attention perked.

  His mother didn’t, though. She raised her eyebrows a little in his direction as she handed his dad the bottle of vinegar and oil. “Really? How is she? You should have invited her for dinner.”

  “She’s fine. And I didn’t think of it in time. She seemed in a rush.” David shook the salad dressing over his salad and set the bottle down with a thunk. “Mother’s doing, I’m sure.”

  Quinn caught the faint sigh Season gave.

  David jabbed his fork into a chunk of tomato as if he was envisioning his mother’s throat. “Running for town council,” he muttered. “As if she has the slightest chance running against the likes of Squire Clay. The man’s been around forever and done more for this region than any other person I can think of.” His voice rose. “But no. Vivian Archer Templeton moves to town and thinks she can throw her money around and everyone’ll just hop to. Like always.” He looked at Season. “Woman’s nuttier than your mother’s fruitcake.”

  “Is that a medical diagnosis?” Season’s voice was dry as she ignored her husband’s brief rant and turned them on Quinn again. “So how has it been working out staying at your cousin Archer’s place?”

  “Fine. He’s never there.” He hoped she wouldn’t bring up the fact that he could have stayed with them again. But he was too old to have his mom wanting to make his bed every morning. Which was one of the reasons why he was there for dinner as often as he was. He knew it soothed her bruised feelings if she could at least feed him a couple nights a week. It hadn’t been a problem for him until he’d returned from Vegas.

  Since then, every time he saw his folks, he thought about what he wasn’t telling them.

  That he’d had a Vegas wedding.

  “Meredith mentioned that he’d been spending more and more time lately in Cheyenne.” Meredith was Archer’s stepmom.

  “Think it was Denver this week,” Quinn provided. “Got a new case or something.” He wasn’t particularly interested in reporting his cousin’s whereabouts. But if it kept Season occupied enough to stay away from the subject of him, he’d talk about every member of the family until the cows came home.

  “Probably a new girl, as well,” Season said wryly. “Meredith is afraid he’s never going to settle down.”

  “He’s got time,” Quinn dismissed.

  “Your cousin is closer to forty than thirty,” Season pointed out. “Time might be something he should be thinking about if he ever wants to have a family.”

  Quinn’s dad chuckled, his good humor evidently restored as long as he wasn’t thinking about Vivian. “Sure you’re not really talking about our son, honey?”

  Quinn returned his dad’s grin, but it didn’t come easily. Quinn was closer to forty than thirty, too. He was married—even if it was only a legality. And the possibility of a child in the making was disturbingly real.

  “I’m not going to apologize for wanting grandchildren,” Season told David calmly. “Lord knows that Grace is too busy with her residency, and Delia—” She broke off. “Well, let’s hope Delia settles down a little before she starts thinking along those lines.”

  “That’s for damn sure,” Quinn muttered.

  Which was ironic as hell, since he was the one who’d gone off the rails in Vegas.

  Season pushed a basket of rolls in front of Quinn. “Do you remember when Penny lived across the street with the Bennetts?”

  He dutifully took another roll and nodded before shoving another hunk of meat into his unappreciative mouth.

  “Such a shame what happened.” Season shook her head. “All these years later and I can tell Susie is still hurting. I hear it in the letters she sends. She and George never took in another foster child afterward. It’s such a terrible shame, too. Because they were so devoted to it. Now George is running some charity in Florida to save sea turtles or something.”

  Quinn forced down the steak with a large drink of water. “Hurting over what? After what?” He knew the neighbors had moved away some time ago,
but if his mother had ever dropped details about it in her letters to him, he’d forgotten them.

  His dad’s cell phone chimed. He looked at the display. Before he’d even set it down again, Quinn’s mom was standing up from the table and reaching for David’s plate. “The hospital?”

  David nodded.

  “I’ll slice up your steak and make it a sandwich.” She dropped a kiss on his head. “You can eat it while you drive.” She carried the plate into the kitchen.

  Quinn saw the way his dad’s gaze followed her slender form.

  Was that what Vivian had seen when Quinn looked at Penny?

  He gulped down half the water in his glass, trying to drown out the thought.

  “How’d your exam go?”

  He looked at his father. He didn’t want to talk about his appointment at the hospital that afternoon. But he wasn’t going to hide it, either. “Not great.” He was just glad it hadn’t been his final exam with the flight surgeon who would ultimately determine his ability to return as a PJ. He still had at least three weeks before that particular deadline.

  His dad waited.

  “I’m not getting my range of motion back like I should.” He lifted his arm, reaching above his head as far as it would go. Which wasn’t as far as Quinn needed it to go. He dropped it back down.

  “Physical therapy?”

  Quinn picked up his roll and started tearing it into pieces. “Been doing it all along.” If Quinn was going to get back to the physical shape his job demanded, he was going to have to step up the pace himself—and hard—whether the physical therapist liked it or not. Or else Quinn would never make it back to flight status.

  And a PJ who couldn’t fly couldn’t be a PJ.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” his dad said. “Don’t go overdoing it and land yourself in worse shape.”

  “I know my limitations.” He wisely refrained from mentioning the rock-climbing trip he was considering. Proving he could still hang off a mountain by some rope would be a lot more useful to him than the mild physical therapy routines.

  “You knew your limitations, son. Before.” His dad didn’t have to elaborate on what before meant. “Have you put any thought into your options? You’ve got plenty. You can put your paramedic training to work anywhere. Go back to med school if you wanted. You know that, right?”