A Wedding in Apple Grove (7 page)

Now that he had their attention, he nodded. “So starting today, one quarter of our practice time will be devoted to running; everyone needs to work on their cardio. Any questions?”

“When do we scrimmage?”

Dan paused for a moment then said, “When I'm confident I have players who can run their hearts out for the entire eighty minutes.”

“Not everyone gets to play the whole game,” McCormack said.

“But we'll be ready.” He was pleased to see that there weren't any dissenters in the group; that was a plus because the next drill was a guaranteed killer. “OK, our last drill before scrimmaging is the hardest. Everyone line up behind Doyle and me—”

“You're gonna run with us?”

“Every day,” Dan said. “When I blow the whistle, the last man in line will sprint to the front.” Now they looked worried. “Let's see who can keep up.”

Four laps around the field later, he was satisfied that every player had given it his best shot. Some of the defenders didn't have the wind for sprinting by the third lap around the field, but they would by the end of the week.

He blew the whistle. “Great job, guys. Who's ready to play?”

The resounding cheer was music to his ears. Teenagers were not that different out here in Ohio. “Since I couldn't find any pinnies, we'll have to play skins and shirts. Line up and count-off by twos. The ones will be skins, and the twos will be shirts.”

After a few minutes, he called out, “All right, guys. Let's change it up.” Moving players around, he watched them play for another ten minutes before calling an end to practice.

“Great job. Hit the showers.”

After the boys left, he showered, changed, and drove home. He had a date to cook for. A glance at his watch reminded him that he really had to work quickly if everything was going to be ready to eat when she got there.

***

The soufflé was rising and turning a golden brown. He already knew it would taste delectable; it was one of his foolproof recipes and guaranteed to impress a woman.

The apple tart he'd baked the night before was sitting on the center island awaiting the whipped topping he thought he'd experiment with. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he was pleased to note that everything was going according to schedule. He believed that timing was everything in life and had in fact led him to Apple Grove. Fifteen minutes more for the soufflé. Once that was out of the oven, he'd begin to sauté the garlic in sweet cream butter for the scampi.

His mom had told him that his great-aunt loved shrimp and he was determined to do everything he could to ensure he delivered a first-class meal for a first-class lady. He could have said thank you in a more conventional way, but he enjoyed cooking. To him, preparing a meal was akin to a science experiment. The outcome depended on the precision of his measurements, technique, and the timing, which had to be perfect.

With a sigh of satisfaction, he grinned and turned to double-check the table and decided the single red rose that he'd placed across her plate was just the right touch. A whole bouquet would have been overdoing it. He wanted her to feel special, not embarrassed. And while he'd done his part yesterday during coffee hour, he had a feeling this special meal would make her the talk of the town. “Why not, she deserves the attention.”

Checking the time, he turned on the coffeemaker and pressed the button on the food processor to whip the topping—and the lights went out.

***

Meg groaned as her cell phone played “Urgent” by Foreigner. It was her father's sense of humor that decided they'd use that song for emergencies. She was so tired her eyeballs hurt; it had been a really long day. She'd just finished a foray into Mr. Sweeney's barn to help him gather a dozen eggs as payment for replacing his burned out floodlights. “What's up, Grace?”

The youngest Mulcahy sister got right to the point. “We have an emergency call from Dan Eagan. His power just went out again.”

“I changed out the blown fuse this afternoon.” There had only been one; she'd checked. “I just finished up at Sweeney's—”

“I'd ask Caitlin,” Grace interrupted, “but she's on the other side of Licking County.”

Meg knew she'd have to answer the emergency call; their family business had been built on their reputation of being on-call twenty-four/seven—no job was too small. Four generations of Mulcahys have lived, worked, and died in Apple Grove. The townsfolk had come to count on them to keep their furnaces heating, their washing machines agitating, and their roofs watertight.

“Meg?”

Her sister's voice snapped her back to the present. “Call him back and tell him I'm on my way.”

She set the basket of eggs on the floor and wedged her sweatshirt and lunch pail against it so it wouldn't move and she'd get them home in one piece. On the drive over to Elm Street, Meg relaxed and started to feel just a bit more energized knowing she was going to be seeing Dan again. It was exciting having someone new move into town—especially someone like Dan. He'd definitely made a great first impression and had been on her mind most of the day.

She wondered how long it would take for Miss Trudi and her cohorts to find out what was behind Dan's move to Ohio. Not that there was anything wrong with Apple Grove. She loved the rolling farmland dotted with Victorian-style homes and the more traditional farmhouses you expected to see with wide front porches and a barn out back. But it wasn't just the pretty scenery that kept her rooted to Apple Grove; it was her own family's history.

Her great-grandparents, Joseph and Molly Mulcahy, had settled in town in the early twenties, fresh off the boat from County Cork, and with their work ethic and eagerness to lend a helping hand, one thing led to another, and Mulcahy's handyman business had been born. Oh, some of her friends had moved to Cincinnati and some had even moved out of Ohio, but she liked living in a town where generations of her family had left their mark. She intended to do the same.

Smiling, she drove past the handful of houses dotting the street. Most of them had rocking chairs on their porches, inviting you to sit a spell and share a tidbit of gossip. She knew that if she pulled into any one of those driveways, she'd be greeted with a welcoming smile and cup of hot tea or coffee. Any other night, she just might think about it, but she had one more stop to make before quitting time.

The Saunders place was the last house on the dead end. Since half the homes in Apple Grove were built around the turn of the century, most still used the standard fuse panels with six screw-in type fuses. Meg kept spare fuses in the back of her truck. Mulcahys were always prepared for any emergency call.

She grabbed her flashlight and three fuses, stuffing them in her pockets as she closed the door. Looking out over the open fields behind the old house, she knew it wouldn't be long before the days would be getting shorter and colder. The hay bales were rolled up and ready to be stored for the winter. Mrs. Saunders had sold off a good part of her land years ago with the stipulation that it be used for farming, same as her grandparents had done. The next field over had a different crop every other year; pumpkins one year and corn the next. She didn't know much about rotating crops, but whatever grew there always looked healthy and good enough to eat.

She drew in a breath and smiled. She loved autumn, the way the leaves changed color, the beautiful reds and oranges of the sugar maples against the backdrop of the brown oak leaves. The smell of wet leaves on a rainy fall day never failed to have her craving a long walk through the fields and woods surrounding her home.

She didn't like when the temperature fell below twenty degrees. Her sisters loved winter and were always getting a group of friends together to go ice-skating or cross-country skiing. Meg never really got the hang of balancing on those thin blades or the long, thin skis her sisters used when they headed off across the snowy fields behind their home. Give her a toasty fire, her grandmother's quilt, a good book, and cup of cocoa over winter sports any day. Come early spring, Meg would be tromping through the mud and rain checking for signs that the trees would soon sprout leaves and the early bulbs in her garden would bloom.

If it were dark, she knew she'd hear the owl hooting in the pines behind the house. A pair of great horned owls hunted in the fields behind their barn, but she'd never seen the one that kept Mrs. Saunders company at night—could be a barn owl. She'd have to see if Dan was interested in finding out; it could be something they shared: bird watching. Smiling, she lifted her face to the crisp breeze rustling through the leaves. The moon was barely visible low in the sky, just shy of full. In a few hours it would light up the sky.

The door swung open and her breath snagged in her lungs; eyes the color of the wintry ice on the horse pond in February stared down at her
.
The longer she stared up at him the harder her heart pounded. Her body's reaction to him would have scared her spit-less a few days ago, but she'd slowly begun her journey back to the living, where deep-seated emotions and feelings weren't quite so scary.

He rumbled, “I'm so glad you're here. I'm in a bind.”

“I was on my way home after a really long day…” Her words trailed off as her gaze met his.

He didn't say anything, just continued to look at her. She shifted from foot to foot, knowing there was probably more than one streak of dirt on her face. Meg didn't mind getting covered with grease, dirt, or what-have-you, as long as she got the job done—besides, that's what soap was for. But compared to the man in the doorway, impeccably dressed in a pale blue, fitted button-down shirt and charcoal pleated pants, she felt like a scrubby street urchin.

Why
didn't he say anything? Was he going to apologize for kissing her?

Deciding to take the bull by the horns, she spoke up as she scooted around him. “I can't imagine what happened. I changed out the blown fuse earlier. There might have been another one going. I'll have a look and have the power back on in a few minutes.”

“That would be wonderful,” his deep baritone rumbled. “But it's not just the power that's out. I have no water.”

She paused just inside the kitchen. She knew he wasn't from around here; he must have lived in a city before coming to Apple Grove. Everyone in Apple Grove had a well. “Your well pump is operated by electricity, that's why you don't have any water.”

He frowned at her. “I'm used to city water. The only time we didn't have water was if a water main broke or we didn't pay the water bill.”

“We've got a deep well at our house. I'm pretty sure you have one here too. It only gets tricky if the power goes out and the well pump can't work. But a generator would take care of that.”

“I guess there's a lot I'll have to get used to out here.”

“It's not like it's another country—just a few states west of where you come from.”

She scooted around him and across the kitchen. As she passed the oven, a heavenly smell wafted toward her. Whatever he had been cooking before the power went out had her stomach rumbling and her mouth watering. It had been a long day, and at that moment, she couldn't remember if, let alone what, she'd eaten for lunch.

At least her stomach distracted her from her reaction to the man. She reacted to him on an emotional and physical level. That hadn't happened in a long time. Not many men in her acquaintance dressed up, unless someone was getting married or buried. An uneasy feeling roiled in her belly—did he have a date?

She wondered if it was someone from the wedding or someone he'd met at church yesterday. The overwhelming need to find out had her panties in a twist. Normally Grace was the one who wheedled whatever she wanted to know out of people, but her sister wasn't here and Meg had a vested interest in Daniel Eagan. Maybe she would be able to finesse some information out of him.

She paused in the doorway to the cellar and asked, “Do you have an evening meeting with the Board of Ed?”

He shook his head. “No. Why?”

“No reason,” she said, turning on her flashlight. She'd need it to find her way down the stairs. She wished she could think of another question to ask that might make him give away the name of his date. She didn't always have company while she worked, but when she did, she treated it like background music if the job she had to do was intense and required her full concentration; otherwise, she enjoyed chatting with whomever she was working for. Replacing a few screw-type fuses wasn't difficult, so when she heard Dan's footsteps on the stairs behind her, she wracked her brain to think of something to say—and another way to ask him without flat out asking who he was cooking for.

“Did you meet anyone special yesterday?”

“I saw someone special yesterday.”

The caress in his voice had her fumbling with the flashlight. “Really?” her voice squeaked.

“I'm not sure she realizes it yet, though.”

Did
he
mean
her? She couldn't just ask, could she?

Her hands were shaking as she located the fuse panel. It took all of her willpower to steady them in order to shine the light on the fuses. “Here's the trouble,” she told him, trying to tamp down on the crazy feeling in her stomach. “Two more fuses must have been going; they've burned out.” Reaching in her pockets, she pulled out the replacements, screwed them in, and the power came back on. “You're back in business.”

“Thanks, Meg. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

Those sinful gray eyes, with a cauldron of emotions bubbling below his surface calm, had her insides doing a slow burn. All thoughts of trying to find out who he was dressed up for flew out of her head; she couldn't think when he looked at her like that.

***

Dan's gut clenched before tying itself in one big knot. What the hell was wrong with him, anyway? He'd moved to Apple Grove to start over—after his fiancée flushed the engagement ring he'd pawned his prized 1952 Mickey Mantle rookie card to buy—not to get tied up by a pretty little bit of a thing with an engaging smile and freckles he was dying to taste again.