Love on a Deadline (10 page)

Which was why Mac had decided it would be better if she avoided him.

Unfortunately, avoiding Ethan didn't seem to prevent her from
thinking
about Ethan. And thinking about Ethan had stirred up memories.

Only this time they weren't painful high school memories.

They were memories of the way Ethan's arms had tightened around her after he'd carried her over the touchdown line. The flash of heat in his eyes that raised the temperature in the air around them.

Dangerous memories now that Mac was so close to achieving her goal of leaving Red Leaf.

Hollis must have sensed her reluctance because she tilted her head. “Is there a reason why you don't want to be in a canoe with my brother?”

“No.” Not one she could admit to, anyway.

Hollis dropped her voice as Ethan's canoe drew closer. “I'm sorry, Mackenzie.”

Mac smiled. “For wanting to spend more time with your fiancé? I think that kind of goes with the territory.”

“For not being a very nice person in high school,” Hollis said in a low voice. “To be honest, I don't think I was a very nice person until I met Connor. But love . . . it changes things.”

Ethan reached out to steady Mac as she climbed into his canoe. He wasn't sure why Connor and Mac had switched places, but the situation couldn't have worked out better if he'd planned it.

Although the saucy wink Hollis gave him behind Mac's back when she and Connor's canoe glided away made him wonder if his little sister didn't have a plan of her own.

He steered closer to the shoreline and Mac frowned. “When you said detour, I didn't realize we were going to portage the canoe.”

“We're not.” Ethan peered over the side of the canoe. “Do you see that weed bed? Dad and I used to fish right here on Saturday mornings. We'd get up early and sneak out of the house before Mom and Hollis got up and—” Ethan's throat closed suddenly, unexpectedly, sealing off the rest of the words. “Sorry.”

“Don't be,” Mac said softly. “Is that why you didn't come back? Because there were too many memories?”

Ethan wished he could say yes, because that would mean he was a sensitive guy. The kind of guy who'd been guided by his heart instead of blind ambition.

The kind of guy a woman like Mac would respect. But she respected honesty, too, so Ethan told the truth.

“I didn't
want
to come back,” Ethan finally said. “My plan was to graduate at the top of my class in medical school and get a spot on Dr. Langley's team at Midland Medical.”

“What changed your mind?”

The only way Ethan could answer that question was by asking one of his own. “What do you remember about my dad?”

The tiny pucker between Mac's eyes deepened. “When I was in first grade, I fell off my bike and skinned my knee. I saw your dad in the checkout line at the hardware store and I ran up to him to show him what happened.

“There were people in line but he knelt down right there and examined it, then he wrote something down on a piece of paper and handed it to me.” A memory warmed her smile. “It was a prescription for a hot fudge sundae.”

That sounded like his dad, all right.

“Dad finished his residency at Midland, too, but he didn't want to stay, let alone work in the trauma unit. Some doctors don't like the stress of never knowing what's coming through those doors, how you always have to be at the top of your game, but I thrived on the adrenaline rush.

“Last winter there was a three-car pileup on the interstate. We were told to prepare for multiple injuries, some of them life threatening.” The night had become permanently etched in Ethan's mind. “I wanted to show off my stuff to Dr. Langley and prove that I could handle the situation, but first I had to examine a guy who came into the ER. He had a high fever and complained of fatigue.

“He said he'd gone through cancer treatments two years ago, and I could tell he was worried it had returned. But I
blew it off. Told him he probably had the flu and handed him over to a nurse as fast as I could . . . and then I forgot about him.”

“There were other people who needed you.” Mac waded into the silence.

Ethan's lips twisted. “We had enough help that night. I made a decision based on
my
best interests. Five or six hours went by before I even remembered to ask about my patient—and I couldn't even remember the guy's name. Bed Two. That's what I called him. The nurse told me he'd been admitted for further testing, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I should check on him.

“It was four in the morning but he wasn't asleep. He was sitting up in bed and he looked at me . . . and I could tell he'd been having a rough night. But you know what he did?” The memory roughened Ethan's voice. “He asked how
I
was doing. That was supposed to be my line. We ended up talking until the sun came up, and before I left, he asked if he could pray with me.

“For the first time in ten years, I actually took a day off to get my head on straight. I'd worked so hard to be like my dad—to honor his memory—but I forgot what it was that made him a great doctor. He always saw the whole person, not just a symptom or a disease.”

Without closing his eyes, Ethan could see the waves on Lake Michigan reshaping the shoreline while something was at work on the inside, reshaping his priorities. “I asked God what I was supposed to do, and a few days later I got a call from Dr. Heath. I knew what I wanted to do—but I had to decide who I wanted to
be
.”

Mac was silent for so long, Ethan started to wonder if he shouldn't have been quite that honest. But when he dared a glance at her, she wasn't looking at him.

Mac's gaze remained fixed on the water, her slim shoulders set in a tense line. When she finally spoke, her voice barely broke above a whisper. “The patient in Bed Two. Did you ever see him again?”

Ethan smiled. “He's marrying my sister on Saturday.”

“How are you doing on my front-page story, Mac?”

“Great.” Mac closed her laptop so Grant wouldn't see that the only thing on the screen was the cursor, blinking out a measured SOS that couldn't quite keep up with the erratic beating of her heart.

It wasn't that she didn't have material for the second installment of the Channing-Blake wedding story. Mac had been trailing Hollis around Red Leaf for the past two days, checking things off the list. She took photographs of her and Connor sampling cupcakes at the bakery. Listened to Hollis and Amanda Greer, the owner of The Shy Violet, reminisce while she chose the flowers for her bridal bouquet.

It was the story behind the story that was giving Mac a serious case of writer's block.

The pieces had started to fall into place the moment Ethan had told her about Connor. The short engagement.
The private ceremony with only family and a few close friends.

Hollis had said, “I told him that I was afraid of the future too.”

Not afraid of commitment—afraid of the future.

Had Connor been reluctant to marry Hollis because he was afraid his cancer would return?

“Mac!” Grant snapped his fingers. “I need the story by two o'clock this afternoon.”

“Okay.” Mac knew the deadline.

But something was changing. The teenage Ethan of the charming smile and confident swagger, the Ethan who'd broken countless hearts and at least one promise, wasn't the one Mac saw when she looked at him. Now she saw a man with a charming smile who wanted to make sure his little sister's wedding day was everything she dreamed it would be.

A man who had chosen to return to his hometown to practice medicine because he hadn't liked the person he was becoming.

The man she was falling for all over again.

Mac's cell phone buzzed, letting her know she had a new text message from Hollis. She was almost afraid to look at it.

7 tonight. Don't be late. List almost complete.

Whatever was happening at Channing House that evening, Mac wouldn't be able to include it in this week's issue of the newspaper.

She considered her options. Ignore Hollis's text? Delete it? Pretend she hadn't received it?

Guilt nicked Mac's conscience. It occurred to her that Hollis, a girl Mac had once regarded as shallow, had more courage than she did.

The house was quiet when Mac unlocked the door. Snap didn't even twitch when Mac stepped over him to read the note that Coach had left on the coffee table, telling her his men's group had gone out for pizza.

Her last and best excuse—cooking dinner for her dad—disappeared as quickly as the miniature cherry pies that filled Mrs. Sweet's display case on Washington's Birthday.

Fine. She would go over to Channing House at 7 p.m. and be home by 7:15.

Mac changed into jeans and a sweatshirt and grabbed her camera. When she reached the Channing property, she followed a ribbon of smoke to the fire pit.

Hollis and Connor sat shoulder to shoulder on stumps from a dead tree Ethan had cut down, feeding pinecones and tiny sticks to the crackling fire.

Had she made a mistake? Wrong time? Wrong place? Mac was just about to pull out her phone and read the message again when Hollis spotted her.

“There you are!”

“Hey, Mackenzie.” Connor waved her over. “Pull up a stump.”

“Mom left for Chicago a few hours ago.” Hollis rested her cheek against Connor's shoulder. “There were a few last-minute things she wanted to do before the wedding.”

Mac was afraid to ask if Ethan had accompanied her.

“I got your text.” She held up her camera. “What's left on the wedding checklist?”

“You thought . . .” Hollis chuckled. “Sorry. I guess I wasn't very clear. I wasn't talking about the wedding checklist. I was talking about ours. My fiancé is going to learn the art of roasting the perfect marshmallow tonight.”

Connor looped his arm around Hollis's slim shoulders. “It's number nine.”

The list. Mac had overheard Lilah complaining about Hollis and Connor spending more time “gallivanting around” than on the details of the wedding, but after Ethan's stunning disclosure, the couple's other list made sense too.

“But . . .” Mac didn't know another way to say it. “What do you need me for?”

“You've been working so hard, we thought you might like a break,” Hollis said. “Have some fun. You can even take part in our marshmallow roasting competition.”

Connor looked at Hollis in mock dismay. “You didn't say anything about a competition.”

“You're marrying a Channing. It's kind of a given.” A husky, masculine voice raised goose bumps on Mac's arms.

Without turning around, she knew which wedding guest hadn't left town.