Dr. Hot Stuff - Tawna Fenske Page 0,19

idle one, either. “I have a sister, too.”

The nod he gives me is sharp, but there’s a flash of respect in his eyes. “Heard about that. I’d have done the same thing.”

And here’s where the small-town gossip mill is handy. “Call if you need backup.” I tilt my chin toward the axe. “I’ll bring my own tools.”

That gets the tiniest smile out of him. “Take care.”

He slams the door shut and steps back as I click my seatbelt into place. He watches me back out, and I’m suddenly self-conscious of my driving in a way I haven’t been since my father watched me take my driver’s test.

“Better not fucking fail,” he’d muttered beforehand, clapping me so hard on the shoulder that I staggered into my examiner.

I didn’t fail. I never have, at least not when it comes to exams. I’m still not sure if it’s in spite of or because of my father’s tough love.

As Mark fades in my rearview mirror, I let myself relax.

What did Izzy mean about liking me too much? Why would that be a problem, when it’s the best damn news I’ve had all week?

All right, she’s returning to Dovlano. I get that, though I know her siblings hope she’ll change her mind. She belongs here, even if she doesn’t know it yet. It’s been amazing watching her emerge from her shell this past year, and I can’t stand the thought of her tucking back inside and retreating to her life at the royal palace.

My thoughts distract me enough that I don’t notice I’m heading to my sister’s house until I’m halfway there. I glance at my watch, sad to realize it’s past Jordan’s bedtime. I may not see my niece, but Julia’s still up. It’s that time of the evening she’s often starved for human contact, so I pull off the road and text a quick note to be sure she’s home.

You around? Free to visit?

Her reply is instant.

YES! Please come. Bring booze.

I’m smiling as I pull back onto the road. I make a quick pit stop at Safeway for a pack of her favorite vanilla bean pear cider from Axis. While I’m there, I do a lap through the store grabbing things Julia usually needs. A pack of diapers from aisle six, plus a gallon of milk. I should have snagged eggs from Mom’s henhouse, so I grab a dozen of those as my phone buzzes again.

You’ll be my favorite brother if you grab a pack of OB tampons.

I snort and head for the next aisle, texting my response as I roll past towers of pink packaging.

Regular, super, or combo pack?

She texts back a series of heart emojis before responding with words.

Super, please. You’re a lifesaver.

I grab a pack of Lifesavers by the check stand and text her a photo, since that’s the legally required response from a smartass brother. Along the way, I spot an endcap featuring local gelato, so I toss in a pint of Lavender Lemon from Bontá and beeline it to self-checkout.

There’s an older woman I recognize as a friend of my grope-happy, senior citizen patient, Mrs. Sampson. I can’t recall her name, but she eyes the contents of my cart and gives me a knowing look.

“Looks like you’re having a nice evening, Dr. Parker.”

I’m not sure what diapers, tampons, and boozy cider have to do with the quality of my evening, but I force a smile anyway. “Have a good night.”

She’s already got her phone out as I wheel past, so I imagine the gossip brigade will be out in full force before I reach my car. By the time I’m parking in my sister’s driveway, it’s almost eight.

Julia throws open the door before I get both legs out of the truck. “God, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

I hoist the six pack to show her. “I brought cider.”

“I know, I was talking to the cider.” She grins and ducks away from me before I can rumple her hair. “Seriously, you’re the best. Come in.”

“Jordan asleep?”

“Yeah, we had kind of a rough day.” Julia makes a face. “She bit a kid at daycare.”

“Ouch.”

“Tell me that’s a normal stage of development and I’m not raising a serial killer.”

“You might be raising a serial killer.” I follow her into the kitchen, shrugging as she turns to glare at me. “But that’s definitely a normal stage of childhood development.”

“Thanks, jerk.” She drops onto a stool at her kitchen island and sighs. “Can we sit here and pretend we’re at a real bar?