The Medic's Homecoming. Lynne Marshall
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feel so special.” Lucas put splayed fingers over his chest.
The old man was laying it on pretty thick. Despite himself, Lucas listened with great interest, wondering how he’d let himself get sucked into the plan. Oh, right. He was the coach’s son.
As he listened to his dad, Lucas stuck the key into the ignition of the Mustang, turned it and after a few rum-rum-rums, a tingle of excitement bled out from his chest as the engine almost turned over before moaning like a distressed horse.
“I thought you already jumped the battery with my cables,” Kieran said.
“I did one better. I bought a new one,” Lucas said. “It started okay earlier. Maybe it’s the alternator.” If he turned out to be right about the alternator, as soon as he cashed his last check he’d buy a new one, which was no easy feat when dealing with classic cars. He’d have to get online tonight and research a few possibilities. Good thing he’d saved up substantially during his army stint because the car could suck him dry. In the meantime, he’d have to wait to take his baby for a test-drive.
Lucas shut the hood and wiped his hands, turning in time to see Jocelyn walk up. She wore tan cropped pants, double-layered tank tops in bright yellow and dark orange, flashy gladiator sandals and even had a pedicure complete with a tiny flower on each big toe. Nice.
“Hi, Lucas,” Jocelyn said, losing her step on the gravel. She opened her arms, and he gave her a quick one-arm hug, feeling uncomfortable. Seeing her now was nothing like the other day when it was just the two of them. Anne was bound to make a big deal out of them meeting up again. His dad wanted him to help her coach. The whole situation made him tense. The last thing he needed was pressure over anything. Not in his state.
Jocelyn stepped back uncertainly. “How are you?” she asked.
“Fine. Just fine.” He glanced at the ground, molars pressed tight. “I hear you’re house-sitting for your parents.”
“Yeah, they’re finally taking that RV road trip they’ve always dreamed about.”
“There she is,” Kieran said, rolling out of the garage, Bart tugging on the knotted rope in his hand.
“You wanted to talk to me, Coach Grady?” Jocelyn asked. To Lucas, she sounded relieved to have a purpose for being there.
Lucas chuckled. “He’s got big plans for the fundraiser this year. How are you at being micromanaged?”
“I’m right here and I can hear you,” Dad said, droll as ever.
In jest, Lucas flashed her a warning glance. “Let me know if you need backup.”
“That’s the last time I run my game plans by you,” Kieran muttered, obviously unfazed by Lucas’s jab, maybe even enjoying the guy banter.
“I guess I’d better see what you’ve got in mind.” Jocelyn tossed Lucas a playful look, stepped behind the wheelchair and rolled it toward the back door, which had a makeshift ramp. She glanced over her shoulder and mouthed “thanks.”
“Good luck.” He raised a brow and enjoyed the color tinting her cheeks when she smiled.
“Don’t listen to him, Jocelyn,” Kieran said, sounding anything but perturbed.
He watched Jocelyn push his father into the house, liking the sway of her hips, then glanced up to find Anne watching him. Yeah, snoopy big sisters noticed stuff like that.
“Aren’t you supposed to be barbecuing?” he said.
Once Kieran and Jocelyn were well inside the house, Anne used her playground whisper. “She is so adorable, don’t you think?”
“Back off, Sis,” he said, heading toward the garage.
He didn’t mean to snap at Anne, but his father had already laid out his cockamamie plan for Lucas to help with the sports department fund-raiser. He didn’t need his sister playing matchmaker on top of that.
Sure, being the coach’s kid, he’d attended the annual athletic event since he was little and had always enjoyed it, but never did he ever want to help plan it. Too bad Anne wasn’t sticking around. That was more her thing.
He didn’t appreciate the obvious matchmaking on his father’s part, either. Now, with Anne’s comments, he was beginning to feel the brunt of a family conspiracy. Guess what, folks—I’m not looking for a girlfriend.
If his dad was trying to get him some job experience by asking him to look after Jocelyn, he was barking up the wrong tree. Chasing a bunch of teen runners around the Tartan track would have about as much clout on his thin résumé as being a medic in the army would in getting a job in a hospital. Unless he went back to school, there wasn’t a place in California that would hire him without a degree. Good thing he had that small nest egg saved up.
College. The last thing he felt like doing was going back to school. But it seemed like the only option at this point. Truth was, though, he didn’t have a clue what he wanted to do next. He’d always planned to stick it out in the military. But then the damn PTSD started.
Now what?
“Pass the veggies, Annie-belle, would you?” Mr. Grady said, sitting at the head of the huge, whitewashed, French country-style dining table. The bank of ceiling-to-wainscoting windows let in peach-tinged evening light. Gusts of wind battered and rumbled the double panes.
Even though Jocelyn had worked with him for the past eight months and known him since she was a baby, she still couldn’t bring herself to call him by his first name. He’d always been Mr. Grady. Ditto for Mrs. Grady. Using her first name just didn’t seem appropriate.
“Is this jasmine rice?” Mrs. Grady sniffed and closed her eyes.
Anne nodded with a hint of a proud smile. “I thought you might like that.”
“I never thought you had it in you, sweetheart, but you’ve turned out to be a good cook,” Mrs. Grady said.
“Gee, thanks, Mom.” Anne’s sarcasm put the cherry on top of the backhanded compliment.
For an only child like Jocelyn, a large family dinner with everyone passing food and chatting was a special treat. When she was young, longing to have brothers and sisters, she used to dream she was one of the Grady kids. When she hit preadolescence, having developed a huge crush, she was glad she wasn’t Lucas’s sister.
As the relaxed dinner banter continued, Jocelyn passed quick looks at Lucas. He’d left home ten years ago built like a long-distance runner. He’d filled out, muscled up and looked all man in a natural way. Not all men looked like that. Her ex-fiancé sure hadn’t.
She needed to look away before Lucas caught her again, but, uh-oh, he’d noticed. What was that, the sixth time? She made a quick smile and took another bite of Japanese eggplant, grilled to perfection by Anne.
Speaking of perfection … Lucas had turned into a gorgeous man. His classic pentagonal-shaped face with high forehead, squared jaw and angular chin was striking to say the least. The military-short hair was filling in, darker than the brown she’d remembered. He didn’t seem to care about combing it, and it stuck out in assorted directions. Tonight he’d wound up with a faux-hawk ridge on top of his head. His hazel eyes evaded contact, but she’d managed to catch his gaze a time or two or three. And he’d actually smiled for her—well, if you counted lips that turned downward instead of up while showing some teeth a smile. An upside-down smile that looked like he was in pain. Like smiling had become foreign to him.
So a smile from Lucas wasn’t necessarily a happy thing. She’d have to think on that for a while.
As great as he looked, Lucas seemed withdrawn and guarded—nothing like the crazy kid and overconfident teen she used to know. Well, she wasn’t nearly as carefree as she used to be, either. Life had a way of teaching everyone lessons about caution.
Kieran tapped his knife against his water glass. “So, here’s the