Return of the Last McKenna. Shirley Jump

here.”

      “I do. It’s…therapeutic.” The humor dimmed in her features, and her gaze again went to somewhere he couldn’t see. He didn’t have to be psychic to know why sadness had washed over her face. Because of choices Brody had made on the other side of the world.

      Damn.

      Brody cleared his throat. “Work can be good for the soul.”

      Or at least, that’s what he told himself every time he walked into his practice. Ever since he’d returned from Afghanistan, though, he hadn’t found that same satisfaction in his job as before. Maybe he just needed more time. That’s what Mrs. Maguire said. Give it time, and it’ll all get better.

      “And what work do you do, that feeds your soul?” She colored. “Sorry. That’s a little personal. You don’t have to answer. I was just curious.”

      “I’m a doctor,” he said.

      She leaned against the counter, one elbow on the glass, her body turned toward his. “That’s a rewarding job. So much more so than baking. And not to mention, a lot more complicated than measuring out cupcake batter.”

      “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said. “Your job looks pretty rewarding to me. I mean, you make people happy.”

      “It takes a lot of sugar to do that.” She laughed. “But thank you. I try my best. Three generations of Spencers have been trying to do that here.”

      Brody’s gaze drifted over the articles on the wall. Several contained accolades and positive reviews for the sweet shop, a third generation business that had enjoyed decades of raves, as evidenced by some of the framed, yellowed clippings. Brody paused when he got to the last article on the right. The page was creased on one side, as if someone had kept the paper in a book for a while before posting it on the wall. A picture of a handsome young man in uniform smiled out from the corner of the article.

      SHOP OWNER’S BROTHER DIES IN AFGHANISTAN

      Brody didn’t have to read another word to write the ending. In an instant, he was back there, in that hot, dusty hut, praying and cursing, and praying and cursing some more, while he tried to pump life back into Andrew Spencer.

      And failed.

      Brody could still feel the young man’s chest beneath his palms. A hard balloon, going up, going down, forced into moving by Brody’s hands, but no breath escaping his lips. Andrew’s eyes open, sightless, empty. His life ebbing away one second at a time, while Brody watched, helpless and frustrated. Powerless.

      Damn. Damn.

      No amount of time would heal that wound for Kate and her family. No amount of time would make that better. What had he been thinking? How could buying a basket ever ease the pain he’d caused Kate Spencer? What had Andrew been thinking, sending Brody here?

      Brody’s hand went to the card in his pocket again, but this time, the cardboard corners formed sharp barbs.

      “Sir? Your basket is ready.”

      Brody whirled around. “My basket?”

      Kate laughed and held it up. The arrangement sported a new pink and white bow and the sports-themed chocolates had been changed for ones shaped like flowers. “For grandma?”

      “Oh, yeah, sure, thanks.” He gestured toward the article on the wall. He knew he should let it go, but he’d made a promise, and somehow, he had to find a way to keep it. Maybe then he’d be able to sleep, to find peace, and to give some to Kate Spencer, too. “You had a brother in the war?”

      A shadow dropped over her features. She fiddled with the pen on the counter. “Yeah. My little brother, Andrew. He died over there last month. We all thought he was safe because the big conflict was over, but there were still dangers around every corner.”

      “I’m sorry.” So much sorrier than he could say. He wanted to step forward, but instead Brody lingered by the counter. All the words he’d practiced in his head seemed empty, inadequate. “That must have been tough.”

      “It has been. In a lot of ways. But I work, and I talk to him sometimes, and I get through it.” She blushed. “That sounds crazy, I know.”

      “No, it doesn’t. Not at all.”

      She smoothed a hand over the counter. “He used to work here. And I miss seeing him every day. He was the organized one in the family, and he’d be appalled at the condition of my office.” She laughed, then nodded toward the basket. “Anyway, do you want to put your card with that?”

      “Oh, yeah, sure.” He handed Kate the message he’d scribbled to his grandmother and watched as she tucked the small paper inside the cellophane wrapper. Again, he tried to find the words he needed to say, and again, he failed. “I’ve, uh, never been to this place before. Lived in this neighborhood for a while and I’ve seen it often, but never stopped by.”

      “Well, thank you for coming and shopping at Nora’s Sweet Shop.” She gave the basket a friendly pat. “I hope your grandmother enjoys her treats.”

      “I’m sure she will.” For the hundredth time he told himself to leave. And for the hundredth time, he didn’t. “So if you’re Kate, who’s Nora?” He asked the question, even though he knew the answer. Andrew had talked about Nora’s Sweet Shop often, and told Brody the entire story about its origins.

      “Nora is my grandmother.” A soft smile stole over Kate’s face. “She opened this place right after my grandfather came home from the Korean War. He worked side by side with her here for sixty years before they both retired and gave the shop to my brother and me. She’s the Nora in Nora’s Sweet Shop and if you ask my grandfather, she’s the sweet in his life.”

      “She’s still alive?” Ever since Brody had met the jovial, brave soldier, he’d wondered what kind of people had raised a man like that. What kind of family surrounded him, supported him as he went off to defend the country.

      “My grandparents are retired now,” Kate said, “but they come by the shop all the time and still do some deliveries. My brother and I grew up around here, and we spent more time behind this counter than anywhere else. I think partly to help my grandparents, and partly to keep us out of trouble while my parents were working. We were mischievous when we were young,” she said with a laugh, “and my brother Andrew served as my partner in crime. Back then…and also for years afterwards when we took over the shop from my grandma. He had the craziest ideas.” She shook her head again. “Anyway, that’s how a Kate ended up running Nora’s.”

      Brody had heard the same story from Andrew. Both Spencer children had loved the little shop, and the indulgent grandparents who ran it. Andrew hadn’t talked much about his parents, except to say they were divorced, but he had raved about his grandparents and his older sister.

      It had been one of several things Brody had in common with the young soldier, and created a bond between the two of them almost from the first day they met. He’d understood that devotion to grandparents, and to siblings.

      “My grandmother runs a family business, too. A marketing agency started by my grandfather years ago. My brothers and I all went in different directions, so I think she’s pinned her hopes on my cousin Alec for taking it over when she retires.”

      She cocked her head to one side and studied him, her gaze roaming over his suit, tie, the shiny dress shoes. A teasing smile played on her lips, danced in her eyes. Already he’d started to like Kate Spencer. Her sassy attitude, her friendly smile.

      “And you, Mr. Red Sox ribbon, you are far from the business type, being a doctor?”

      He chuckled. “Definitely.”

      “Well, should I ever feel faint,” she pressed a hand to her chest and the smile widened, and something in Brody flipped inside out, “I know who to call.”

      For a second, he forgot his reason for being there. His gaze lingered on the hand on her chest,