Return of the Last McKenna. Shirley Jump

even called them yet.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. The rain had darkened his lashes, and made his blue eyes seem even bluer. More like a tempestuous sea, rolling with secrets in its depths. “I, ah, stopped by to see if you had eaten.”

      She blinked. “If I had eaten?”

      “I live near here and every night when I walk home, I see the light on.” He took two steps closer. “Every morning when I leave for work, I see the light on in here.” He took another two steps, then a few more, until he stood inches away from her, that deep blue ocean drawing her in, captivating her. “And it makes me wonder whether you ever go home or ever have time to have a decent meal.”

      “I…” She couldn’t find a word to say. No one outside her immediate family had ever said anything like that to her. Worried that she’d eaten, worried that she worked too hard. Why did this man care? Was it just the doctor in him? Or something more? “I won’t starve, believe me. I have a frozen meal in the back. I’ll wolf it down between baking.”

      “That’s not healthy.”

      She shrugged. “It’s part of being a business owner. Take the bad with the good. And right now, the good is…well, a little harder to find.” She didn’t add that she planned on keeping herself busy in the kitchen because it kept her from thinking. From dwelling. From talking to people who were no longer here.

      Brody leaned against the counter, his height giving him at least a foot’s advantage over her. For a second, she wondered what it would be like to lean into that height, to put her head against his broad chest, to tell him her troubles and share her burdens.

      Then she got a grip and shook her head. He was asking her about her eating habits, chiding her about working too much. Not offering to be her confidante. Or anything more.

      “Listen, I eat alone way too often,” he said. “Like you, I work a lot more hours than I probably should and end up trading healthy food for fast food.”

      She laughed. “Doctor, heal thyself?”

      “Yeah, something like that. So why don’t we eat together, and then you can get back to baking or whatever it is you’re doing here. It’s a blustery night, the kind when you need a warm meal and some good company. Not something packaged and processed.”

      Damn, that sounded good. Tempting. Comforting.

      Perfect.

      Despite her reservations, a smile stole across Kate’s face. “And are you the good company?”

      “That you’ll have to decide for yourself.” He grinned. “My head nurse thinks I’m a pain in the neck, but my grandmother sings my praises.”

      She laughed. “Isn’t that what grandmothers are supposed to do?”

      “I do believe that’s Chapter One in the Good Grandma Handbook.”

      Kate laughed again. Her stomach let out a rumble at the thought of a real meal. Twice a week she went to Nora’s for dinner, but the rest of her meals were consumed on the run. Quick bites between filling baking pans and spreading icing. Brody had a point about her diet being far from healthy. “Well, I am hungry.”

      “Me, too. And I don’t know about you, but I…I don’t want to eat alone tonight.”

      She thought of the gray sky, the stormy rumbles from the clouds and the conversations she’d had with her dead brother. “Me, either,” Kate said softly.

      Brody thumbed to the east. “There’s a great little place down the street. The Cast Iron Skillet. Have you been there?”

      The rumble in her stomach became a full-out roar. “I ate there a couple times after they first opened. They have an amazing cast iron chicken. Drizzled with garlic butter and served with mashed sweet potatoes. Okay, now I’m salivating.”

      “Then drool with me and let’s get a table.”

      Drool with him? She was already drooling over him. Temptation coiled inside her. Damn those blue eyes of his.

      She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then decided the work had waited this long, it could wait a little longer. She wasn’t being much use in the kitchen right now anyway, and couldn’t seem to get on track. Not to mention, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a meal that hadn’t come from the microwave. She grabbed her jacket and purse from under the counter, then her umbrella from the stand by the door. “Here,” she said, handing it to him, “let’s be smart before we go out in the rain.”

      But as Kate left the shop and turned the lock in the door, she had to wonder if letting the handsome doctor talk her into a dinner that sounded a lot like a date was smart. At all.

      * * *

      The food met its promise, but Brody didn’t notice. He’d been captivated by Kate Spencer from the day he met her, and the more time he spent with her, the more intrigued he became. What had started as a way to get to know the person whom Andrew had raved about, the one who had written that card to her brother and sent Andrew so many care packages he’d joked he could have opened a store, had become something more. Something bigger.

      Something Brody danced around in his mind but knew would lead to trouble. He was here to fulfill a promise, not fall for Andrew’s sister.

      Kate took a deep drink of her ice water then stretched her shoulders. She’d already devoured half her dinner, which told Brody he’d made the right decision in inviting her out. Like him, he suspected she spent more time worrying about others than about herself.

      For the tenth time he wondered what had spurred him to invite her to dinner, when he’d gone over to the shop tonight to just check in on her, ask her how business was going, and somehow direct the conversation to expansions. Drop a few words in her ear about what a good idea that would be then be on his way, mission accomplished. Once again, his intentions and actions had gone in different directions. Maybe because he was having trouble seeing how to make those intentions work.

      “I forgot…what kind of medicine do you practice?” she asked, as she forked up a bite of chicken. The restaurant’s casual ambience, created by earth tone décor and cozy booths, had drawn dozens of couples and several families. The murmur of conversation rose and fell like a wave.

      “Family practice,” Brody said. “I see kids with runny noses. Parents with back aches. I’ve administered more flu shots than I can count, and taped up more sprained ankles than the folks at Ace bandage.”

      She laughed. “That must be rewarding.”

      “It is. I’ve gotten to know a lot of people over the years, their families, too, and it’s nice to be a part of helping them live their lives to the fullest. When they take my advice, of course.” He grinned.

      “Stubborn patients who keep on eating fast food and surfing the sofa?”

      He nodded. “All things in moderation, I tell them. Honestly, most of my job is just about…listening.”

      “How so?”

      “Patients, by and large, know the right things to do. Sometimes, they just want someone to hear them say they’re worried about the chances of having a heart attack, or scared about a cancer diagnosis. They want someone to—”

      “Care.”

      “Exactly. And my job is to do that then try to fix whatever ails them.” Which he’d done here, many times, but when it had counted—

      He hadn’t fixed Andrew, not at all. He’d done his best, and he’d failed.

      “Where did you start out? I mean, residency.” Kate’s question drew Brody back to the present.

      “Mass General’s ER. That’s a crazy job, especially in Boston. You never know what’s going to come through the door. It was exciting and vibrant and…insane. At the end of the day, I could have slept for a week.” He chuckled. “The total opposite of a family practice in a lot