Sweet Destiny. Rochelle Alers

you can ask my dad to check on her.” Mia Eaton had followed in her father’s footsteps and graduated from medical school. But unlike Dr. Hyman Eaton, whose specialty was obstetrics and gynecology, she had opted for family medicine like her uncle Dwight.

      One of the Eaton family’s long-standing traditions was that you either went into medicine, law or education. But the occupational landscape had changed for the current generation of Eatons.

      Lately it seemed as if there was either an Eaton wedding or birth several times a year. Mia had attended the weddings of Belinda and Griffin Rice, Myles and Zabrina Mixon, and Chandra and Preston Tucker. Now she was part of the bridal party of Denise and Garrett Fennell. Another generation of Eatons had arrived with the birth of Grant Rice II and his cousins Layla and Sabrina, who were being raised by their aunt and uncle, Belinda and Griffin; there were also Myles and Zabrina’s 10-year-old son, Adam, and their infant daughter, Renee Eaton. And in about another month Chandra was expected to give birth. She and her husband had decided that they didn’t want to know the sex of the baby beforehand. Mia’s plans, however, did not include marriage or children for at least for five or six years. She’d completed her internship, passed her medical boards and was now focused on her residency.

      Belinda’s gaze shifted from her sister Chandra to her cousin. “You stay here, Denise. After all, you’re the bride and people shouldn’t see you before the ceremony. I’ll go and get Uncle Hyman.”

      Denise nodded. When she’d asked Chandra to be her matron of honor, she knew Chandra was pregnant. However the baby wasn’t expected until mid-to-late January. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll wait here.”

      Mia and Denise sat on either side of Chandra, holding her hand. The resemblance between the three cousins was remarkable. They were undeniably Eaton women, having inherited their rich golden-brown coloring and thick curly hair from their paternal grandmother, Libby Harris-Eaton.

      Denise looked at Mia. “I can’t believe you’re serious about doing your residency in West Virginia instead of Texas.”

      A smile parted her lips. “Believe it, cousin. Doctors are as scarce as hen’s teeth in the area where I plan to practice.”

      “Had you considered becoming a small-town doctor before we went to Matewan for my brother’s wedding?” Denise’s brother Xavier Eaton had married Selena Yates in Charleston, South Carolina, after a whirlwind romance. The two had repeated their vows in a West Virginia church overflowing with members of the Eaton and Yates families. After the ceremony, everyone retreated to a barn that had been transformed into an elegant setting with tiny white lights, bales of hay and cornstalks for a festive Thanksgiving dinner reception. The food, music and down-home atmosphere turned into a party that went on well into the early morning hours.

      “No,” Mia said truthfully. “At Xavier’s reception, I overhead someone at my table talk about having to drive more than twenty miles to the nearest hospital just to have some blood work done because the local doctor had moved away. Driving forty miles round-trip to have blood drawn when it can be done in a doctor’s office and sent off to a lab is ridiculous in this day and age, Dee. That’s when I decided to stay an extra week and check out whether my medical training could best be utilized in rural West Virginia.”

      Mia had gone online and inquired about employment opportunities for doctors on West Virginia’s Department of Health and Human Services website. And before the end of the week, she had an interview. When she was told that the only doctor in the small town of Jonesburg was semiretired, she decided to accept an offer to assist the elderly family physician.

      A hint of a smile tilted the corners of Denise’s generous mouth. “So, my high-maintenance cousin is going to trade in her designer threads for flannel and work boots to become a small-town doctor.”

      “That’s a small sacrifice when compared to offering people, many of whom are living at or below the poverty line, adequate medical care.”

      Denise sobered. “You’ve changed, Mia.”

      “In what way?” she asked.

      A beat passed and Chandra opened her eyes. “We used to call you Little Miss Tish.”

      Mia blinked and then went completely still, holding her breath until she felt her chest tightly constrict. Her eyes narrowed as she was forced to breathe. “Are you saying I act like my mother did?”

      Letitia Sanders-Eaton had never gotten along with her in-laws, and the feeling was mutual. There were years when Mia didn’t see her Philadelphia cousins because Tish Eaton thought they were too boorish for her taste. She hadn’t agreed with her mother’s assessment of the rest of the Eatons, so when she’d applied and was accepted at a number of colleges, Mia decided to attend the University of Pennsylvania so that she would be close to her relatives. Despite promising her father that she would attend his alma mater, Texas Southwestern, for medical school, she’d exercised her newfound independence even more and attended Baylor College of Medicine in Houston.

      She gave the soon-to-be mother a sidelong glance. “That’s cold, Chandra.”

      “You do act a little snobby at times,” Denise added, agreeing with Chandra.

      “I am not a snob!”

      Chandra laughed, resting a hand over her protruding belly, which was covered by the billowy skirt of the black silk chiffon gown. “You remind me of Nixon when he said ‘I am not a crook.’” She affected a gruff-sounding voice reminiscent of the former president that had Denise and Mia laughing uncontrollably.

      Mia released Chandra’s hand. “You must be feeling a lot better.” She smoothed the skirt of her empire-waist gown. In keeping with the New Year’s Eve holiday theme, Denise Eaton had decided on a black-and-white color scheme for her wedding. All of the bridesmaids wore black dresses, and Denise wore a black satin sash around the waistline of her white gown.

      Chandra winked at Denise as she rose from the window seat. “If you’re ready to get married, then I’m ready to waddle across the ballroom as your matron of honor.” She was on her feet by the time there was a knock at the door and two tuxedo-clad middle-aged men entered the bedroom. “It’s okay. I’m all right,” she said, as doctors Hyman and Dwight Eaton approached.

      Hyman looked closely at his niece. “Are saying you’re all right because you don’t want me to examine you, or are you really all right?”

      Chandra pressed her hands together, as the overhead fixture refracted the brilliant blue-and-white prisms of light that bounced off the diamonds on her left hand. “Yes, I am really all right. Can we please do this so I can sit down?”

      Denise smiled at her attendants. “Okay ladies. Let’s do this.”

      The four women picked up the beautiful bouquets that lined the padded bench at the foot of the queen-size bed in Denise’s childhood bedroom.

      Mia sat at the bridal table, nodding and smiling as the hands on the wristwatch of the man sitting on her right inched closer to one in the morning. Although she didn’t get to see her Pennsylvania relatives as much as she’d liked, she’d always managed to stay abreast of family news, since Denise, Chandra or Belinda would occasionally email her with the latest gossip.

      She was more than a bit shocked to learn that Trey Chambers Jr. was really Garrett Fennell’s half brother. The last she’d heard was that Rhett and Trey had had a falling out over Denise, but that was before Rhett was aware that he and Trey had the same father.

      Trey Chambers cast a sidelong glance at the woman with the close-cropped, curly black hair who’d been his partner in the wedding party. She was stunning—tall and slender, with curves in all the right places. Trey saw Mia as more the high-fashion model type than a doctor. Her large dark, wide-set eyes didn’t look at him, but through him. It was as if she could see through the slick veneer he’d affected over the years to get women into bed. It’d worked on most women, but not with Mia Eaton. And he’d certainly tried and failed several times to get her number.

      His gaze lingered on her delicate profile,