The Police Chief's Lady

Annette nodded. Ethan shook his head, but he was obviously joking. “She failed to mention that the apartment overlooks my backyard.”

Uh-oh. She’d have the police chief for a neighbor? Not good.

“Can I get back to you on that?” she asked Annette.

“Of course.”

“Take your time,” the police chief said. “Months, if necessary.”

“Ethan, where are your manners?” demanded his mother. “You’ve hurt Dr. Vine’s feelings.”

“No, he hasn’t,” she assured them.

“I know how it feels to be an outsider,” Annette persisted. “When my husband and I moved to Nashville—he worked for a religious publishing company—it took the longest time for me to make friends. Jenni, the least you can do is look at the place.”

“I can’t…”

“Surely you’re curious about the house!” Mrs. Forrest teased. “You’ve acknowledged that you noticed it.”

Jenni smiled. “Yes, but I really can’t come tonight. Karen Lowell is having some friends over for a potluck. Kind of a welcome party for me.”

Apparently satisfied that he’d won the day, Ethan lifted a radiant Nick onto his shoulders. “We men are going to go take care of the bill,” he told his mother. “See you in a few minutes.”

“Giddyap!” the little boy cried, then looked self-conscious.

At age five, he was already feeling too grown up to act like a toddler, Jenni realized.

Annette beamed at the pair as they exited, both ducking to clear the doorway. “I can’t believe my grandbaby’s going to start first grade in September.”

Instinctively wanting to keep her hands occupied, Jenni straightened the examining room. If there’d been patients waiting, Yvonne would have alerted her, so she could afford to linger. “I’m sorry to hear his mother’s deceased.”

“Martha was a beautiful girl and a wonderful singer. She bowled Ethan over,” Annette said. “Nick was only a few months old when she died.”

“That must have been terrible.” Not wanting to pry into Ethan’s personal life, Jenni veered from that subject by focusing on Annette. “You probably weren’t expecting to take on child-raising duties again.”

“No, but it’s worth it,” she said. “I’d do the same to help my daughter, Brianna, Ethan’s younger sister. She just went through a nasty divorce and I’d love for her to move here.”

“I’m sorry about the divorce.” Jenni hadn’t expected so many confidences. “If she does come back, she might need the apartment.”

“I don’t see it happening anytime soon. I’d like you to take a look at the place.”

Annette obviously wasn’t an easy woman to dissuade.

“The offer’s open. Drop by any time.”

“Thanks,” she replied.

After Annette left, a glance at the clock showed it was after five o’clock. Jenni gathered her purse, helped Yvonne close the office and went out to the compact car she’d leased.

Tonight ought to be fun, a chance to let down her hair and get to know some other women. Karen had promised that they’d give her the lowdown on the singles’ scene.

Jenni didn’t want to start dating anytime soon, though. Ethan already considered her a husband-stealing flirt, and for some reason, she wanted to disprove his low opinion.

The prospect of living next door to him made her shudder. No one could stand up to that kind of scrutiny, especially if she was being compared with an idealized wife.

Yet an image lingered of him carrying the little boy on his shoulders, two pairs of dark eyes shining and two sets of white teeth flashing. It made Jenni long for something she’d never had and probably never would have.

Pushing away the thought, she headed for the Lowells’ house.

Chapter Four

Shortly after six p.m., Ethan found the outdoor terrace already filled at the Café Montreal, Gwen Martin’s establishment at the south end of The Green. Once in a while, he stopped in for lunch or dinner, as much to keep his ear to the ground as for the exceptional food. He preferred to dine with his mother and Nick, but tonight they were attending a kids’ birthday party.

On this warm June evening, customers sat enjoying their meals as colored globes glowed in the twilight. Ethan identified the scents of garlic, sausages and orange crepes, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. He paused briefly to exchange greetings with Archie and Olivia Rockwell before making his way inside.

A waitress showed him to a table near the glass-fronted pastry display. Although picking out a dessert was hard to resist, he ordered only his usual bowl of onion soup and a patty melt on rye.

Ethan had no idea what a real French café looked like, whether in Paris or Montreal, but he enjoyed the ambience created by Impressionist prints on the walls and striped awnings above the service counters. He also appreciated that between this cafe and Pepe’s Italian Diner, Downhome offered international cuisine in addition to the Southern fried chicken, hush puppies and grits available at the local coffee shop.

His fellow diners were a mix of workers, farmers and retired folks. The strangers sprinkled among them must be travelers passing through. The town didn’t attract tourists except the one weekend a month when Gwen organized a Farmers Market and Crafts Fair on The Green.

The owner, in a red-and-white checked apron, stopped by his table. Although she wore her steely gray-on-black hair in the usual bun, tendrils curling from the sides softened the contours of her face. “So what do you think of our lady doctor? I heard Nick went to see her.”

“She seems competent.” Ethan had been impressed by Jenni’s assurance and by the rapport she’d struck with Nick, whatever his other reservations about her. Despite his impulse to demand further treatment, he’d recognized that she was probably right to avoid antibiotics. “What’s the consensus?”

“The women love her. They say their husbands are suddenly deciding they need the physicals they’ve been putting off for years.”

“They’re not jealous?” he asked.

Gwen shook her head. “Any woman can tell Jenni’s not on the prowl.”

“I don’t see how.”

“She isn’t needy. Or greedy, either.” Gwen swung toward the pastry counter and addressed the young man behind it. “Box me up a dozen of those tarts, a couple of pounds of cookies and a lemon pie, would you, Jimmy?”

“Sure thing,” he called back.

“What’s that for?” Ethan inquired.

“Potluck at Karen’s.”

“Oh, right.” He remembered Jenni mentioning it. Too bad he wasn’t invited. The food would be great, and always curious, he’d love to know the topics of conversation.

“Still think we made the wrong choice of physician?” Gwen challenged.

“Too soon to tell.”

“According to the grapevine, she paid you a visit Monday morning.” The café owner watched her employee box the desserts. “Must have been an interesting discussion.”