The Medic's Homecoming

“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 deal. Jocelyn has been taking over the Whispering Oaks track team as head coach while I’ve been laid up, and now Lucas has agreed to help her out with track meets and the annual sports fund-raiser.”

Lucas’s brows shot up. “Who said anything about track meets? You just asked me to help out with the fund-raiser and occasional practices.”

“You can’t expect Jocelyn to run a meet on her own,” Mr. Grady said. “She’s got a couple of assistant coaches, but they’ll all have their hands full. We need another body, and you make the most sense.”

Lucas shook his head, took another bite of rice with vegetables and, by the way his jaw worked overtime, ground the food into pulp.

Jocelyn chewed her bottom lip, then flashed her cheerleading smile. “Mr. Grady.”

“Call me Kieran, would you, please?”

“Uh, Kieran.” It came out completely unnatural. “I think I can find more help. Maybe Jack …”

“Jack volunteers for the fire department on Saturdays,” Anne spoke up. “He wouldn’t be available for the weekend meets.”

“Well, maybe he could help at the weekday practices.” Jocelyn’s smile was quickly fading, but she wasn’t going to let Lucas get put on the spot. Not because of her own failings. Not because she was being a wuss about running the team on her own. Not because she still felt guilty about losing her track scholarship.

“Lucas, honey,” Mrs. Grady said. “You used to love track. Maybe you’d enjoy sharing your experiences with the kids. And Jocelyn could use your help. Please think about it.”

“Yup. Sure, Mom,” he said, short, clipped words heralding the closure of the subject.

Stilted silence followed. Jocelyn’s smile faded to nonexistent. I should be able to handle things myself. But was she even worthy of being a coach? What was the old saying: “Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach”?

Lucas took a long draw of his ice water. “Well, I’m not sure what you want me to do for the fund-raiser, Jocelyn, but once Annie leaves on Saturday, I don’t know how available I’ll be for much of anything.”

“You’re leaving, Anne?” Beverly said, concern drawing her brows together.

Anne flashed a thanks-a-lot look at Lucas, who pulled in his chin and raised his shoulders. Clearly, he didn’t know she hadn’t told anyone about leaving.

“Well, yes, Mom. We agreed from the beginning I’d go home once Lucas got discharged.”

Beverly’s bright expression deflated on the spot. “You’ve been such a big help around here,” Beverly said. “And who’s going to do my hair?”

That lightened the atmosphere and got a chuckle out of Lucas. “Don’t look at me.”

“Maybe you could teach me,” Jocelyn said. She felt a bit foolish making the offer, especially when everyone, most especially Mrs. Grady, checked out her simple ponytail at once.

“How are you with a blow-dryer and hair spray?” Anne asked, an impish flint in her light brown eyes.

“It really is all about the cut,” Beverly said. “And fortunately, I’ve got a good one.”

“See?” Anne said. “All you’ll need to do is wash, comb and fluff.”

“Well, because Mrs. Grady’s hair isn’t long enough for a ponytail, I guess I can learn to dry, fluff and spray.”

“If you’re going to be my hairdresser, you’re going to have to learn to call me Beverly.”

Jocelyn grinned. “Beverly.” Would she ever feel comfortable saying Kieran and Beverly?

“What about Jack?” Kieran said. “Does he know you’re leaving?”

“Dad, just drop it, would you?” Anne stood and picked up her plate, then her mother’s, and headed to the sink.

With Jocelyn’s help, Jack had convinced Anne to go out with him since she’d been home, and he’d been looking very happy the last couple of weeks. In Anne’s defense, she did have a nursing job in Portland, Oregon to get back to—but Jocelyn was pretty sure Jack had bigger plans in mind.

No one looked more disappointed than Beverly. “It’s been so great having you around, Anne. We just hate to see you go—that’s all.”

Jocelyn noticed the expression on Lucas’s face, like he wasn’t good enough to take Anne’s place. She remembered that look from high school. Then he changed. Got tough. Used to brag about being a slacker.

She never believed him. Not for a second.