Through the gathering dusk, Karen Lowell stared at the one-
story brick pediatric clinic in the Green Hills area of
Nashville, Tennessee. She had to summon the courage to
march inside that building, even if it meant making a
complete fool of herself.
She had to stop Dr. Chris McRay from ruining her life. And
her brother's. And a lot of other people's. Maybe even his
own.
She opened her car door and stepped into a blustery
February wind that buffeted her dark green coat. She
should have come here months ago, she reflected as she
hurried across the parking lot. She'd blamed work and
family pressures, but in all honesty, cowardice had kept
her away.
Chris had no business returning to his hometown, even if
it did desperately need a pediatrician. Karen had opposed
hiring him and now he'd set a date less than three weeks
away for his arrival.
Before he made the move, someone had to change his mind.
Karen couldn't delay any longer.
She knew practicality wouldn't sway Chris, who must have
already weighed the reduction in income he'd receive by
moving to Downhome. Instead, she had to hope he'd retained
a shred of common decency.
It was a lot to ask of a man who'd lied on the witness
stand. A man who'd sent her innocent brother to prison to
cover up a crime he himself had committed.
A man who'd gotten away with murder.
Although her hands felt clammy, Karen refused to let
nerves get the better of her. Murderer or not, Chris posed
no immediate danger. In fact, to a casual observer, he no
doubt appeared quite likable.
He'd been all smoothness and charm when he'd interviewed
for the clinic job. As director of the town's nursing
home, Karen had served on the three-person physician
search committee, which meant she'd had to sit there
acting civil. Afterward, she'd voiced her opposition
forcefully, but the other committee members had prevailed.
No wonder, considering how few applications they'd
received. Chris was clearly the best qualified, on the
surface. And few people in town wanted to confront the
miscarriage of justice he'd perpetrated fifteen years
earlier.
Karen stepped through the glass door into the inviting
warmth. At this hour — a few minutes past five — no one
occupied the front counter, which was festooned with red
crepe paper and Valentine's Day hearts. A waiting room
opened on each side, one marked for well-child checkups
and the other for ailing youngsters.
She hadn't meant to arrive so late. However, her
justification for taking a day off work and making the
hour-and-a-half drive to Nashville had been to attend a
continuing-education seminar at Vanderbilt University. The
seminar had ended half an hour ago, and then she'd become
mired in traffic on Hillsborough Road.
Childish laughter and a whiff of cinnamon issued from the
waiting room to her right. Above the din, a man urged the
youngsters to settle down. Despite the calm words, that
voice sent chills through Karen.
Cautiously, she eased into the doorway. Through clusters
of balloons, she spotted a group of enthusiastic toddlers
and preschoolers gathered around a white-coated figure who
sat on the carpet.
Even with his back to her, there was no mistaking Chris's
shaggy brown hair. Then his achingly familiar tenor
launched into "The Wheels on the Bus." With his right
hand, he conducted the children in an impromptu chorus,
while his left arm cradled an infant.
The children joined in with gusto. Instinctively, Karen
hummed along until she realized what she was doing. Did
the man's good humor have to be so infectious?
Finishing the song, he turned and flashed a smile at some
of the applauding mothers. The groove in his cheek stirred
memories as sharp as glass.
Karen could almost smell the scents of her childhood:
sultry wildflowers from summer fields where she used to
tag along with her brother, Barry, and Chris, his best
friend, as they explored; pungent rainy days in the attic,
when they'd donned old clothes and Chris had led the
playacting; the roses he'd helped her prune during their
teen years, when she'd watched the boy grow into a man.
She'd feared he would never notice her — but then he had.
One magical night that she'd expected to cherish forever.
Instead, for many years, she'd regretted it with all her
heart. "Would y'all like some cider?" The question, close
to Karen's ear, startled her from her reverie. A young
woman indicated a steaming Crock-Pot, the source of the
cinnamon scent.
"Thanks." Gratefully, Karen accepted a cup of the hot
liquid. Glancing around, she realized all the mothers were
quite young. "What's going on?"
"We're the Teen Mom Cooperative," was the cheerful
response. "Dr. Chris sponsors us."
His application had listed the group as one of his
volunteer activities, Karen recalled. "I'm surprised he
wants to leave Nashville," she blurted before considering
that the other woman might not know of his plans.
However, her hostess appeared merely resigned. "He wants
to spend more time with his crippled grandmother. We'll
miss him like crazy, but I think it's sweet. That poor old
lady deserves a little love."
Karen suppressed a smile. Poor old lady indeed! Mae Anne
McRay might live at the nursing home and have to get
around in a wheelchair, but the eighty-one-year-old former
school principal served on the town council and tutored
students for their SAT tests. She also had a tongue tart
enough to sour milk.
In the play area, Chris disentangled the children gently
and arose. "I suppose you guys will be wanting a grand
finale. Anybody know what a finale is?"
"They go flip-flop in the pool!" cried a little girl.
"That would be swim fins. Very close." Receiving no
further guesses, he explained, "A grand finale is a fancy
way to end a show. Sometimes it involves fireworks, but
that wouldn't go over too well indoors."
"Why not?" demanded a toddler.
"It'd start a fire," returned a little girl.
"Poof!" Another youngster waved his hands to illustrate.
"So I thought we might —" Chris broke off as a trail of
soap bubbles escaped from his sleeve. "What was that?"
Karen heard a few giggles. As more of the shimmering orbs
appeared, the children began to shout with glee.
"Oh, for Pete's sake." The doctor pretended to grumble.
"How did those get there?"
"You're making them!" protested a boy.
More bubbles shot into the air, followed by a steady
stream of them. Little hands batted them higher and
higher. Only a few shy kids hung back, until Chris aimed
some directly at them and then they, too, joined the fun.
Dancing around the room, the kids looked adorable. The
nursing-home residents would love to watch this, Karen
thought, wishing she had a video camera. Focused solely on
the children, of course.
"I know what caused it!" the doctor declared solemnly. "I
took a bath today. I guess I didn't rinse off well enough,
huh?" Laughter greeted this absurd statement.
Tears filled Karen's eyes. How could this charismatic man
be the cruel boy who'd fooled her, fooled Barry and, above
all, fooled a jury?
Bringing the event to a crescendo, he whirled, releasing a
torrent of glistening globes. All semblance of order
vanished as the kids gave chase around the room.
As Chris spun, Karen fixed on his face — the dark eyes
keenly alive, the full mouth quirking with merriment. The
strength of his personality hit her.
She averted her eyes. Never, ever would she fall under his
spell again.
As the hilarity faded, he clapped his hands for
attention. "Your moms have a jar of bubble mix for each of
you. But —" he waited until the gleeful response died
down " — first, you have to fetch your coats and leave
quietly. That's the rule. Okay, everybody?"
"Okay, Dr. Chris!" little voices chorused. After hugs all
around, the race was on to pull on outer garments and make
a quick exit so they could claim their prizes.
Masterly, Karen reflected. The man had always had a gift
for calculating his effect and arousing the desired
response.
She'd learned that lesson the hard way.
The young moms and their children filtered out amid calls
of "HappyValentine's Day," and promises to see him before
he left Nashville. Along the way, they collected plates of
cookies and the Crock-Pot, and tossed disposable plates
and cups into the trash receptacle. A tidy bunch, she
thought with approval.
Karen felt Chris's assessing gaze flick over her. He was
clearly aware of her presence, although he made no sign of
acknowledgment.
Finally, the outer door closed behind the last mother and
child. Chris stood amid a jumble of balloons, his
expression wary. A few leftover bubbles escaped one sleeve.
To break the silence, Karen asked, "How did you do that?"
He glanced down. "There's a tube," he said
distractedly. "I ordered it on the Internet." After an
awkward pause: "Care to have a seat, or do you plan to
challenge me to a duel? I'm afraid my sword arm's rusty."
"No duel." Although her instincts urged her to stand and
fight, Karen knew she would be wise to enlist the man's
cooperation, instead. Tucking her tweed skirt beneath her,
she perched on a sofa. "Chris, the reason I'm here —"
He raised one hand to stop her. "First, are you speaking
on behalf of someone else or on your own account?"
"Nobody put me up to it," she assured him.
She had no idea how her brother would react if he learned
she'd come here. He might find the gesture touching, or he
might snarl that she should let him fight his own battles.
Such anger was understandable, considering what he'd been
through.
After a soul-searing stretch in prison for manslaughter,
he'd struggled to complete a college degree and find work
as a journalist, with only sporadic success. Then, nearly
six years ago, their mother, Renée — publisher, editor and
chief reporter for the Downhome Gazette since their
father's death — had suffered crippling injuries when a
tractor hit her car.
Barry had returned to fill in for her at work and, when
the permanence of her injuries became evident, he'd
assumed the position full-time. While the town had more or
less accepted him, he'd developed an obsession with
clearing his name. And he'd never relinquished his dream
of becoming a world-class international reporter.
"Well?" Chris interlaced his fingers.
"I'm sure you're aware that I opposed hiring you," she
began.
"My grandmother keeps me current."
"I don't doubt that you're a good doctor," she added. "And
I know you want to be close to Mae Anne..."
"But you still think I should have lied on the witness
stand," he finished, leaning forward intently.
She blinked, trying to figure out what he meant. "About
what?"
"Don't act coy. It doesn't suit you." Tension gave his
voice a rough edge. "You wanted me to deny what I saw that
night, and when I wouldn't, you cut me off."
How could he twist the situation so completely? Karen
struggled to find the right words. "Maybe that's what
you've told yourself all these years. Maybe that's what
you've needed to believe."
Anger burned in Chris's gaze. "You and your family want to
blame me for everything that went wrong. That's unfair,
although I'm willing to accept my share of the guilt."
That was news to her. "You didn't say so on the stand."
"I never denied that I was at least half-responsible for
the prank," he answered grimly. "And it was my dispute in
the first place. Do you think I don't have sleepless
nights over the fact that a man died and my best friend
went to prison? But I'm not the one who —" He stopped
abruptly. "This is futile.
It's just easier to make me out to be the villain because
I wouldn't get up on the witness stand and pretend I
didn't see your brother strike Norbert Anglin with a
shovel."
"Barry only hit him once, not three times like the police
said," Karen retorted. "You're the one who sneaked back
later. You're the one who finished him off."
"What?" He stared at her in disbelief. "What kind of
nonsense is that?"
Barry says...The phrase died unspoken. Karen had heard her
brother's theories so often she'd almost forgotten how far
they strayed from the account presented at the trial.
In the past few years, Barry had undertaken a personal
investigation. After interviewing a couple of secondary
witnesses, he'd pieced together an alternative scenario in
which Chris must have struck the fatal blows after Barry
had fled.
Karen hesitated. She wasn't sure when she'd begun
accepting her brother's speculation as fact. How
embarrassing to have relied on it, when she'd hoped to
play the diplomat.
Chris forged ahead. "It just goes to prove what Mae Anne
says — your family's been blackening my name. That's one
of the reasons I decided to go back, so I could
reestablish my reputation. But accusing me of murder? Give
me a break, Karen. That's a reach, even for you Lowells."