Page 35 of Paging Dr. Summers

“Really?” Mrs. Harrington sounded astonished and intrigued.

“You know nothing of him? Nothing at all?” Mr. Harrington sounded like he didn’t believe me.

I dared to meet his eyes, which were wide with what I assumed was incredulity. “No, not really.”

“And you never asked?” he inquired.

Why did he make me feel as if I were on trial? “Several times, but my mom was an interesting soul—the best soul. But she also lived by her own set of rules. She believed it was my father’s job to tell me who he was, if he ever decided to.”

“Your mother sounds like my kind of woman,” Mrs. Harrington said. “Sounds like you were better off without the man.”

“I’d like to think so.”

“You never wished to meet him?” Mr. Harrington’s tone softened.

“That’s a complicated question.” It was my belief that as humans, we innately wanted to know where we came from and who we belonged to, but sometimes there were mysteries that were better left unsolved. Especially the one where my father paid off my mother and obviously wanted nothing to do with me.

“Papi, what’s with the third degree? You don’t even know Brooke,” Lola mildly scolded her dad.

“You’re right; I apologize. I just find your story interesting, Brooke. Tragic, even.” He pressed his back against the chair and sighed. “What kind of man abandons his daughter?” he asked, more to himself.

“No need to apologize. My mom would never want me to think of my life as a tragedy. And I don’t. Even though I’m an orphan now, for all intents and purposes.”

“Again, I am very sorry to hear about your mother,” Mr. Harrington said sincerely. “Why don’t you stay for dinner? I have some old newspaper clippings and concert posters featuring the Roxannes you might be interested in.”

Mr. Harrington’s shift in behavior toward me made me wonder if I had initially read him wrong. Regardless, I was definitely interested in seeing that memorabilia. It seemed he really was a big fan. “Thank you for the invite. I’d love to stay if it’s no trouble.”

Mr. Harrington didn’t reply. I’d expected him to say it was no trouble at all, but those words never came.

But Lola grabbed my hand. “I’m so glad you’re staying.”

I didn’t think Mr. Harrington was as enthused about it, judging by the way he scrubbed his hand over his face. It made me wonder if my stayingwasin fact troubling to him. But why would it be?

“I WISH YOU COULD HAVE seen the newspaper articles and concert posters featuring my mom’s band,” Brooke sang in my passenger seat as the scenery around the lake blurred by.

You heard me right—I was driving the woman I was trying to avoid, and taking her to get a tattoo. The whir of the Hemi engine mingled with her alto voice sounded like the perfect duet to me.

As a doctor, I felt an obligation to ensure the parlor and their tools of trade were hygienic and up to state regulations. I’d treated some pretty gruesome infections caused by tattoos, and I didn’t want Brooke to become another victim. At least, that was my excuse for spending time with her, and for now, it was preventing the heartburn I usually got from our encounters.

I stole a glance at Brooke, her eyes closed as she reveled in the caress of the breeze and the warm kiss of the sun. She’d begged me to take the convertible, and now, I regretted it. She looked perfect in Dad’s old car, the sunlight dancing on her skin, highlighting the curve of her smile. My fingers itched to rest on her bare thigh, to trace the lines of her exposed shoulder, but I tightened my grip on the steering wheel instead. The heartburn was back.

“I wish I would have thought to snap some pictures of them.” Brooke sighed. “But Mr. Harrington ... he was kind of weird.”

“What do you mean?”

Brooke opened her eyes and sat up straight. “I don’t know. I can’tput my finger on it. On the one hand, he was super nice. He and his wife even invited me to come back, but something about me seemed to put him on edge.”

“I can relate,” I mumbled. Damn it. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Brooke whipped her head my way. “What does that mean?”

I stretched my neck from side to side. “It just means that there’s something about you.”

“Care to be more specific, Dr. Summers?” Her tone bordered on hurt and annoyed.

Actually, I didn’t, as I would have had to admit that it was driving me mad that she was going out the following night with Dr. Everett, and I couldn’t stop wishing it were me instead.

“I don’t know how to explain it.” I gestured up and down her body. “There’s just something about you. Okay?”

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