The Best Medicine

Chapter 10



TYLER WAS SITTING IN A booth rather than at the bar. Arrogant bastard. He’d known I’d come in there. I dropped my purse into the seat and sat down with a plunk.

“One drink.” I held up my index finger. “One drink, and I want to know why you didn’t tell the police you were returning the Jet Ski.”

He stared back for what felt like a full minute but was probably ten seconds. “Two drinks, and you tell me how you ended up on a date with that douche bag.”

I shook my head and smiled. “No, we’re not negotiating. I set the terms.”

“Why should I agree to that?” He leaned back and rested one arm along the back of the seat, the picture of nonchalance.

“Because you’re the one who asked me out to dinner.”

“This isn’t dinner. This is you following me into a bar. I set the terms.”

He’d tricked me. This was me following him into a bar. I nearly giggled. And I am not a giggler.

“One drink,” I said. “And I’ll answer all your questions. Two drinks and I’m liable to tell you where the bodies are hidden.” I never could hold my liquor.

He laughed at that, making all of the tight spots inside me loosen and all the loose spots tighten. I never should have come in here, but I was still glad I did.

A dark-haired waitress in a crisp white shirt came over to take our order. I asked for a martini, not to be elegant, but because I loathe gin. It was the only surefire way to make sure I didn’t drink too much, too fast, and accidentally go all Stella trying to get her groove back. Tyler ordered a beer and the waitress left.

I tapped my fingers on the table and looked around. A dozen or so couples were in here tonight. Candles glowed in every nook, and the air was heavy with the scent of warm cinnamon bread. This place spelled intimate with a capital INT. I tapped louder.

He laughed again. “Nervous much?”

I looked back at him. “I’m not nervous. Should I be? Why? Are you an ax murderer or something?” I said it too fast. Maybe I was nervous. A little nervous.

“I’m not the one talking about hidden bodies. Maybe I should be nervous about you,” he said.

Realistically, he should be. I had almost eight years of wisdom and life experience on this young gun. Just because he had perfect white teeth and shoulders wide enough to block traffic, that was no reason for me to be the least bit intimidated. I was in charge here.

“Bell Harbor Singles,” I said with falsely defiant confidence.

“What?”

“That’s where the douche bag came from. An online dating service. So far I don’t recommend it.” I folded my hands in front of me.

Tyler’s smile blossomed slowly but completely. “Why on earth would a woman like you need a dating service?”

That was a compliment in there, plain and simple. And I liked it. I decided to reward it with bold, straight-up honesty. That would save us both a lot of trouble in the long run anyway. “Because I work all the time and rarely date, but my parents have reunited after a twenty-three-year divorce and now they think I should find myself a husband.” I leaned forward for emphasis. “Are you prepared to marry me, Mr. Connelly? Because if you’re not, and I assume you’re not, then there’s not much point in taking me out to dinner.”


I’d kept my tone light and playful, but his eyes rounded in surprise, and I heard him inhale sharply.

“Wow. Jesus. When you decide to set the terms, you really set them, don’t you? Now I see why there are bodies.” He chuckled self-consciously and turned to see the waitress coming with our drinks. He reached for his and took a swallow. A big swallow.

Now who was nervous?

She set my drink in front of me on a square cocktail napkin.

“Will you two be having dinner this evening?” she asked innocently.

I smiled at him expectantly, batting my lashes. “Are we having dinner, Mr. Connelly?”

He blinked fast, as if sleet were zinging him in the face. As if the waitress had asked, “Will you be fornicating this evening as a prelude to marriage, or were you hoping to just f*ck around?”

“No dinner. Just drinks,” he said emphatically, but he smiled. And I smiled back.

“Very good.” She took our menus and walked away.

I sat back and lifted my very strong martini. “To just drinks, then.”

He clinked his mug against my delicate glass, and took another hearty chug.

“Marriage, huh?” he said, after setting down his beer.

“Yep. Why? Are you not a fan?” I was flirting. Hilary would be so proud of me.

Tyler chuckled. “Um, I’m not opposed to it. In a global sense. I just, uh, haven’t given it much thought.”

“Truthfully? Neither have I. But this last birthday catapulted me into all sorts of things I’ve never thought about before.” There was no way the gin had already gone to my head, so why I was being so forthright was a mystery. Maybe it’s because I had nothing to lose. Tyler was adorable, and sexy as hell, but this really was just drinks. Now that I’d decided to look for a real boyfriend, that’s what I wanted to find. A real boyfriend, not some random scuffle between the sheets. Regardless of how enjoyable it might be, Tyler was a detour I didn’t have time to take.

He rubbed his thumb across his jaw, right where I’d given him stitches. “Catapulted into what sort of things?” he asked.

“Things like marriage. And . . . family.” I’d very nearly said children, but that was just too much. I couldn’t expect any man to relax with all that on the table. I was amazed he hadn’t bolted already. He must really want that beer.

“Well, that’s, ah . . . huh. That’s intense stuff.”

I laughed at his very appropriate reaction.

Sure, I was being honest, but I was also teasing him, trying to see how far I could push. “So, you see, Mr. Connelly, I really have been trying to do you a favor. I’m trying to save you time and energy. You don’t want to take me out to dinner.”

“I don’t?”

I shook my head. “No, because, as I said, I’m looking for a husband.”

His eyes filled with mischief. “Well, maybe I could be your last hurrah before marriage.”

Everything inside me lit up like Christmas morning. Oh, Lord. Maybe he could be. Now he was flirting back, and I was drowning in those Caribbean-blue eyes. This wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all.

“Let’s talk about you,” I said, deftly steering the conversation to shallower waters. “First of all, tell me about the guy in the bathrobe.”

Tyler chuckled and shook his head, leaning back against the booth. “That’s Carl, my mother’s third husband. She won him in Vegas.”

“Won him?”

“Yeah, not really. She went to Vegas with some cash in her pocket and came home with him. Not much of a prize, but he’s a good enough guy. He puts up with my mom. That’s not easy.” His tone was a mixture of affection and frustration. I recognized that because it was the tone I used when discussing my own parents.

“What about your father?” I took another sip of bitter martini.

Tyler’s smile turned down. “Husband number one. Good man. Great dad. Lived on his own terms.” That had a ring of finality to it.

“What happened to him?”

“Iraq war.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I’d done reconstructive surgery on some veterans, and every single one of them was politely tough, doggedly pragmatic, and all any of them seemed concerned about was getting back to their job.

“Yeah, well, you know. Shit happens.” He took a big gulp from his beer, then set it back on the table and shrugged off his momentary wistfulness. “So anyway, after my dad died, husband number two came and went. He didn’t last long, and now we have Carl.”

“Who’s we?”

“Me, my mom, my little brother, Scotty, and my sisters, Aimee and Wendy. I have an older brother too, but he’s off in New Zealand or somewhere. He’s a cameraman for a wilderness TV show, so we don’t see much of him.”

“That’s too bad,” I said, although he didn’t seem particularly upset about it.

Tyler’s shrug was minuscule. “Not really. He’s kind of an ass.”

“Hm, too bad. So, tell me about the day you got arrested.”

Tyler stretched, raising his arms up over his head and treating me to a vision of muscles flexing beneath a nice shirt. He really was a hunka hunka something yummy. Damn, if I were ten years younger. Or seven. Or even five . . .

“The short version is Scotty likes to borrow stuff that doesn’t belong to him.”

“You mean steal things?”

“No, I mean borrow without asking. He always intends to take it back.”

Scotty didn’t sound very bright. “OK, what’s the longer version?”

“The longer version is pretty long. It’s going to require a second drink.” He signaled for the waitress to bring him another beer. He pointed at my nearly full martini glass and cocked a quizzical brow, but I shook my head. The gin was burning right through my esophagus. I could almost feel it soaking into my blouse. One of these cocktails would be plenty.

Tyler set his forearms on the table. “OK, well, the day I got arrested had started off pretty good. I was on a boat, hanging out at the marina with some friends, just having a few drinks. It was early, but most of us were coming off a week of night shifts, so it felt late to us. And then—”

“Night shifts?” I interrupted him.

“Yeah, and my friend says—”

“Night shifts from where?”

He looked at me as if the question made no sense.

“MedPro Ambulance. I’m an EMT.”

“You are?” Surprise sent my voice two octaves higher. And it wasn’t flattering. “I didn’t realize you were an EMT. Your patient chart said you were unemployed.” All this time I’d thought he was a deadbeat dog walker, but all this time he’d actually been working. At a real job. A hard job. Tyler Connelly was an EMT? Damn.

He shook his head slowly, chagrined by my reaction. “Yeah, well, here’s the thing about patient registration paperwork. Those questions are a lot harder to answer when you’re drunk. Especially if you think your arm might be broken.”

I thought back to that day, but nothing about his demeanor suggested medical training. Then again, I’d been so distracted by the physicality of him, I would have missed it anyway.

“So, anyway,” he continued on, “we’re sitting at the marina and my buddy says, ‘Hey, isn’t that your brother?’ And there’s Scotty pulling up to one of the docks on somebody’s Jet Ski and he’s . . . freaking out.”


The waitress arrived and set down another beer. Tyler eyed it, as if he could see the reflection of his memory on the surface. He pushed it to the side.

“Why was he freaking out?” I asked as soon as she’d walked away.

Tyler rubbed a hand over his jaw, his facial muscles tensing. He looked around the restaurant, then back to me, and leaned in. I found myself mimicking his motions until our faces were just inches apart. The bronze light fixture dangling above our booth cast a warm glow over this intimate scene, but Tyler’s eyes were dark with shadows.

“This is the part you can’t tell anyone,” he said in a husky whisper. “Scotty has been working with a couple of house painters, and they were at this cottage on the waterway. But the owners weren’t home, so Scotty, being the rocket scientist that he is, he figures he can just take a quick ride on the Jet Ski during his break and not get caught. Only he’s such a dumbass, he doesn’t check the gauge first, and he almost runs out of gas. He was closer to the marina than he was to the cottage, and he knew I was there, so that’s where he came.”

“But how did you end up on the Jet Ski?” I whispered, loving the clandestine nature of our conversation.

Tyler’s eyes held mine, as if gauging my trustworthiness. “Scotty was in a panic because he had to get back to work, but he didn’t have any money for gas, so I told him to just take my Jeep, and I’d fill up the Jet Ski’s fuel tank and ride it back to the house. Stupid of me, but I figured by the time I’d gotten the gas, I’d be sober enough to drive. Only I guess I wasn’t, because that’s how I misjudged the distance. I didn’t turn sharp enough, and that’s when I smashed into the boat dock. You know, with my face?”

I nodded. That part had been obvious.

Tyler took a big breath and exhaled slowly. “So I’m lying there, half in the water, half on the dock, bleeding and clueless, and the next thing I know, Scotty is dragging me into my own Jeep. Then he dumps me at the hospital and leaves. But apparently one of the neighbors saw the whole thing, got my license plate number, and naturally called the police. That’s why I got arrested.”

I sat up. “But why didn’t you tell them you were returning it for your brother?”

He looked me straight in the eye, as if I might challenge his answer.

“Because he’s my brother.”

I paused to let that sink in. I understood it from a theoretical standpoint, but from a practical and a moral standpoint, I didn’t get it.

“And you’re his brother. He should have told the police himself what happened and not let you take the blame.”

Tyler shook his head and frowned at me, his voice low. “No, he shouldn’t have. And you can’t tell anyone either.”

“Well . . . I won’t, but I’m still confused.”

Tyler sat back, his expression grim. “Scotty is already on probation. Two guys jumped him in a bar last year, but he knocked one of them out and got charged with assault. If he can stay out of trouble until he turns twenty-one, that previous offense is gone, like it never happened. But if he gets arrested for anything, even a traffic violation, it all goes on his permanent record.”

“But now you’ve got it on your record.”

“These charges aren’t going to stick. I’ll plead it down and pay restitution, and it’ll all go away. But Scotty couldn’t take that chance. If he gets stuck with that old assault charge, he can’t enlist. And being a soldier, like our dad, is the only thing he’s ever wanted to do.”

The pieces had finally formed a picture, but not at all the picture I’d expected. “You pled guilty to something you didn’t do just so your brother could enlist?”

He pressed an index finger against his mouth. “Shh. That’s the secret.”

My senses stirred. This was either the most selfless thing I’d ever heard, or the stupidest. Or, quite possibly, both.

“That’s a huge risk you took on his behalf.”

“Well, like I said, he’s my little brother. If I don’t take care of him, who will? Our dad’s gone, Carl is a stooge, and my mother? Well, she’s not so good in a crisis. She doesn’t know anything about this. That’s the other reason I’m trying to keep it a secret. Plus if Scotty’s probation officer catches wind of it, he’s screwed.”

I had thought there’d be some funny anecdote about drunken antics on a boat or a comedy of errors and misunderstandings that led to the Jet Ski incident. Not a tale of brother sacrificing for brother. It made me see Tyler in a whole new light, which was not necessarily a good thing, because he was still too young for me.

“Tyler?”

I heard a man’s voice from over my shoulder and looked up to see Jasper walk up to our table. “Hey, I thought that was you. Good to see you, Ty.”

Tyler stood up and they did the he-man, A-frame hug with requisite back thumping while I wondered if Jasper had overheard any of our conversation.

“How are you, Jas? This is your place, isn’t it?” Tyler asked. His smile was relaxed, and I felt that momentary tension leave. If he wasn’t worried, I guess I shouldn’t worry.

“Yep, all mine.” Jasper nodded and turned toward me. Surprise quirked his features. “Well, hello. Evelyn, isn’t it?”

“Hello, Jasper.” I waved like a pageant queen.

“You two know each other?” Tyler asked.

Jasper nodded. “Evelyn works with Gabby Linton. Remember her? Blonde hair. Tie-dye. Drama club.”

“Kind of. She was a year older, right?”

I winced. Everyone around here had attended Bell Harbor High School, but that comment was a harsh reminder that while I was graduating from Northwestern University, Tyler was here, struggling with tenth-grade geometry.

Jasper nodded. “Yeah, that’s Gabby. She looks exactly the same except now the hair is kind of pink. So what are you up to these days, Ty? Got your boat in the water yet?”

Tyler hesitated. “No, not yet.”

“It’ll happen. I never thought I’d have this place either, but somehow it all worked out. How’s your family doing?” Jasper gripped the back of a nearby chair and leaned.

“Oh, you know.” Tyler shrugged. “Same old, same old. Everybody’s misbehaving.”

“That sounds about right.” Jasper laughed and bobbed his head. “Hey, if either of your sisters are looking for a job, though, tell them to come see me. Like, tomorrow. I’m desperate for a couple more waitresses, especially since we’ve started doing deliveries too.”

Tyler hesitated again. “All right. Yeah, I will.”

“Great. Hey, did you guys have dinner?”

Tyler cast a glance my way.

“Just drinks,” I said. “It turns out Tyler wasn’t ready for dinner.”

“What?” Jasper’s frown was exaggerated. “How could you come here and not eat? I’m insulted. At least let me get you some dessert. On the house.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary—” But Jasper was already holding out his hand to shut me up.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, turning toward the kitchen.

Tyler slid back into the seat. “Dessert, huh? Where does that fall into the scheme of drinks but no dinner?”

Hmm. Dessert. The sweet, forbidden ending.

I wasn’t normally a self-indulgent woman, but maybe tonight I could make an exception.


Jasper was back minutes later with one plate and two forks. Fantastic. Because that wasn’t at all provocative, sharing a moist, gooey dessert. He set the plate between us. It was some kind of chocolate mousse surrounded by an artful arrangement of berries and a deep red sauce.

“There you go. Enjoy! Hope to see you here again soon.”

He walked away, and we stared at the plate as if waiting for it to hatch. Tyler ruffled the back of his hair.

“That looks good,” he said, nodding at the dessert.

“Yes, it does.” I picked up a fork. “I feel guilty already.”