“You’re a photographer?”
“Reporter. I have a lot of competition, though, because everyone in town tries to do my job and they don’t ask for compensation.”
It was such an accurate description of Red Leaf’s thriving grapevine that Ethan couldn’t help but grin. “You moved back here after college?”
“Last summer. Before that I was an intern at the Milwaukee Heritage.”
“You didn’t like it?”
“It wasn’t that.” Mac hesitated. “The . . . timing wasn’t quite right, so I came back.”
Ethan suspected there was only one reason why Mac had passed up an opportunity to work for a prestigious newspaper like the Heritage and returned to Red Leaf. “Coach? He’s doing okay?”
“It depends on which one of us you ask.” The shadow that skimmed through Mac’s eyes landed like a punch in the center of Ethan’s gut.
Ben Davis had been more than Ethan’s high school football coach and mentor; he’d been a friend. A friend Ethan had lost touch with over the years because he’d been consumed with being the best, and it had affected his priorities. Coach had always claimed he was more concerned about producing good men than good football players. In that respect he’d failed the man twice.
“What happened?” Ethan was almost afraid to ask.
“A heart attack, but you know my dad. He acts like all he did was stub a toe. Dr. Heath warned him to slow down a little, but Coach and I can’t seem to agree on what that means.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“No offense, Ethan”—the gold sparks in Mac’s eyes told him she’d taken offense—“but if Coach won’t listen to me, what makes you think he’ll listen to you?”
“He won’t have a choice.” The words slipped out before Ethan could stop them. “I’m taking over Dr. Heath’s practice at the end of the month.”
“Taking over . . .” Mac choked. “Doctor . . .”
“Channing.” Ethan smiled. “But that’s strictly off the record for now.”
A doctor.
What perfect timing. Because Mac was pretty sure her heart had stopped beating the moment Ethan Channing stepped inside the gazebo.
“You look a little surprised.” He tipped his head, and the silky swatch of ink-black hair he’d never quite been able to tame dipped over one eye.
Surprised wasn’t quite the word Mac would have chosen.
And his smile . . . Mac hadn’t realized it was etched as deeply in her memory as the initials EC were etched in the wood less than three feet from where he stood.
Oh. No.
She shifted to the left, blocking the bench from view. At least she hadn’t been stupid enough to carve her initials next to Ethan’s the night of the homecoming dance. Ninety percent of the girls who attended Red Leaf High School had had a crush on the star quarterback, so any one of them could have been the culprit.
“I didn’t know Dr. Heath was leaving.” Or that Ethan had followed in his father’s footsteps and pursued a degree in medicine. But then again, not asking questions when she called home from college had been part of Mac’s “leave Red Leaf behind” campaign.
“A group of medical missionaries who are opening a clinic in Haiti asked Dr. Heath to partner with them. He contacted me a few weeks ago and asked if I would consider taking over his practice.” Ethan’s smile surfaced again. “That’s off the record, too, by the way. He wants to tell his patients before a formal announcement is made.”
After Dr. Heath told his patients, Mac knew a formal announcement wouldn’t be necessary. The news would be all over town before the next issue of the Register went to press. Ethan’s father and Frank Heath had been close friends as well as colleagues, and after Monroe’s death, Dr. Heath had kept the clinic going on his own.
Now Ethan planned to take his father’s place.
Mac had assumed he’d returned to Red Leaf for Hollis’s wedding. The thought of seeing Ethan on a regular basis caused her heart to stall all over again.
“Do you and Coach still live next door?”
“Yes.” The same house. The same room.
The only thing that wasn’t the same was that Mac refused to fall victim to Ethan Channing’s irresistible charm. Again.
“I really should get going.” She tried to duck past him but Ethan snagged her elbow.
“Careful. That’s stinging nettle.” He guided her around an innocent-looking plant sprouting between the steps. “I’m beginning to think a controlled burn might work better than a bottle of weed killer. I can’t believe how neglected the place looks.”
That’s what happens when you don’t come back for ten years, Mac wanted to say.