A Wedding on Lilac Lane Hope Ramsay (general ebook reader TXT) 📖

of the tray and knew she was going down. She could see that stupid tray in her mind’s eye, sliding out of her control and heading right at Dylan’s head.

She would never live that moment down. For the rest of her life, when Mom and Jim and the blended family got together for any occasion or holiday, Dylan would inevitably tell the story of the morning when his soon-to-be stepsister tried to take his head off with a breakfast tray.

*  *  *

The scalp wound was still oozing as Dylan drove himself back home to change his clothes. He hoped to hell he didn’t need any sutures for the damn thing. Scalp wounds were notorious for bleeding like crazy.

He was also a little concerned about the bump forming right above the gash, where one of the plates had nailed him. Thank goodness the china hadn’t broken. Otherwise he might have been injured more seriously, and Ella might be apologizing for the rest of her life.

Why was she so apologetic for what had been an accident? She must have said “I’m sorry” a dozen times. On the other hand, her concern for him had been touching.

No, maybe a better word might be stunning. The unshed tears in her anime eyes had undone him, even though she was different from the women he usually found attractive. Most of the women in his life had been well-put-together Southern girls who never stepped out of the house unless their hair and makeup were perfect. Lauren had been like that.

Born in Charleston and educated at Wellesley and the University of Virginia Law School, Lauren was on her way to becoming a high-powered corporate attorney. And they could have become a power couple if Dylan had remained in Charleston and joined a practice there.

But when he’d told Lauren his plans to return home and practice medicine in an underserved community, she’d dumped him. That had been a year ago. He’d been living like a monk since then, probably because the single women at the club were a lot like Lauren.

Wait a sec. Was he comparing Ella to Lauren? That was just wrong. The blow to his head must have been worse than he thought. He was not allowed to notice Ella. Ever.

He pulled his car into the garage only to discover Dad’s Jeep parked in what had been its usual space for the last year. What the heck? Why wasn’t Dad at the office?

He climbed out of the car and hurried through the back door, finding Dad in the kitchen, surrounded by packing boxes. The smart speaker blared some classical piano piece, and the music beat at his head like the hammers on a Steinway. He came to a sudden, jarring stop as Dad tucked Mom’s favorite casserole dish into one of the boxes.

“What the hell?” he said aloud, screaming above the music. A sudden, ominous vertigo had him reaching for the wall to steady himself.

Dad turned down the music and gave him an assessing stare.

“What are you doing with that casserole dish? That’s Mom’s,” Dylan said.

“What happened to you? You’re bleeding all over the place.” Dad took a step forward.

“And why aren’t you seeing patients?” Dylan asked, his tone accusatory. What the hell? Was Dad planning to move all of Mom’s stuff to Brenda’s house?

“I took the day off,” Dad said, taking another step forward, his voice calm as ever. “Brenda and I have decided to move in together now that Ella has moved out of Cloud Nine. I came over here to pack up a few things. But you don’t have to worry. I’m not cleaning out the kitchen. We’ve got more pots and pans than either of us have used in years.”

 “But that’s Mom’s casserole.”

Dad frowned. “It’s not Mom’s. It’s…well, whatever. If you want it, I’ll leave it here for you,” he said, then closed the distance between them. “Let me see that cut. What happened?”

“I was having breakfast at Howland House with Reverend St. Pierre to talk about the museum foundation, and I got nailed by a plate of eggs.”

Dad gently took one of his arms. “Let’s get you into the living room and take a look. You sit. I’m going to go get my bag from the car.”

Dylan’s anger ebbed away, and he allowed Dad guide to him into the living room and down into the comfortable wing chair. He closed his eyes, rested his head on the high back, and waited. Dad returned a moment later, carrying an old-fashioned medical bag. His father was a total throwback who had been known to make the occasional house call even though it made no economic sense. But that was Dad. That was why Dylan loved him so fiercely.

He relaxed and let his dad take care of him.

“That’s going to need a couple of sutures,” Dad said. “And you’ll probably have a scar.”

A wave of nausea slammed into Dylan. The room took a wild spin, and he had to focus on the designer wall clock to keep things steady. “I think I may have a concussion. I’m having vertigo.”

Dad shined a light in his eyes to check his pupil reaction. “Maybe a mild one. I need to take you to the office in order to stitch you up. Hang tight for a moment.”

Dad left and then returned in a blur with a glass of water and a couple of acetaminophen. “Here, take these for the headache.”

Dylan followed orders like a little boy, and then his father drove him to the clinic, using the Honda instead of the Jeep because the Honda had a smoother ride. His father stitched up the wound, but after an hour or so with Dylan’s headache no better, Dad called the imaging center in Georgetown and scheduled a CT scan for later that afternoon.

The scan found no skull fracture or bleeding into the brain. But he had an edema and maybe a slight concussion. The prognosis was good though. He would live.

Chapter Eight

Ella was bone tired when she finally made it