Chapter 3

Micki lay in bed and played Patrick's words over and over in her head. "You too, Michaela." No one called her Michaela unless they didn't know her. And once she said they could call her Micki they did. But not him. Was it because his breeding said he had to call people by their given name? Afterall, he went by Patrick, not Pat or Paddy. But he did call Sydney Syd.

The man was an enigma. The poor guy looked like he'd been set on a planet in outer space. She wondered if it was the location that had him so off kilter or the fact that he was here to find himself? How did one do that anyway? If anyone knew how, it would be a shrink, but he appeared lost, like he didn't know what to do with himself.

She had the sense that checking his phone was a comforting habit, which was why she took it. He couldn't find himself if he was staying connected to the problems holding him back.

When he reached for his phone and he fell on her, a zap of awareness she hadn't felt in a long time sizzled through her. She closed her eyes to bring it all back in her mind again. The scent of soap on his skin. The warmth of his chest covering hers. The flash of something in his eyes that made her think he felt the zap too. But just as she was enjoying it, he jumped up like she had cooties.

The poor guy worried he'd offended her. Any other guy, she probably wouldn't have liked how he'd ended up on top of her. Then again, any other guy, she probably wouldn't have taken his phone. It was a high-school sort of thing to do, but she wasn't completely embarrassed by her immaturity. If she could help Patrick find what he'd lost, maybe he'd tell his family and friends and they'd come to find peace and quiet here too.

Based on how discombobulated Patrick looked, Micki figured it would be an interesting six weeks. How much would he loosen up and enjoy himself? Would any of that enjoyment come from time with her? She imagined him in the lake, the strong chest she'd felt under his shirt bare for her to admire. Her cheeks heated at her carnal thoughts. It was silly to think of him like that. Sure, there was chemistry, but they were from two completely different worlds. Even if he did find himself, he'd still be the city slicker doctor from New York, and she'd be the tomboy country girl from Virginia.

The next morning,Micki woke to the sound of her brother's sheriff's SUV pulling in front of the house. She reached for her phone, checking the time.

"Ugh!" She'd slept through her alarm. Jumping out of bed, she rushed to the bathroom and wrangled her thick hair into a ponytail and slipped on her sneakers, glad that she wore shorts and a t-shirt for pajamas.

She rushed to the door just in time to see her brother Logan help Tate down from the truck.

"I don't want to stay here. I want to go with you." Tate cried, his arms and legs flailing.

"Sorry, buddy. I've got to work."

"I can come. I'll stay in the car."

"Hey Tate, we've got swimming plans for today." Micki hoped Tate would find that fun enough to let go of the death grip he had on Logan.

"I don't want to swim; I want my dad."

Logan let out a long helpless sigh. "I've got to go to work." He led Tate to her. "I love you son. See you later."

"No!" Tate reached for Logan, but Micki took Tate's hand, hating that she had to keep him from his father.

Logan climbed into his truck and looked out at her and his son. The pain in his eyes a window to how this scene gutted him. She wished there was something she could do.

He put the vehicle in gear and started up the drive.

"Let go!" Tate jerked free and ran after Logan's SUV. He made it only a few yards up the drive before the truck was too far away. He turned and seethed at Micki. "I hate you."

It was a stab in the heart, even as she understood where it was coming from. They were all trying to be patient with Tate. The kid lost his mother not so long ago, so of course there would be issues. But the level of anger made Micki wonder if Tate needed more than just the love of his family.

"Let's go make breakfast." She held out her hand to him.

"No!" He picked up a rock and threw it.

"Tate! No throwing rocks."

He ignored her, picking up a sizable rock and throwing it with both hands. It hit Patrick's car, shattering the side window.

Tate froze.

"Anger is a scary thing when it gets away from us, isn't it?" Patrick's voice came from behind as he walked from the door to the porch.

"Dr. Andres—" Micki wasn't sure what to say.

He continued to his car.

"I didn't mean to." Tate recoiled.

"I know." Patrick stood next to Tate, eyeing the damage to his rental.

"What are you going to do to me? My dad is a deputy, he can put me in jail."

Her heart broke at Tate's regret and fear.

Patrick thought for a moment. "Is that what you'd do if I broke your window?"

Tate's little face scrunched like he was considering the optimum punishment. "I'd make you fix it."

"Do you know how to fix a window?"

"No, but my aunt and grandpa might. And my dad. They fix up old cars. Maybe they can teach me."

Patrick set his hand on Tate's shoulder. "Sounds like a good start. Listen, I'm new here and I'm hungry. Do you know where I can get some food?"

Tate nodded enthusiastically. "My grandma makes it. Come on."

Micki's breath caught when Tate took Patrick's hand and led him to the house.

"Good morning, Michaela," Patrick said as he passed her.

"Morning." She watched him, wondering if this was the same man she met the day before.

"That's my Aunt Micki. She can skip a rock and have it bounce forever."

"No kidding. I've never skipped a rock."

"Never?" Tate looked up at Patrick horrified.

"Maybe you can teach me."

Micki followed them inside, joining her mother, who watched Tate and Patrick with the same shocked expression.

"Good morning, Mrs. Kincaid."

"Please call me Lori. Good morning, Dr. Andres."

"Patrick."

"Is that your name?" Tate said climbing into his chair.

"Yes. What's yours?"

"Tate. I'm seven. How old are you?"

"Thirty-six."

"Aunt Micki, you're that age, right?"

"I am not!" Realizing that her reaction might make it sound like thirty-six was old, she took a breath. "I'm twenty-nine."

Her mother snickered. "You know in Sense and Sensibility, Marianne called Colonel Brandon infirm, meaning old, and he was thirty-six."

"Mom!" Micki glared at her.

"I feel infirm a lot." Patrick winked at Tate.

For a man who lacked a personality yesterday, he was good-humored today. Perhaps he'd just been hot and tired.

"My dad is old too."

"He's not old, Tate," Lori said. "I'm old."

"I'm older." Joe joined them at the table. "Good morning, Dr. Andres."

"Good morning."

Joe scanned the table. "Are the newlyweds skipping breakfast again?"

"I'll save them some. Sit down, Joe before breakfast gets cold," Lori said, putting a platter of eggs and bacon on the table.

"My paw paw can fix your window," Tate said to Patrick.

"What's wrong with the good doctor's window?" Joe served himself bacon.

"I broke it." Tate looked down.

"How?" Joe's jovial demeanor morphed into concern.

Tate mumbled so low Micki couldn't hear it much less her father at the other end of the table with failing hearing.

"Look at me when you speak to me," Joe said, in a stern voice Micki recognized from when she was a kid. Her father was an aging, disabled man, but he hadn't lost his authoritative voice when needed.

Tate's eyes looked at his grandfather, but his head stayed bowed. "I threw a rock."

"Oh Tate." Lori shook her head. "You know better."

"I'm sorry for my grandson's actions," Joe said to Patrick.

"It's nothing that can't be fixed." Patrick shrugged and cut his bacon. Micki watched entranced. They didn't eat bacon with their fingers in the city?

"We'll cover the cost of course," Joe continued.

Micki held her tongue but wondered how they'd pay for it. A nice vehicle like that had to be expensive. Surely it was insured.

"I'm sure it's insured," Patrick said unconcerned as he scooped up eggs on his fork.

"Well, Tate still needs to make amends. You can't go around throwing rocks just because you don't get your way." Joe shook his finger. "You're lucky I don't tell you to go out and get a switch."

Patrick's brows lifted. "Hitting the boy isn't going to fix my window."

Micki tensed. Parenting was like politics and religion; topics that shouldn't be discussed among strangers.

Her father was more bark than bite. She and her brother Logan had been spanked a few times growing up, but never with a switch.

"It might make him think again about throwing a rock," Joe said.

"I doubt it." Patrick turned his attention back to his food.

"Do you have children?" Lori's tone edged towards offended that Patrick would have an opinion about how they cared for Tate.

"I don't. But I don't need to be a parent to know about children any more than your gynecologist needs to have had a baby to do his or her job."

He had a point.Micki looked at her parents hoping they'd drop it.

"And what does all your fancy schooling have to say about Tate?" Lori asked, although Micki was sure the right answer would be for Patrick not to give his opinion.

Patrick looked at Tate who turned to him, his expression a mixture of interest and worry.

"Tate has trouble managing intense feelings like anger. He seems to have separation anxiety from his father. It's normal for children. When the feelings get the best of them, helping them learn to cope works better than a switch."

Lori's lips pressed together in a thin line. Joe's jaw clenched. Micki too, was a little irked that Patrick had criticized them even if he was a shrink. She knew all about his sister's attempt at hurting Mitch and Sydney, so while he might be book smart, he clearly didn't know how to help people.

Micki glowered at him. "You don't know us, Dr. Andres." She purposefully used his title and surname, as the friendliness from the night before dissipated.

Patrick jerked his attention to her as if he knew the use of formal name indicated a change in their opinion of him.

"Tate has had a loss and we're all doing our best to help him through it," Mick informed him.

"Perhaps he needs counseling."

Micki narrowed her eyes. "We may not have a degree, but we're his family and know what's best."

Patrick's gaze scanned the table. He wiped his mouth and put his napkin down. "I'm sorry." He rose from the chair. "I'll take my leave now. Thank you for the lovely breakfast."

"Can I still teach you to skip rocks?" Tate's voice wobbled like he was worried he was losing a friend.

"I would enjoy that." He smiled at Tate and then left the table.

"What about your window?" Micki called after him.

"I'll call the rental company and make plans to bring it back." He was out the door before Micki could say anymore.

"The nerve of him." Lori glared after Patrick's wake.

Micki poked at her eggs. "He's right, you know."

"About what?" her father asked.

She looked at Tate. "The anxiety and anger. Maybe he should talk to someone."

Tate's brows furrowed. "Like who?"

Her father shook his head. "We shouldn't talk about it in front of him. Besides, that's Logan's call, not ours or Dr. Andres'."