Chapter 6

Patrick wondered what the city slicker version of skipping stones was. A ton of parks littered Manhattan. Central Park offered kayaking and rock climbing, but Patrick couldn't ever remember anyone skipping rocks. Then again, he and Julia had lived sheltered lives, not because their parents worried about their safety as many parents these days did, but because they had an image to uphold. Their friends had to be in families that met a prominence threshold. Their activities were limited to those that didn't include children or youth from outside their social status. It made for a lonely life. And it was partly why Julia became a homicidal sociopath.

Sydney had been her only female friend since childhood. Patrick had a few male friends, but he'd spent a great deal of time with Julia and Sydney. In high school, he dated Sydney. Not long ago, he thought he and Sydney might have a future together. It was the same for Julia, the only difference being that their small group was the center of her world. She couldn't let it go and was willing to eliminate anyone who got in the way.

"You got two skips!" Tate jumped up and down as Patrick's rock, after two skips sunk in the lake.

Patrick smiled at the boy. It was sweet how excited Tate was for Patrick's success. His parents had never shown such enthusiasm for any of his accomplishments, of which there had been many.

"I have a good teacher."

Tate reached deep into the bucket. "We're almost out of rocks." He pulled one out, studying it. "Aunt Micki could make this one skip a lot." He shoved it in his pocket presumably to give it to her. He pulled another rock from the bucket. "I hope I get five skips."

He took his stance by the lake, pulled back his arm, flicked it and his wrist forward, and the rock rocketed out. It skimmed the water once, twice, thrice, and just barely four times before sinking.

He let out a frustrated growl.

"I'm impressed." Patrick dug in the bucket for a rock.

"Do you have kids Dr. Patrick?"

Patrick straightened. "No." He looked down on the boy. "Do you?"

Tate cracked up, covering his belly. "No silly. I'm too little."

Patrick laughed, even as he wondered where his playful comment had come from. "I guess you are." He took his rock to the edge of the lake.

"You were kissing Aunt Micki, so maybe you can be a daddy."

Patrick jerked his arm mid-throw as Tate's words ricocheted through his brain. His rock went up, and then arced straight down into the water.

"That wasn't so good." Tate's eyes narrowed like a teacher assessing a student's performance.

Knowing it was inappropriate to ask Tate about his comment, Patrick returned to the bucket. "Can I have a gimme?"

"What's a gimme?"

"A do-over."

Tate shrugged. "I guess."

They emptied the bucket of rocks. "We can get some more if you want." Tate pointed to an area around the lake. "The good ones are over there."

"I think I need a break. I'll probably be sore tomorrow."

"Maybe tomorrow we can go fishing."

Patrick smiled. He hoped that Tate's eagerness to spend time with him meant he wouldn't be throwing rocks in anger when his father dropped him off tomorrow.

"Sounds good."

"Tate. Come on, son. Leave Dr. Andres alone."

Patrick looked up at the deck where Mrs. Kincaid called Tate.

"I hope he hasn't been too much trouble," she said.

Patrick shielded his eyes from the mid-morning sun. "Are you talking to me or him?"

She pursed her lips.

Hmm. Maybe everyone was right about his humor; he didn't have any. Weird that he was even attempting.

"Come on, Tate."

Patrick sighed. Maybe what he said wasn't funny because she wanted Tate away from him.

"I've gotta go. I'll ask my Paw Paw if we can use his fishing gear."

"Sounds good."

Tate ran toward the deck, his body twisted as his hand waved at Patrick. "Bye Dr. Patrick."

"Bye Tate."

Patrick watched until Tate reached the top step and entered the house. Then he started toward his cabin, thinking he'd get a book and read.

"The rental folks are here, Dr. Andres," Mrs. Kincaid called to him.

"Thank you." He reversed course, but instead of going up the deck the through the house to reach the driveway, he walked around the side. Lori was still annoyed at him, so he'd keep his distance.

As he came around the corner, Patrick ran into Mr. Kincaid carrying his cane in one hand and a several long planks in another. Mr. Kincaid wobbled. The boards crashed down. His hand flew up and with it his cane, whapping Patrick in the side.

As the man pitched forward, Patrick took ahold of his upper arms to right him. "Mr. Kincaid. I'm sorry. Are you alright?"

Mr. Kincaid shook Patrick off. "Yes, yes."

Patrick let go but held at the ready just in case. When it looked like Mr. Kincaid was steady on his feet, Patrick picked up the boards. It didn't seem wise to for a man suffering from MS enough to affect his balance to be walking down an uneven slope carrying boards.

Mr. Kincaid waved his hand. "Just hand those over. Your new rental is here."

"It can wait. Can I help you with these? Where are you taking them?"

"I'm bringing them down to the far dock for Micki. She said she'd work on a few of the loose planks."

Patrick tucked the boards under his arm. "Let me help you."

"No, no. Lori would skin my hide if she knew a guest was helping." Mr. Kincaid reached for one of the planks Patrick held.

"I don't mind."

"Yes, well, Lori would. You're supposed to be resting and relaxing."

"I don't know how to do that, sir."

Mr. Kincaid's head jerked back, his face contorting into confusion. Then he let out a laugh.

Patrick hadn't meant to be funny. His cheeks heated with embarrassment.

"I'll tell you what, son. If you don't tell the little lady, then I won't."

Patrick nodded, feeling a little bit like Tate; a child eager to please. He was also relieved that while Mrs. Kincaid was still cool toward him, he appeared to have forgiven him.

Patrick carried the boards down and on the return trip to retrieve more, connected with the car rental company and got the keys to a new car. Then he carried more boards down to the dock.

Patrick understood hard work. He'd put in effort at school all the way until he earned his medical degree. He'd worked hard in his residency and then at his job. Both had been physically and mentally taxing. But he'd never done manual hard work. As he laid the final plank down by the dilapidated dock, his shoulders screamed for a break. He wondered if he'd be able to lift his arms the next day.

Patrick looked over at Mr. Kincaid, feeling like a wimp as he watched the man hobble over to a large rock to sit. He pulled out a red bandana and wiped his face. How did the man, slowed down by MS, keep a resort like this running? Michaela of course. Hadn't he seen her up on the roof yesterday?

"Let's sit a spell. But not for long. I don't want the missus to find out what I've been up to."

Patrick walked to the grassy area near the rock and sat. "What does she think you're up to?"

"She thinks I'm tinkering on the old Mustang."

Patrick remembered the ancient, but well-preserved truck Michaela drove. "Did you do your daughter's truck too?"

"We did that together. She's a beauty, isn't she?"

Patrick paused, not sure if he was talking about the truck or Michaela. Both were beautiful, but he nodded instead of answering. The man might not like Patrick noticing his daughter, especially after the faux pas of the morning. The kiss lingered in his mind, but a part of him wondered if he'd imagined it.

No, because Tate had asked about it. Good God, what if he told his grandparents? Patrick was already on their bad side for stepping into family business about Tate that morning. What would they do if they knew he'd kissed their daughter?

Technically, she kissed him, but he couldn't be sure her parents would care about the distinction.

"Let me apologize for this morning…about giving my opinion about Tate." Patrick wanted to be clear that his apology had to do with butting into their family business, and not kissing Michaela. Unless Tate said something to his grandparents, Patrick decided he'd keep the kiss to himself and not apologize until he had to.

Mr. Kincaid shrugged. "What's done is done."

But not forgotten, Patrick noted. It was clear Patrick's behavior had changed the way they thought about him. It bothered him because he'd always thought he was a good and kind person. Clearly, he could be insensitive and overstep the boundaries.

A scream and giggle sounded from honeymooner's cabin. Sheila ran out the door wearing a barely-there bikini. Her husband Mark trailed her wearing swim trunks. He didn't catch her until they were in the water, their arms wrapped around each other, and their lips fused.

"Ah, young love." Mr. Kincaid smiled at the sight. "Me and the missus used to be like that."

Patrick rarely thought of parents being in love or amorous. He still couldn't believe his parents ever had sex. He was convinced they used medical procedures to get pregnant so they could avoid physical intimacy.

Looking into the bright blue eyes of Mr. Kincaid, Patrick saw the young, active man he'd once been. The night before, he'd seen the love he had for his wife and her for him. Patrick saw it in Sydney and Mitch as well. Maybe there was something in the water in central Virginia that created true love. It sure didn't exist in his world in Manhattan.

"Why aren't you married yet, Doc? Or are you one of those confirmed bachelors."

Patrick frowned, wondering if the man meant committed. "No. I just haven't found the right woman."

Mr. Kincaid nodded. "You do need to wait for the right one. You can't just order one up despite what all those highfalutin phone gizmos tell you."

Patrick's lips twitched upward. "It's a relief to hear you say that. Most people think I'm too close past my prime." As distant and aloof as his mother was, she wanted grandchildren. But Patrick knew she wouldn't be the cookie making, spoiling type of grandparent. She'd be the bragging one, using her grandchildren to support her image.

"Yes, well, you do need to get into the pond and swim with the fishes, if you know what I mean. Sure, love will hit you when you least expect it, but you've got be in the water for it find you."

Patrick chose not to explain how he'd once thought he'd marry Sydney. She was a regular here at the resort with the love of her life and their children. Besides, based on some of the razzing he'd gotten from Michaela, he had the feeling they knew already.

Mr. Kincaid sighed. "I keep telling Micki the same. I love the girl to death and I'm grateful that she sticks around to help her old man out, but I worry we're holding her back. Kincaid Lake Resort isn't long for this world. Not with our inability to maintain it and that new water park resort up the road. She needs to get out into the world. I bet there are nice places in New York that could use her degree in hospitality."

Patrick pretended to idly pick grass as he worked out what Mr. Kincaid was saying underneath the words. Did he want Patrick to take her away to New York? Or did the words mean exactly what he was saying?

"Ut oh, look out. Trouble is coming."

Patrick looked where Mr. Kincaid"s eyes were directed. He"d expected to see a furious Mrs. Kincaid striding toward them. Instead, Michaela, her eyes narrowed in suspicion, was making her way to them.

"Just play it cool, Doc, and will both come out alive."

Patrick knew Mr. Kincaid was joking, but he also understood that jokes frequently included bits of reality.

Michaela stopped when she reached them, putting her hands on her hips, and giving them both a pointed look. "What"s going on here, boys?"

"Just two men enjoying the great outdoors," her father said.

Patrick had the sense that Mr. Kincaid had years of practice deflecting his wife and his daughter"s concerns about him.

Michaela nodded toward the pile of planks. "And how did those get down here?"

Mr. Kincaid looked at Patrick and shrugged. Patrick was in a tough spot. Who should he side with? Who was he afraid of annoying more, Mr. Kincaid, or Michaela?

Finally, he lifted his hands in surrender. "I learned my lesson at breakfast. I"m Switzerland. Neutral territory."

"Coward," Michaela and her father said in unison.

Patrick looked up at Michaela. "There"s really no sense in asking questions that you already know the answer to."

She arched a brow. "Is that shrink wisdom?"

It was something his mother would say to the parents she worked with.

But the question must have been rhetorical as Michaela turned her attention to her father. "Dad, you know that Dr. Andres is here to rest and relax, not help you build the dock. I told you I would help you."

"Well, I told him that, didn"t I, Doc?" Mr. Kincaid looked at Patrick.

"He did."

"He told me didn"t know how to relax."

"That"s the first thing you've said that I believe." Michaela shook her head at both of them.

"So, I figured if it would make him happy to occupy his time helping me, why not? Besides, it"s not like you don"t have a to-do list as long as your arm."

"Even so. He can"t learn how to relax if you put him to work."

Her father simply shrugged. Patrick did as he planned, stayed neutral.

Michaela sighed. "Mama"s going to be looking for you any minute now. If you don"t want her to know what you"ve been up to out here, I suggest you get started back to the house."

Mr. Kincaid eased himself up off the rock, setting his balance, and began walking the path to the house. "Happy wife, happy life. That and the golden rule are the two mottos I live by."

Michaela watched her father as he slowly made his way to the house. With each step her amused expression dropped. It was a reminder to Patrick at how difficult the lives of the Kincaid"s had become with the patriarch"s illness. A large tourist trap built up the road would be difficult enough for a small family-owned resort like this to survive, but now, with Joe Kincaid severely limited in movement, much of the work fell to Michaela. Low occupancy rates had to mean they weren"t bringing in the money to hire help, either.

Finally, she turned away from her father and sat next to Patrick. "First, you"re roped into skipping rocks and next put to work. I think we"re going to have to refund your money."

"Not at all."

"He really shouldn"t be doing any of this."

Patrick got the feeling she was accusing him of enabling her father. "He was already halfway done doing it. Whether I helped him or not, he was going to finish it."

She nodded. "Yeah, he"s a stubborn old mule." She picked up a stick and dug in the dirt. "Tate says you plan to go fishing tomorrow."

"That"s the plan. I understand it"s part of rest and relaxation."

She smirked at him. "Yes, well, you really don"t have to do it with Tate."

"I already said I would and as someone accurately told me earlier, I need to follow through on promises I make to children."

Her lips twitched upward.

It caused Patrick"s to do the same. "He saw us kissing, you know."

"Yes, so he said."

Patrick studied Michaela's profile. She didn"t seem concerned or embarrassed by that.

"Do you think he"s going to tell your parents?"

She shrugged. "I don"t know if he"ll tell them as in tattling, but I wouldn"t be surprised if it somehow came up in conversation."

Patrick swallowed, turning his gaze back over the water.

"Should I be offended that you bothered by the idea that my parents might find out that you kissed me?"

He turned to look at her. "You kissed me. And I"m not ashamed of it, I"m just worried about your parents. I don"t need their opinion of me falling any worse than it already is."

Michaela gaped at him, and he flinched, wondering what he said that was so wrong.

"Are you one of those people that think the South is still stuck in the olden days? Let me tell you something, Dr. Andres, my parents don"t have any say about who I kiss or don"t kiss."

Patrick put his hands up in surrender. "I"m not saying you"re not a thoroughly modern woman, Michaela. But even in the modern world, parents have opinions, sometimes very strong ones, about who their kids spend time with." Patrick knew for certain his mother"s head would explode if she knew he was attracted to Michaela. He wasn"t conceited enough to think Michaela"s parents would think he was a good catch since he came from a prominent family, had lots of money, and had a good job. In fact, he suspected it worked against him.

"Yeah, well, like I said, my parents don"t have any say. If they did, they might have tried to prevent Logan from marrying Tania." She shook her head. "Except then we wouldn"t have Tate. I take that all back." She looked at Patrick again. "The point is, I"m the boss of myself. What I do or don"t do is by my choice."

Patrick gave a quick nod. "Good to know."

"And just in case you"re wondering, I don"t go around kissing our guests."

That pleased him more than it should.

"If it bothers you so much, it won"t happen again."

Patrick"s brains scrambled to decipher if there was any extra meaning behind her words. Was she fishing for his thoughts on the matter? Was she signaling that she wasn"t interested in kissing anymore?

She slanted her gaze at him. "For guy who makes his living having people talk about their feelings, you"re not very good sharing your own."

He nodded. "I know."

She turned her body toward him, her gaze scrutinizing him.

He arched a brow. "What is it about me you"re wanting to know? Perhaps my thought on kissing?"

She smirked. "I already know your thoughts on kissing, Dr. Andres."

His natural instinct was to pull away and disengage from highly charged talk with the woman he hardly knew who had the parents who didn"t think much of him. But something held him in place, pulled him closer, like a piece of steel drawn to a magnet.

His gaze drifted to her red lips and then back to the bright blue eyes. "And what is that?"

"You liked it."

He held her gaze but didn"t respond.

Michaela let out a sigh and then sat back, disengaging from the electricity zapping between him. Disappointment filled him, but he mimicked her response and leaned away from her as well.

"I don"t know how people interact up there in the Big Apple, but down here in the South, communication needs to be reciprocated."

Patrick tried to figure out what he was supposed to have done. Should he have said something? Or should he have kissed her?

"What would"ve been the appropriate response?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "That"s for you to figure out." She stood, brushing the dirt and leaves from her shorts, and then walking toward the house. Patrick watched her, admiring the view until he realized that her parents might be able to see him ogling her from the house.