His mouth quirked to one side, and he nodded. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. And don’t worry. He’ll come around eventually. Dylan is a good kid with a big heart. The problem is that I’ve spoiled him, and after his mom died, he nominated himself as my keeper. It was cute when he was little, but not so much now. He needs to stop trying to protect me and get on with living his own life.”
“He’s trying to protect you? From who? Me?”
Jim rolled his bright blue eyes. “I think he’s worried you’ll break my heart.”
“I would never do that.”
“I know you won’t, but Dylan doesn’t.”
Chapter Four
On Monday morning, Dylan rode his motorcycle into the office early. His helmet sat on the corner of his desk while he kicked back, drinking his second cup of coffee and reviewing a stack of lab reports.
“Hey.” Dad peeked around the edge of his office door.
Dylan clamped down on the urge to ask his father where the hell he’d been the last few days. Dad had been MIA most of Saturday, and Dylan had spent his Sunday fly-fishing. Dad had also not come home last night.
“Hey,” he said, trying hard not to sound as annoyed as he felt.
Dad strolled into the office carrying a bunch of files under his arm. “You got a minute?”
“Sure.” Dylan’s stomach roiled. Here it came, the inevitable woodshed talk. Ella had probably told Brenda everything about their meeting last week.
Dad sat down in the side chair, but he didn’t speak for a long moment. Instead, his gaze wandered around the small office, never lighting on anything for long. What the hell? Was Dad nervous?
“Whatever you have to say, just say it.” Dylan’s chest tightened as if someone had put a rope with a slipknot around it.
Dad finally met his gaze. “Is it true that you told Ella that I was moving into Brenda’s beach house?”
“I did, but I assumed she already knew about it.”
Dad’s shoulders sagged. “No, she didn’t know because Brenda wanted to tell her in her own way, and you screwed that up. You made Ella feel terrible. And I won’t have you doing that again. Understand?”
“Why didn’t she tell Ella about your plans? I mean, you told me a couple of weeks ago.”
“And now I regret it because you used the information to make Ella feel bad. And don’t deny it, Dylan. You’ve made your feelings about my relationship with Brenda clear. And I’m here to tell you that I don’t care if you’re happy about my plans to get married.”
“What?” Dammit, Brenda was twisting Dad’s mind around on itself. Of course Dad cared about his feelings. Didn’t he?
“You heard me. I’m getting married to Brenda McMillan, and I’m not going to stand by and let you upset Brenda and her daughter. Frankly, I’m surprised you don’t even realize that you’re driving a wedge between Ella and her mother. For god’s sake, Brenda has waited years for this chance to reconnect with her daughter. You will not screw that up, understand?”
Wow. Dad was furious. He hadn’t seen his father this angry ever. Not even that time in high school when he’d totaled the Explorer. Dad had yelled that night, but mostly because he’d been worried that Dylan had gotten hurt. Luckily, the Ford was built like a brick house and took a beating pretty well.
“Are you listening?” Dad asked into Dylan’s silence.
“I’m listening.”
“Good. I don’t want to be angry or fight with you, but I do expect better of you. Brenda and I are getting married. We’re having a party whether you have anything to do with it or not, although I would expect you to at least show up for it. And Ella is going to be your stepsister, so be nice to her.”
A strange feeling of jealousy bubbled through him. Everyone was so worried about Ella. What about him? He felt pushed out too. Although he damn sure didn’t want to admit that to his dad.
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking down at his desk. He didn’t like his father being so angry with him.
“I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” Dad said.
Dylan looked up. “You want me to apologize to Ella or Brenda?”
“You have to ask me that, really? Where did I go wrong raising you?” Dad gave him his intense, blue-eyed, I’m-the-dad-and-you-better-get-with-the-program look.
“Okay. I’ll give Ella a call.”
“No. You will take her out for a nice meal, and you will grovel. And I would be most pleased if you would also change your mind and help her with the party, although I’m not insisting on that unless you can show some enthusiasm for the task. Am I clear?”
“Eminently.”
“And you should probably apologize to Brenda too. But a simple phone call is all that’s required.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you. Now, I need to talk to you about something else.”
What now?
Dad placed the folders he’d carried into the office onto the desk. “These are some of my patient files. Most of these folks have been coming here for a long time. I want you to take them over.”
Dylan glanced down at the stack of files. On top was a particularly thick one. He opened the folder and read the name: Virginia Whittle.
“You’re giving me Ginny Whittle?” he asked. Mrs. Whittle was forty-five and in seemingly good health. But that didn’t stop her from coming to visit on a regular basis, complaining of one thing or another. She suffered from somatic symptom disorder, which was a fancy way of saying she was a hypochondriac.
“I know. She can be difficult.”
“Who else?” Dylan flipped through the files. First up was Milo Parker, a sixty-seven-year-old male with type II diabetes and hypertension who was also morbidly obese. Milo was one of those patients who simply would not, or could not, make lifestyle changes.
Then came Coreen Martel, eighty-eight and suffering from heart failure for the last two years. She’d been on the usual meds for the
