“Dad, I went over this with you and Mom last night at dinner. I explained…”
“Never mind.” Cal’s father stopped as he caught sight of her.
Her mental image of him as a jolly old man with a round belly and fringe of white hair had dissolved the instant she’d caught sight of him at the gate. Now she felt as if she were staring at an older version of Cal.
He was equally imposing—big, handsome, rugged—and he looked exactly right in his red flannel shirt, rumpled slacks, and scuffed leather boots. His thick dark hair, worn longer and shaggier than his son’s, had a few strands of silver, but he appeared to be no older than his early to midfifties, much too young and too good-looking to have a thirty-six-year-old son.
He took his time assessing her, and she didn’t have any difficulty recognizing that straight-on, no-holds-barred gaze as a mirror of his son’s. As she returned his scrutiny, she knew she would have to prove herself worthy. Still, he gave her a warm smile and extended his hand.
“I’m Jim Bonner. Glad we’re finally getting to meet.”
“Jane Darlington.”
His smile disappeared as his eyebrows slammed together. He released her hand. “Most women around here take their husband’s name when they get married.”
“I’m not from around here, and the name is Darlington. I’m also thirty-four years old.”
Behind her back, she heard a choking sound. Jim Bonner laughed. “You don’t say.”
“I certainly do. Thirty-four and getting older by the second.”
“That’s enough, Jane.” The warning note in Cal’s voice advised her not to reveal any more secrets, but he might not have spoken.
“You don’t look sick.”
“I’m not.” She felt something brush her back and realized she’d lost the elastic holding her French braid.
“She started feeling better a couple of hours ago,” Cal interjected. “Must not have been the flu after all.”
Jane turned far enough to give him a faintly pitying look—she wasn’t going to support him in his lies—but he pretended not to see.
Jim picked up an X-Man comic from the counter and regarded it quizzically. “Book-Of-The-Month-Club?”
“Jane reads them for relaxation. You want a beer, Dad?”
“No. I’m on my way to the hospital.”
Concern drove away the caustic remark Jane had been about to make regarding the comic. “Is something wrong?”
“How about a sandwich?” Cal said too quickly. “Jane, make Dad and me a couple of sandwiches.”
“I’ll be happy to make your father a sandwich. You can fix your own.”
Jim raised one eyebrow at his son in an expression Jane suspected meant something like, After all these years, is this the best you could do for a wife?
She refused to be cowed. “Are you having some tests done? I hope you’re not ill.”
Cal shot forward. “You’ve got some dirt on your face, sweetheart, from that walk you took at Annie’s. Maybe you’d better go upstairs and get cleaned up.”
“There’s no big mystery about it,” Jim said. “I’m a doctor, and I have patients to visit.”
For a moment she couldn’t move as the magnitude of the mistake she’d made once again drove its way home. She whirled on Cal. “Your father’s a doctor? How many more family skeletons do you have locked up?”
Her own heart might be breaking, but he seemed amused. “I know you were hopin’ for a moonshiner, sweetheart, but I guess this just isn’t your lucky day. Although, come to think of it—Dad, didn’t you tell me your great-grampa had a still someplace up in the mountains?”
“That’s what my father told me.” Jim studied Jane. “Why do you care?”
Cal didn’t let her reply, which was a good thing, because the lump in her throat had grown too large to permit speech. “Jane’s sort of a hillbilly groupie. She’s a city girl herself, but she likes all that backwoods stuff, and she’s been real disappointed to find out we wear shoes.”