Page 8 of Their Stormy Reunion

He nodded.

He still wasn’t agreeing with me. He was just nodding, or saying ‘I hear you,’ but no real agreement.

The bastard.

“I know what you’re doing,” I hissed.

He smiled slowly, and I felt my bones melt.

My parents came out the door, back into the waiting room. Dad was in a wheelchair. He was looking even more tired than when he’d gone in. I could see that Mom was rattled. It had not gone well. Michael and I stood up at the same time. As soon as Dad saw us—okay when he saw Michael—he plastered a big smile on his face.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Michael. Damned doctors. Always poking and prodding. I tell you what, they’re damned vampires.”

“What did they have to say?” I asked.

He turned to me and frowned. “No need to stir up a hornet’s nest. I tell you what, since Michael’s with us, maybe we can go out. I haven’t had a meal out in I don’t know how long. I’ve been hankering for a bacon cheeseburger from Pearl’s. Maybe some onion rings and a shake.”

“Bob, honey, that’s not going to be good for your digestion,” my mom said softly. She was right; I’d seen the finely cut up chicken and applesauce she’d been serving him for dinner. Heck, most of it came back uneaten. Dad was out of his ever-loving mind.

“Woman, I know what I can handle.” He winked at Michael. “What do you think? I’m buying.”

“I’m so hungry, I could eat two burgers,” Michael said. “I sure hope there’s leftovers. And you better guard your onion rings, Mr. Vickers, those are my favorites.”

“What’s with this Mr. Vicker’s shit? You used to call me Bob.” Dad grinned again. “I suppose I could share some of my onion rings with you.”

Mom looked at Michael like he hung the moon. I have to admit, I was pretty impressed by the way he’d just finessed things. He was not the man I remembered. But hell, Michael had been twenty-two when I had known him last. Now he was thirty-one. Apparently, he’d done a lot of growing up.

Michael helped Dad into my SUV again, and I drove us to Pearl’s, with Michael following us. Looking at the parking lot, I could tell we’d arrive before the lunchtime rush. I parked in the handicapped parking spot.

“What are you doing?” Dad growled. “This is illegal. You don’t have a handicap tag. Nash’ll fine you for sure.”

“Nash?” I asked.

“He’s the sheriff, but you wouldn’t know, now, would you? He’s been the sheriff here for the last three years.”

“Dad, I’m just parking here until Michael helps you inside, then I’ll park in another spot.” I kept my voice even, but it was tough.

“See, Bob, she’s going to obey the law,” my mom said soothingly, in a rare case of defending me.

There was a knock on the passenger side window. Michael was smiling as he opened the door. “Y’all ready for lunch?” he asked. “I’m starving.”

“Damn right I am, Son. But I don’t need your help getting out. I’m feeling pretty good today,” my dad told Michael.

“You can just use me how you want. Maybe just for balance.”

“Yeah, that’d be good,” my dad admitted.

I watched as Michael once again handled my dad with such tactful consideration that dad didn’t even realize he was being helped. Despite being so sick, Dad was still a big man, and Michael held his weight like it was nothing.

When Mom and Dad were out of the car, Dad rapped his knuckles on the glass. “Move the car, Fallon.”

I nodded. Finding another spot would give me some time to get my temper under control.

When I walked in, Pearl was already smiling and talking to my parents and Michael, then she saw me.

“Fallon. I didn’t expect to see you again.” Her voice was cold. Pearl was one of the nicest people in town. She welcomed everybody into her restaurant and having her greet me like this hit me like a punch in the gut. It was stupid of me to have thought I’d get any other kind of welcome no matter how nice she was. My bad.

I could only give a chin tilt in response.