Page 7 of Sweet Obsession (Honeysuckle, Texas #5)

Blake surveyed the long table Alice Sweet had set up on the back porch.

Dressed in gingham and good intentions, the table looked more than inviting.

The entire setting soothed like a balm to the soul, he only hoped Mrs. Sweet’s plan of inviting his grandmother and Doc Conroy to lunch at the same time worked.

Abreast of the situation, the town doctor had easily agreed to a little subterfuge over lunch.

There really wasn’t any other way Blake could think of to get his stubborn grandmother to see a doctor.

A pitcher of sweet tea, the kind strong enough to put hair on a mule and only a good Texan could appreciate, rested center stage along with a fresh batch of Miss Alice’s cornbread muffins. Jillian had phoned him twenty minutes ago that she’d picked up his grandmother and should be here shortly.

Chuckling, Doc Conroy came from the kitchen carrying a platter of fried chicken. A few steps behind, Miss Alice cradled a massive bowl of potato salad, while sharing the tail end of a story about Mr. Sweet, a new foal, an over-protective mare, and the hole in his beloved lucky Stetson.

The sound of car doors slamming in the distance alerted Blake to the arrival of his best friend’s little sister and his grandmother. The show was about to begin.

An hour later, their bellies full and their hearts merry with story after story of Blake’s childhood and the Sweets adventures, Doc continued to keep a close eye on Sara Kirby.

“Sara,” Doc smiled at the older woman, “do you remember what Abigail Fine said was the secret ingredient in her apple pie?”

“I do,” his grandmother beamed, “and if I shared, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore.”

That made the doctor grin. “You always did have a memory like an elephant. I bet, if I gave you three words to remember, you’d have no trouble recalling them later on.”

“Of course not.”

“Okay. Let’s see if everyone is as good as you.” He turned to Alice. “Football, daisy, shoe. Think about those words, remember them, and repeat when I ask you.”

Alice sweet softly mouthed the three words and nodded.

Doc did the same with everyone at the table, giving Sara Kirby the words house, bird, and puppet. The conversation circled around apple pie recipes when Doc looked at Blake’s grandmother. “What were your three words, Sara?”

Grinning like the Cheshire cat, Sara proudly straightened her shoulders and easily repeated, “House, bird, and…” her smile slipped and her brows buckled. “It’s on the tip of my tongue.”

“No worries.” Doc’s smile remained in place. “Was it a child’s toy?”

“Oh, yes,” Sara brightened, “a marionette.”

Everyone glanced at each other. Blake had no idea if using a synonym for puppet counted or not.

“Alice,” Doc looked to his hostess, “I want to write this potato salad recipe down. May I have a sheet of paper?”

“Of course.” In on the disguised tests, Alice Sweet jumped up and conveniently found a sheet of paper and a pen waiting at the counter just inside the door.

Doc scribbled a few things and then slid the paper to his side between him and Sara, pushed to his feet, and halfway to the kitchen door, turned to the older woman grinning at her grandson.

“Sara, I don’t want to lose that paper. Would you please fold it in half then set it on my seat?

I’ll get it when I come back from inside. ”

“You don’t want me to leave it on the table?”

He shook his head. “I might forget it.”

The older woman shrugged, reached for the sheet of paper, folded it carefully in half, pressed the edge neatly, but instead of placing it on the seat as asked, set it on the table where the doc had sat. That much, Blake was positive, was not a good sign.

Stories continued to flow. Preston and Carson, who had joined them for lunch, pushed away from the table in an almost synchronized move.

Despite the tension coiling in his gut at this casual lunch that was anything but, Blake couldn’t help but smile at the brothers.

All the Sweet boys, now men, were so different and yet, in many ways, so much alike.

Their love for the land, their heritage, and each other, topped the list.

“I’ve got to get back to work,” Carson said first.

Preston nodded. “Ditto.” His wife trotting up the back steps, giving her father a kiss on the cheek and then turning to her husband, eyes sparkling, gave him a slower, sweeter peck on the lips.

The not so private moment held Blake’s rapt attention.

How had all these siblings signed up for a business deal and wound up so in love even a blind man could see it?

“Sorry I’m late.” Sarah Sue stepped away from her husband. “There was a situation with a placement I recently made. Had to unravel that mess.”

“Oh, dear.” Alice Sweet’s face crumpled with concern.

“It’s all fixed now, but it seems to be getting more and more difficult to place dogs right now. Everyone is tightening their belts and their budgets.”

The way Miss Alice sighed, Blake had the feeling this wasn’t the first time the family had held this conversation.

Once all those who had to return to work had left, the conversation shifted to Garrett and his students.

“You’d be amazed how much children struggle now reading a clock face.” Doc casually interjected and everyone knew this was the next test. “We can all draw clocks, but today’s kids, everything is digital.”

Immediately, Ms. Alice retrieved a sheet of paper from the stack she’d brought to the table earlier, and doodled a face clock. “Is this what you mean?”

The doc seemed to study it as if imbedded on the page were the winning lottery numbers. “Exactly.”

“You try it.” Ms. Alice slid a page to her daughter, then to his grandmother. Within minutes, as hoped, Sara Kirby had doodled a clock face, slowly, but accurately. Blake felt a slip of relief,…but not enough.

Lunch had gone much more smoothly than Jillian had expected. Even though she had the utmost confidence in Doc Conroy, she’d still had her doubts that Mrs. Kirby would cooperate so easily. She should never have doubted the doc.

With the family scattered back to their respective work, Mrs. Kirby cheerfully sat in one of the rockers, sharing a long-winded tale with Jillian’s mom about a prize-winning rooster and a lovesick hen.

In the meantime, Blake, the doc, and Jillian took advantage of the two women happily laughing and chatting to clear a few plates and empty tea glasses and carried them inside where the doctor could update Blake on his findings.

“Am I crazy?” were the first words Blake spit out before setting the dirty dishes on the counter.

Heaving a deep sigh, Doc shook his head.

“I don’t think so. I would have preferred to see her remember all three words on her own without prompting.

Combine that with her forgetting the second half of the paper folding instructions, and I’d feel pretty confident in saying that Sara is indeed in the early stages of dementia. ”

“Alzheimer’s?” Blake’s gaze had narrowed and his voice had dropped to a near whisper.

Not wanting to intrude on the private conversation, Jillian inched toward the back door.

“No.” Blake grabbed her hand. “Stay. Please.”

Jillian nodded and they both turned to Preston’s father-in-law.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Doc continued. “She’s going to need more tests and even then, it’s pretty much a guess if it’s Alzheimer’s or any other forms of dementia. I’m going to call a friend of mine in Miller’s Creek. He’s a neurologist specializing in memory loss.”

“I want the best.” Blake shoved his hands into his pockets.

“I know son. Dr. Crawford is top in his field and going to Miller’s Creek will be much easier on your grandmother than hauling her all the way to Dallas.”

His lips pressed into a fine line, Blake nodded.

The doc grabbed his little black bag, a throwback to the days when even city doctors made house calls, and nodded at them both. “We’ll see what Dr. Crawford has to say and move forward from there.”

Blake and the doc shook hands. Doc Conroy stuck his neck out the back door to say goodbye, and the kitchen all sorted out, the two of them returned to the porch.

Somewhere between gathering up the dirty dishes and saying goodbye to the doc, Jillian’s mom had turned her phone on.

Both women tapping the wooden floorboards to the tune of a familiar country song.

Across from her, Blake stared off into the distance.

She’d give anything to know what he was thinking, and what, if anything, she could do to help.

Taking a chance, she stood beside him, leaning against the porch railing as Sara and Alice sang loudly about friends in low places. “You didn’t get your voice from your grandmother,” Jillian teased.

As she’d hoped, the taunt brought a smile to his lips. “Poor Grams. Loves to sing, can’t carry a tune in a paper bag.”

A low squeal that should have been a note, made them both chuckle more heavily.

The opening notes of a familiar song filled the afternoon air, bringing her giggles to a stop. Blake’s voice, smooth and achingly familiar, began singing “Honeysuckle Memories.”

Blake froze, his expression shifting from surprise to something almost vulnerable.

“Oh my stars.” Mrs. Kirby clapped her hands together and leaned forward in her rocker. “It’s you, Blake.” Leaning back with a smile as wide as her face, the older woman set the rocker in motion. “I just love hearing you on the radio, but this is a new song.”

His gaze locked on something in the distance, Blake only nodded.

Sara pushed to her feet, and crossing the short distance to the railing, tugged her grandson beside her. “Where are your manners? A good song comes on and a boy should always ask his grandmother to dance.”

A smile, sweet, soft, and shaky, tugged at Blake’s lips. “Of course. May I?” Bowing at the waist, she waved an arm across in a wide gesture.

The song only halfway through, Sara Kirby sucked in a deep breath and took a step back. “I’m getting too old to make it through an entire song.” Stretching her arm, she snatched Jillian’s hand, tugged her into the space by Blake and took a step back.

Blake raised his brows, a silent question, seeking approval. She put on a smile and nodded, stepping into his embrace, and a small piece of heaven. Lost in the moment, she almost leaped backward when the phone in her pocket buzzed against her hip.

When the song came to an end, Sara Kirby popped up from her seat with a great deal more energy than Jillian would have expected after her confession of being too old to dance, and applauded loudly.

Still holding her hand, Blake took a bow and smiled at his grandmother, then her, before letting go of her hand.

Mourning the end of the song, she took a few steps back, leaned against the far wall, and searched her phone.

Her mother and Mrs. Kirby singing along to another tune, she felt, more than heard, Blake come stand beside her. “Anything wrong?”

“Hmm?” She glanced up at him.

“You’re frowning.”

“Oh, no. Not really.”

“No, or not really?” His brows rose high on his forehead and his head tipped just slightly to the side.

“No,” she clarified. Just because she was enjoying having Blake around didn’t mean that a text from candidate number seven was a bad thing. So why didn’t she want to tell Blake that she was one step closer to finding a temporary husband?