“You and me both. Don’t they need doctors in other parts of the country?”

Shifting his weight, he pocketed the phone and looked away. “My father got sick during my fourth year of medical school. I moved back home for residency.”

“I see.” Sensing she touched a nerve, she offered a slice of strawberry pie.

With a nod, he took the plate. “Dad passed away last summer. Almost a year ago, actually.”

His voice was tinged with pain. Did one ever get over the loss of a parent? She pictured her mother and father happy and healthy on their Southwest adventure. She didn’t think so. “I’m sorry.”

He met her gaze, and his lips rose in a sad smile. “Thanks.” With a shrug, he forked a healthy bite. “So, I’ve got some pretty big shoes to fill.”

“Flipping burgers at the hospital fundraiser is a good start. Hey, at this point, I’d consider doing it for a living.”

Two metal stools were stacked by a tent post. He fetched them, dropping onto one and resting a foot on the crossbar. “That bad, huh?”

She took in a breath and scented coming rain. “So, the tale of my misfortune hasn’t made the rounds?”

“Honor compels me to confess I heard via Claire, via the charming Marion Diefenderfer, that you are temporarily unemployed.”

The guy was a consummate gentleman. She dipped her chin. “Kind of you to say ‘temporarily.’ ”

Leaning back, he clasped his hands over one knee. “So, tell me, Miss Meadows, what’s your plan now?”

A surprise guest on The Dr. Richard Bruce Show, she almost expected to be handed a mic. “Is it too late to become a professional tennis player?”

“Never, my darling.”

She slid onto the stool next to his. “Well, then that. Or maybe a private investigator. Both excellent career choices for an English major.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s always snake wrangling.”

She mimicked his pose. “Celebrity chef?”

“Race car driver?”

“Professional sports mascot?”

“With legs like yours? What a waste.” He inclined his head toward the length of thigh, knee, and shin her casual perch revealed.

Leaping to her feet, she tugged down her skirt. Having no clever retort, she snatched a piece of shoofly pie and dug in. Good lord, Esther King was right. This was a recipe to guard with one’s life.

Cheeks aglow, Claire bounced to the dessert table. “Looks like you two are having fun.”

“I was just encouraging Tessa to run for governor,” Richard said.

“She has my vote.” Claire selected the smallest piece of pie on the table.

Richard handed her a fork. “She agreed on the condition I would be her running mate.”

“Naturally.” Claire beamed.

Tessa hid behind her pie.

“And now, if you ladies will excuse me, I have burgers to flip.” Giving his hat a hearty poof, he kissed Claire on the cheek, winked at Tessa, and sauntered toward the grill.