Jake smiled, realizing that a little of Mary was rubbing off on the eldest Mac. Harold was hiding his nosy concern behind a joking façade but truth be told, Jake knew where Harold was coming from. The McDonald men had always been the marrying kind.

“How’s everything else?” Jake said. “You feeling all right?”

“Getting check-ups every two months, like clockwork. The doctor wants me to lose about forty, fifty pounds. I need to get back on the treadmill and lay off the red meat.”

“Then make that happen, brother! We all want you to hang around.”

Both men were silent, remembering last year and the scare Harold had given the family when he’d gone into cardiac arrest at a church picnic. Fortunately one of the members was a nurse who knew CPR. She revived him and got him to the hospital with no major damage. Harold had become the first McDonald to have his heart tested and live to tell the story.

Harold broke the silence. “The wife and I are thinking about hosting Thanksgiving dinner this year. There’s a bed and breakfast not far from our house and those of you who don’t bunk down here or at Mama’s can use those rooms. So put that on your calendar. And invite that woman who’s got you holding your own.”

40

40

Dominique forced herself out from under the covers. It had been a crazy week and between her increased workload and her workouts with Jake, staying in bed all day sounded like a wonderful, if impossible, option. She peeked at the clock and was dismayed to see that it was 9:45. The game started at noon, giving her a little over two hours to get dressed, swing by the offices, and get to the stadium. It had taken everything she had not to cancel and go straight to work, but the look in Justin’s eyes as he talked about the plays they’d planned for their opponents, the Panthers, made being a no-show not an option. She’d decided to watch as much of the game as she could and then, after the Hurricanes had clinched the victory, she’d slip out of the stands and head over to Capricious.

An hour and a half later, Dominique walked into the Hurricanes’ stands as if she owned them. She wore form-flattering chocolate-colored velvet pants, a multicolored striped turtleneck and a deep purple cashmere poncho. Her gold-colored suede and leather ankle boots took the ensemble to another level and Dominique’s flawless hair and makeup looked runway-ready. Dominique had learned a long time ago that no matter how one felt, as long as they looked good, it would be a better day.