Harper sighed. “Haven’t seen him this week at all. He’s been helping his friend’s widow take care of all the business involved. I wonder why we didn’t have more when Granny went.”

“Uncle Zed took care of it for us,” Tawny said. “So is this going to get serious between y’all?”

“Might be,” Harper answered. “Time will tell. I’m not rushing anything. And you and Nick?”

“Not rushing anything, either, but there’s definitely a spark like I’ve never felt before. What if we all do get serious? What happens to this place?”

Harper raised a shoulder. “We run it like always. We just have someone to keep us warm in the evenings. I’d better get back in case some of the folks checking in want to stop in the café for burgers.”

Friday was so busy that Zed tried his best to reschedule his appointment, but Harper wouldn’t have any part of it. She said that she could make burgers and that Tawny would come in from the laundry to help her if she got into a bind. So there he was sitting in the waiting room looking at a magazine and wishing to hell he was anywhere else in the world.

“Mr. Williamson.” The nurse finally called his name, and he followed her back down a hallway to a corner where they kept the scale. “First we get your weight. Put your feet on the marked places.”

He held his breath and waited for the digital number to pop up. Dammit! He’d lost another eight pounds since he’d been here last, but he hadn’t had much appetite since Annie had died. Besides, he’d worn his good shoes this time, not his combat boots that weighed at least five pounds.

She tapped the end of her pen against a tablet and motioned him into a room. “Sit right here, and we’ll get your blood pressure and temperature.” She busied herself with the blood pressure cuff and thermometer and recorded the measurements.

“Doctor will be in shortly,” she said when she finished and took her fancy-shmancy tablet out the door with her.

They had always put him and Annie in a room that offered an assortment of brochures about constipation and diarrhea or about arthritis and rheumatism. He chuckled and pointed to the one about heart failure.

“That’s the one I need to tuck into my pocket, Annie. I didn’t mind coming here when we did our appointments together. This ain’t fun,” he grumbled. “Damned old doctor, anyway. Why don’t he just leave me alone and let me die when the good Lord is willin’ to shuffle me off this spinnin’ pile of dirt? He didn’t need to be comin’ to the café and upsettin’ our girls.”

“Who are you talking to?” Dr. Tipton asked as he carried another of those abominable devices into the room.

“Myself. I’m goin’ batshit crazy. Shoot me up with a double dose of tranquilizers and send me home,” Zed said. “What happened to pen and paper? What’re you goin’ to do if all that technological crap fails?”

“Took me a long time to get used to this, but it does help keep things in order better than all that paper. How are you feelin’? Your blood pressure is elevated. You been takin’ your medication?”

“When I remember it,” Zed said.

“Been watchin’ the salt?”

“Watchin’ it go right in my mouth. I ain’t goin’ to stop eatin’ bacon. I’d just as soon not eat if I can’t salt my food. Why don’t you just let me eat what I want and die when I’m supposed to?”

“Zedekiah, I’m tryin’ to take care of you like Annie told me to the last time y’all came in here. But you are not makin’ it easy,” Dr. Tipton fussed at him. “Don’t you want to spend more time with the granddaughters?”

“Much as God gives me, but I’d rather spend eternity with Annie,” Zed declared.

“You are one stubborn old coot.”

“That I am. Can I go home now?”

“Let me listen to your lungs and heart.” The doctor pressed a stethoscope on his chest. “Promise me you won’t miss your diuretics.”

“I won’t miss them a bit when I’m dead.”

“Your heart is continuing to get weaker, and your lungs are shot. It won’t be long until you are going to need oxygen.” The doctor took a step back.

Zed hopped down off the table. “I’m not haulin’ around one of them tanks, but the news about my heart is the best I’ve had in weeks. Any use in making an appointment for another three months?”

“Four weeks.” Dr. Tipton wrote on his pad. “Definitely no more than six weeks or I’ll come back to the café and tell those girls exactly what condition you are in.”

“I hear you.” Zed hopped off the table and walked out without even hesitating at the office window.

Black clouds were boiling up from the southwest, and he didn’t want to be caught out in a tornado. They hadn’t had a bad one in more than five years now, but the last one had picked up debris from half the state of Texas and dumped it in the lake, then sucked up enough water to baptize the beer joint up the road with it. Folks inside got sobered up real quick when the roof went flying off and the flood came down on top of them. Zed had heard that the church was packed the next day.

He was still chuckling about that when he got home. No cars in the café parking lot or in front of the store, so he wasn’t a bit surprised to find all the sisters, plus Brook, waiting in the café. And just as he figured, it was Harper who asked the first question, which was no surprise, either. “So what did the doctor say?”