Yvette’s words came back to her.
Mark was in a serious accident . . . He was critically injured and another firefighter died . . . It’s a shock at first.
Riley parked her car in the teacher’s lot and cut the engine.
He’d been burned.
That’s what she’d missed that night as he’d sat in his truck in the dark, avoiding looking at her outright. That’s what she’d missed when she’d threatened him with a bat.
Riley closed her eyes and groaned. “I threatened him with a bat.” She leaned against the seat. Shame had filled her in the bakery, but it had faded some as she watched Mark interact with people who obviously cared about him. He was careful. Self-conscious about where he looked and where he stood. Who he faced.
His hood had fallen back as he’d laughed. Red scarring outlined his eye, cheek, and jaw along the right side of his face, seeming to continue down his neck. More than anything, though, Riley noticed the laugh. The laugh had bubbled out of him like a solid reminder that behind whatever made him wear that hood was only surface. The laugh was who he was. The smile that broke across his face when he’d caught her studying him was who he was.
A smile that stole hearts.
A couple of teachers were talking over their coffee in the staff room as Riley entered. She greeted them and set the box of pastries on the table next to another. As she turned to go, Dalton Gainer entered and smiled brightly.
“Hey, new girl.”
“Oh, hey,” Riley said. They were almost past the first semester, but that never stopped Dalton from using the greeting anytime he saw her.
“Ready for the weekend?” He drew closer and leaned against the table next to her. The scent of his aftershave filled the air, mixing with the smell of maple bars.
“I will be after today,” she said.
“Isn’t that the truth?” He reached back and grabbed a donut from one of the boxes with a napkin. “Got any big plans later?”
“Nothing specific.” Riley didn’t know what to think of Dalton. He taught history and coached both football and basketball, and, she had to admit, was very easy to look at.
“The Crandalls are having a bonfire at their place tonight, and a bunch of people are going. I thought maybe you’d like to go.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “With you?”
He laughed, tossing his fair head back. “Don’t look so skeptical. I just thought that with you being new in town, this might be a good chance to get to know people.”
“And you,” she challenged.
He shrugged, not the least bit concerned. “And me. What could it hurt?”
“Don’t you have a football game to coach?”
“It’s tomorrow. We play Entiat.”
She vaguely remembered. These smaller schools didn’t have lights on the fields, so a lot of games were played Saturday afternoons before dark.
“Are you chaperoning the dance after?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I think with all of the play hours I logged, they let me sit this one out.”
“Shame,” he said, his gaze lingering.
“Yes,” she said. “Chaperoning high school dances is the absolute highlight of my career.”
He arched a brow. “Touché.”
Riley had heard of the bonfire. Just that morning in the bakery, Mark’s friend had invited him, and Mark had graciously turned him down. “Where do the Crandalls live?”
“Just up past Sunvale Vineyard on High Road. Does that mean you’ll come?”
“I’ll come.”
He grinned. “Great. I’ll pick you up at seven?”
“I’ll meet you out there,” she said.
His grin dropped. “Really?”
She smiled. “Really.” She turned, and he followed.
“Maybe I was too subtle. I thought we could, uh, go together.” He threw a glance toward the other teachers, who attempted to look like they weren’t listening.
She faced him. “I did catch your subtlety. And I appreciate the offer. But I have this rule about men.”
“What’s that?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“I always drive myself on the first date. That way I have a way out if I need it.”
Dalton grinned. “So, this is a first date.”
She’d walked into that one. She smiled at his transparency. “I’ll see you in the auditorium.”
“Great,” he said. “I’ll be the one falling asleep.”
“The one?” There were always several nodding heads during the often-dry presentations.
He laughed as she walked out of the room.
A bonfire might be fun. Out in the country under a cold November night sky. She’d gotten over her anxiety of meeting people within the first few weeks. Miracle Creek seemed wonderfully oblivious of Hollywood gossip.
And Dalton was a nice enough guy. He’d led a few teacher staff meetings and seemed pretty on the ball when it came to his career. She knew little about his private life, and experience had taught her not to assume anything. A lot of women in her situation had the same rule for meeting a guy on a first date: drive yourself.
Too bad there wasn’t a clear rule for what to do when things didn’t go so well with someone you thought you knew.
As she unlocked the door to the art room, Yvette approached, file folders in one hand and a huge scarf around her shoulders.
“Good morning, Riley. Last day of the week.”
“Yes, thank goodness.”
Yvette followed her into the classroom, switching the lights on when Riley didn’t. “Something wrong?”
“Oh.” She set her stuff down on her desk. “I had my eyes opened this morning, and it didn’t feel very good.”
Yvette raised her eyebrows, waiting.
Riley sat down at her desk and rested her chin on her fist. “Remember how you told me to make up my own mind about Mark Rivers?”
Yvette nodded. “You figured it out, huh?”
She covered her face with her hands. “Yes.”
“So that’s a good thing, right?”
Riley slapped her hands on her desk. “Yvette! I threatened him with a baseball bat!”
Yvette chuckled, but stopped when she saw Riley’s expression. “True, but it didn’t go beyond that, and he had you spooked, so no harm, no foul. What happened this morning?”
Riley sighed. “I saw him this morning at the bakery. He was very gracious.”
“He spoke to you?”
Riley nodded, pulling a water bottle out of her bag.
“What did he say?”
“Something about Bavarian cream and using it to stave off my ferocious swing.”
Yvette chuckled again. Riley joined her this time.
“Well,” Yvette said, “Lette Mae’s Bavarian cream is miraculous.”
“I know, I ate an entire bollen in the parking lot.” Riley had discovered the round, cream custard-filled pastries topped with fudgy chocolate the day after she’d moved into town, and she was hooked. Lette Mae had told her they were a specialty in the region, brought over by the Dutch. She lifted the water bottle to her lips and drank, hoping it would help wash down the pastry sitting in her gut. Or maybe that was a knot of guilt.
“It sounds like he has a good sense of humor about it, which is also pretty miraculous. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”
“Yeah,” Riley said, not quite convinced. “He was smiling.” She shook her head. “But you should have seen his expression when one of his friends invited him to a bonfire tonight.”
Yvette clicked her tongue and grimaced. “I can imagine.”
Riley nodded. “He left after that.” She paused, then said, “Dalton invited me to that bonfire, though I don’t think I’ll be able to see it the same way ever again.”
“Dalton Gainer a
sked you out?”
Riley looked up at Yvette, wary of the change in her tone. “Yes, just now.”
Yvette looked down, sorting through some student sketches on Riley’s desk. “Hmm. Are you going, then?” She glanced at Riley.
“Sure. I told him I’d meet him there.”
Yvette lifted her head and smiled, but it wasn’t deep. “Well, I hope you have a good time.” She checked her watch. “We best get going.”
“What is it? Is there a rule about dating staff that I’m not aware of?”
“No. Nothing like that. It’s just . . .”
“What?” Riley couldn’t imagine why Yvette would care if she went to the bonfire with Dalton. From all appearances, she and Dalton got along well enough. “Oh! Are you and Dalton—”
“Oh heavens, no.”
“Then what?”
Yvette shook her head. “It’s none of my business.”
“You know I consider you a friend. One of the few I have here.”
Yvette smiled at that. “Thank you. I consider you the same. And just like with Mark, you’re going to have to make up your own mind about Dalton. Just . . . be careful. Masks come in all shapes and sizes, you know?”
Riley nodded. That, she knew.
Mark hadn’t told his dad about the bonfire or what happened at the bakery. He hadn’t even mentioned Nate or Gus being in town.
But somehow his dad found out about it and decided Mark was going.
“What if I don’t go?” Mark had asked.
“What if you do?” His dad folded his arms. “Nate and Gus—those boys prayed over you. They shed tears. The least you can do is go to their party and say hi. The bonfire’s clear in the back away from the house, and there are always people inside with drink and food. You don’t even have to see it.”
“I’d smell it.”
“But you’d know it’s a bonfire and nothing else. Get out, Mark. Go see people. Go see your friends. They miss you.”
And that was that.
Mark sat in his truck in the large circular drive in front of the Crandall home, where he’d attended birthday parties and raided the fridge and taken prom pictures, and he was shaking like a cat on a telephone pole.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, and started the ignition. Before he could back up, a car pulled in next to him. He glanced over and saw Riley Madigan get out of the car and stare at the big house. He shifted into park.
She brushed her dark hair back with her fingers. It rested on her shoulders, reflecting the light from the house like silk threads. She popped her trunk and walked to the back of her car. Mark pulled the key out of the ignition. His truck stilled.
What was he doing? What did he think he could do?
His fingers found the door handle, and he climbed out, pulling his jacket hood up higher.
“Oh!”
He turned and jerked back. Riley was directly behind him, her hand over her chest.
“You scared me half to death,” she said breathlessly.
He looked away, down, at the truck, shrinking into his hood.
She put a hand on his arm, and he stilled. “No, I didn’t mean . . . I meant I’d grabbed my scarf and wasn’t watching where I was going.” She held up a green scarf the color of her eyes.
He peered at her. She had freckles. He hadn’t noticed before.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” she said as she wrapped the scarf around her neck.
How had she known that? Then he remembered. The bakery.
“I’m still not sure if I’m going in,” he said, finding his voice.
“Neither am I.” She looked up at the sky. “It’s a beautiful night, though.” She shivered in her vest jacket.
“You’re cold.”
“I didn’t want to be stuck wearing a heavier coat if the bonfire was too warm.” She rubbed her arms with her hands. “California spoils a body. I should be fine though. Reminds me of—” She stopped herself.
“Of what?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Of home, I guess.”
He wasn’t sure what to say. Should he offer her his jacket? Ask her about California? Was that her home?
“I wanted to tell you,” she said, saving him from the silence, “that I’m sorry I was so quick to judge you the other night. I think I was wrong.”
“You’re sure about that?” he asked.
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Well, I can’t be absolutely sure.”
“So now you’re being cautious?”
“I’m always cautious.”
He looked down, toeing the ground. “Except when you’ve got a baseball bat in your hands.”
“Caution shows itself in many forms.”
He peeked up at her. She was watching him, studying him again.
“I get it,” he said. “Why you thought I was . . . you know.”
“No, you don’t,” she said, lifting her chin. “I’ve been in scary situations before. I’ve been followed by men in the dark—”
“Aw, man. I’m sorry.” Regret surged through him.
“No, it’s okay. I mean it wasn’t okay. But you never know . . .” She trailed off. “So, I’m careful.”
“And I’m an idiot,” he said.
She laughed quietly, then stuck out her hand. “I’m Riley Madigan. I teach at the high school. But you knew that.”
He hesitated, then placed his hand in hers. “Mark Rivers. Stalker extraordinaire.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mark.”
He looked down at their hands, and her gaze followed. He wore his sleeve, but the mottled skin and scarring on his fingers was visible, ragged, and he fought the urge to yank his hand away.
“Is this okay?” she asked. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?”
Her questions somehow eased his anxiety. He shook his head. “A lot of it’s numb, actually. I can’t feel much here or here”—he showed her the places on the back of his hand and fingers—“except for some pressure.” He lifted her hand and opened it in his left. “But I can feel this.” He ran his right fingertips over her palm. It was soft, smooth, and warm.
He glanced at her, and she caught his gaze. Neither of them moved.
He lowered her hand, letting it go. She blinked, looking back up at the house. He put his hands in his pockets, still feeling the silk of her skin on his fingertips.
“Everyone’s getting ready for the holidays,” he said lamely. The Crandalls had put up their usual display of colored lights and a big star above the front door. This year they’d added an inflatable snowman—slightly out of place on the leaf-strewn lawn. The little snow they’d had hadn’t stayed.
“Does everyone put up their Christmas lights so early?” she asked. “We just had Halloween.”
“You don’t like Christmas?” he asked.
She drew her gaze from the house. “I like it in December.”
He nodded. “It gets cold here pretty fast after Halloween. Weather can be unpredictable so close to the mountains. Most people get their decorations up before it freezes.”
“Oh. I was beginning to think you all were Christmas zealots.”
“I never said we weren’t.”
She smiled slowly, and he had to look away, glad the thump of his heart couldn’t show through his jacket.
He kicked his toe at the ground, considering the topic of Christmas. “I wanted to ask you something,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I was wondering—”
“There you are.” Dalton Gainer came striding down the lawn. From the goofy grin on Dalton’s face, Mark guessed he wasn’t talking to him. He met them at the drive, eyes on Riley. “Were you coming up? I’ve been waiting.”
“Of course,” Riley said. “Mark was about to ask me something.”
“Hey, how’s our hometown hero?”
> Mark kept his face partially hidden. “Great. You?” Dalton was a few years older than he was and had made high school All-American in their division in football and State in track. Mark had idolized the guy, then had shattered all his records. Dalton had never liked that.
“Perfect,” Dalton answered, displaying white teeth. He refocused on Riley. “Are you cold? Here.” He pulled off his leather jacket and put it around her shoulders. “You’re not in LA anymore.”
Riley shrugged under the weight of the jacket. “Thanks. I’m sure it will be warm closer to the bonfire.”
“People are already peeling off layers.” He winked, then turned to Mark. “You coming, Rivers?”
“I was just about to leave.”
Riley turned to Mark. “Didn’t you just get here?”
Mark lifted a shoulder. “I got farther than I thought I would.”
She dropped her eyes and hid a smile. He liked that.
“Now that you mention it,” Dalton said, “it’s been a couple of years since I’ve seen you—well—at anything.” He chuckled. “You’ve become quite the hermit, Rivers. Welcome back.”
Mark saw Riley look at Dalton with what he hoped was annoyance. She turned back to Mark. “What did you want to ask me?”
“It can wait.”
She hesitated, then smiled and nodded before Dalton led her away.
“Don’t be a stranger, Rivers,” Dalton called behind him with a raised hand.
Riley waved.
Mark kept his hands in his pockets. “I might take you up on that, Gainer,” he muttered.
Riley let Dalton guide her up to the house. She’d wanted to keep talking to Mark. Wanted him to keep revealing pieces of himself.
Which was why she let Dalton pull her away.
She’d done what she’d set out to do. She’d apologized to Mark about the other night, and he’d accepted it. The memory of his fingers running across her palm like feathers made her shiver, and she looked back. The truck was gone.
“Are you still cold? Come on, new girl. Let’s get you to the bonfire.” He placed his hand on the small of her back to direct her through the house and outside again. He grabbed drinks along the way and offered her one.
Miracle Creek Christmas Page 5
