by Lexi Eddings
But not her nose.
If only he’d ditch that heavy aftershave . . .
“You’re right about family money,” she said. “I steer clear of it as much as I can.”
She didn’t expect anyone else to understand how she felt about the Walker fortune. Most people would kill to have what her family could hand to her. But what they didn’t realize was that nothing in this life is free.
Her parents’ money came with shackles. The shackles of someone else’s expectations for her life. Heather wouldn’t allow herself to be manacled by them.
She found herself telling Skyler about going to the state university instead of a private college to get her nursing degree because she could pay for it herself between part-time jobs and scholarships. He made approving noises.
“So aren’t you going to ask why I didn’t go to med school and become a doctor instead?” she asked. Most people did.
“No, I get it,” Skyler said. “You want to be the first line of care for people who need you, not someone who just breezes through on rounds.”
Heather felt an unexpected rush of warmth toward Skyler. He understood her. A little, anyway.
Maybe Lacy’s right. Maybe I have been too choosy. Is there a time when a girl should stop thinking about settling down and just settle instead?
Her mother was in her head again. She gave herself an inward shake.
Skyler shifted his weight, clearly impatient. “So when’s the party starting anyway?”
“Don’t get your knickers in a knot. Folks will think you’ve gotten all citified. I know things move faster back East, but here in Coldwater Cove, everything happens when it happens,” Heather said.
“Can I help it if I’m looking forward to dancing with you?”
That gave her a rosy glow. A compliment was a compliment, and she’d not had many of late.
That stuff Michael Evans said so does not count.
“The band is just now getting set up,” she said. “Besides, the reunion dance can’t start until we sing the fight song.”
As if on cue, Mr. Whittle, a round little man who’d been the high school principal since the Flood, stepped up to the microphone. “Welcome home, Fighting Marmots!”
The gymnasium erupted in cheers.
“We’re so glad you’ve all come back to the place that gave you your start. We’re proud of you and it does our hearts good to see that you’re still proud to be one of us,” he said. “I know you’ll all do your best to join me now as we sing the school fight song!”
“Oh, no,” Skyler said under his breath. “If I remember right, Mr. Whittle sings like a buzz saw.”
“You remember right. But it’s OK.” She pointed surreptitiously to where her father had stationed himself next to the sound equipment. “My dad has it covered. As soon as the singing starts, Mr. Whittle will be losing his microphone.”
Skyler laughed. It was a pleasantly male sound. Heather found herself laughing with him. Then Mrs. Paderewski, the town’s piano teacher, struck a chord on the upright near the stage at the end of the gymnasium, and the singing began.
The Coldwater Cove fight song borrowed its tune from “Go U Northwestern,” but the lyrics were uniquely altered to reference the team name.
Go, Fighting Marmots, squeeze right through that line,
With your tails a-flying, we will cheer you ev’ry time,
Hey! Rah, Rah!
Go, Fighting Marmots, made for victory
Spread far the fame of our proud name,
Go, Fighting Marmots, never tame.
(whistling and foot stamping for four beats)
Go, You Marmots, go!
(Shouted) Hit ’em hard! Hit ’em low!
Make ’em wish they weren’t so slow!
Fighting Marmots, go!
When the song ended, the clapping and whistles rattled the rafters. Mr. Whittle’s microphone mysteriously began working again as he thanked the crowd for that rousing rendition and ordered them all to have a good time.
Heather caught her dad’s eye from across the room. He winked at her. His electrical sleight of hand had spared the principal’s feelings by not exposing the fact that he couldn’t carry a tune in a bushel basket and, at the same time, spared the gathered crowd from having to listen to him try. Her father’s action was thoughtful, well-timed, and best of all, sneaky in a good way.
Dad and I disagree on a lot, but when he gets it right, he’s my hero.
Skyler chuckled again. “That fight song is so stupid, I can’t believe people sing it with a straight face. I’d almost forgotten how ridiculous this place is,” he said. “If the other partners could see me now, they’d demote me back to the mail room.”
Heather was ready to demote him back to “unwelcome outsider” status. She loved Coldwater Cove, despite its oddities.
Or maybe because of them.
The band struck up “In the Mood,” and Skyler grabbed her hand and twirled her onto the dance floor. Before she could object, they were spinning and dipping around the room. All the steps Mrs. Kady had pounded into her came back to Heather. To her surprise, Skyler was a good dance partner.
“Remember, boys,” Mrs. Kady had said in every class, “the gentleman’s main job is to make the lady look good.”
Skyler remembered. He went out of his way to lead her with assurance and show her off with each turn. Soon a circle formed around them as others stopped dancing to watch. Despite having been irritated with Skyler when they first started, by the time the trumpet blasted its last cadenza, Heather was having a ball.
Then when they came to a swinging stop, Heather felt a strange ripple down her spine. It was the same sensation that raised the hair on her neck when she had to walk a dark alley, the same instinct that warned the browsing doe to lift her head because a hunter had her in his sights.
Someone is watching me. Even as the thought flitted through her mind, she knew it was silly. Everyone was watching her and Skyler. And everyone applauded their dancing.
Everyone except Michael Evans.
She spotted him leaning on the doorjamb under the torii gate, next to the table where folks were supposed to pick up their name tags. His expression was carefully blank as if he were completely bored and couldn’t decide whether or not it was worth his time to come all the way in. In addition to the biker leathers, he was wearing a pair of dark glasses. Heather couldn’t see his eyes behind them, but she’d bet her trust fund those steely grays were trained on her.
No one else could make her feel so spied upon. Or give her such tingly prickles while they were doing it.
Chapter 4
We should not judge other people based on their clothing.
We should look at them as if they had no clothes. Oh, wait . . .
—from Pastor Mark’s sermon on “Judge Not
Lest Ye Be Judged.” Note: Please make sure
the congregational laughter is cut from the tape
before it’s delivered to shut-ins. Mrs. Chisholm
and the rest will not be amused by their pastor
talking about naked people from the pulpit.
Even if he didn’t mean to.
The circle around Heather and Skyler closed in so folks could heap compliments on their dancing skill.
“Yes, indeed,” Darlene Bugtussle gushed as she pushed through the crowd to add her two cents. “It was like watching Dancing with the Stars, only gooder ’cuz we know who you are. Seems like Junior and me don’t never know any of them TV folk what are s’posed to be so famous. Oh, law, would you look at that. Junior’s too close to that punch bowl. Don’t think he smuggled a flask in, but you can’t never be too careful.”
Darlene zipped across the gym toward her wayward husband while Heather’s parents made a beeline toward her and her dance partner.
“Oh, Skyler, it’s so good to see you again,” her mother said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She’d always hoped for a match between Jessica and the heir to the Sweazy fortune. Of c
ourse, Jess and he had been too young to get serious in high school, but even so, Heather’s mom had encouraged Jess to apply to Brown, so she could follow Skyler to New England. But the accident ended Marcia Walker’s dream of joining two of the most prominent Coldwater families.
“I gather you’ve done well for yourself back East.” Her father shook Skyler’s hand.
Oh, my gosh! It’s like Dad’s angling for a merger, too.
“Well, of course, he has. All it takes is one glance at him and anyone can see that,” her mother said with a pointed look at Heather. Clearly, a new dream that involved Skyler Sweazy and a Walker girl was blossoming in her mother’s mind. “Isn’t it good to see him, Heather?”
“Yes, Mother,” she said dutifully. The prickly sensation in her spine had only gotten worse. She was sure there were eyeballs on her and she was just as sure, without knowing how she knew, that they belonged to Mike Evans. “Thanks for the dance, Skyler. Excuse me, please.”
She turned away and headed toward the town’s original bad boy, with every intention of giving him what for. No one was going to make her uncomfortable in her own skin.
“Hey, wait—” She heard Skyler call from behind her, but she pretended she didn’t. Not only was it a relief to get away from his cologne, but Heather was on a mission. She was out to prove to herself that Michael Evans was just another guy. He had no special draw for her. That tingly feeling was a fluke.
“Nice dance. You sure know how to use those long legs,” he said when she stopped before him. He crossed his arms over his chest. Michael, unlike Skyler, didn’t seem to be wearing strong cologne, but Heather caught a faint whiff of worn leather and an open-road sort of freshness.
The tingles grew more insistent. “What are you doing here?”
“Hey, I graduated. I’m entitled to be here.”
Only just, she almost said. Michael was supposed to be a year ahead of her and Lacy, but when she was in second grade, he was held back. Every fall, she wondered if he’d advance with the class or have to repeat another grade.
The fact that she remembered more about Michael than she’d originally thought made her feel even pricklier.
He took off his shades and stuffed them into the inside pocket of his jacket. His eyes were more unsettling than the sunglasses had been because now there was no mistaking that he was looking at her.
As if I were the last biscuit on the plate.
“Besides, even if I hadn’t graduated,” he went on, “I wouldn’t be the only one here who didn’t.”
He nodded in the direction of Junior Bugtussle, who, amazingly enough, was headed back to the buffet table. Once there, he heaped his paper plate with so much sushi, Darlene had to pull him away before he emptied the platter.
“No,” Heather said, refusing to be distracted. “I mean, why are you here instead of with your mother?”
“They kicked me out.”
She blinked in surprised. “That’s not hospital policy. Visiting hours don’t apply to family. As long as the patient is able to rest, we generally allow family to stay.”
“I wasn’t kicked out by the hospital.”
“Oh.” It was fleeting, but Heather thought she detected pain in his eyes. Then a wall rose up behind them, and he looked as cool and bored as ever. Even though his relationship with his folks was clearly strained, a hospital bed was a great place to mend fences.
Or start to.
The band began a slow tune in three-quarter time. From the corner of her eye, she could see Skyler making his way toward her, obviously intent on claiming her for a waltz. Behind him, her mother and father looked on. Their expressions were an odd mix of concern and hope. The first was about the guy in front of her and the second for the one headed her way.
They so tried to micromanage her life.
Imagine how much worse they’d be if I ever accepted a nickel from them.
“Dance with me,” she said impulsively. That would put a kink in her parents’ plans, big-time.
“What?” Michael stopped leaning on the wall.
“You heard me. Dance. With. Me.” She took one of his hands. “Now.”
“I’m not sure I remember how.”
“It’s easy. Just do what I do, except facing forward, in flats, and on the other foot. How hard can it be?” She arranged him into a waltz hold. “I’ll lead.”
* * *
Michael resisted the urge to pinch himself as they began to move in time around the room.
I’m dancing with Stilts Walker.
He’d thought about her over the years, wondering where she was, who she’d ended up with. He never thought he’d be lucky enough to have her in his arms.
There has to be a catch.
“OK,” he said. “Why did you want to dance with me?”
She looked pointedly at the bleacher side of the gym, where Mr. and Mrs. Walker were frowning worriedly in their direction. “Because I couldn’t think of a better way to tick off my parents on such short notice.”
“All right.” He should have figured it didn’t have anything to do with her wanting to be with him. “I’m up for being a way to punish your parents.”
He pulled her closer. Her hair smelled so sweet, a light combination of honeysuckle and lavender. And she was soft in all the right places. He pressed gently on the small of her back, drawing her in tight, until there wasn’t room to slip a paper clip between them.
“What are you doing?” The whites showed all around Heather’s big brown eyes.
“If we dance closer, it’ll really upset your parents.”
She pulled back a bit. “I think they’re suffering enough.”
Michael was getting comfortable with the basic box step and decided he remembered enough of Mrs. Kady’s dance lessons to try an overhead turn. Heather followed his lead beautifully. They weren’t putting on a show like she’d done with Sweazy, but they were staying together better than Mike had expected.
“Why do you want to make your parents suffer at all?” he asked. “What did they ever do to you?”
“They’re trying to make decisions for me.”
“So you thought it would be good for them to have a ringside seat while you made a wrong one?”
“I’m sorry. You’re not a wrong decision. I didn’t mean to imply that you . . .” She bit her lower lip and her cheeks bloomed in a rosy blush.
“Yeah, you did. It’s OK. I know who I am. A parent’s worst nightmare. Always have been.”
“No. It’s not that. It’s just that they want me to do something else besides . . . dance with you.”
She hadn’t meant to insult him. That was something, anyway. Besides, she wasn’t wrong. Among the assembled Coldwater grads, he was the baddest of bad choices.
“What makes you think you’re a wrong decision?” she asked.
“Lots and lots of practice.”
Her lips turned up at the corners.
Yeah, those lips. Parts of Heather Walker had featured prominently in his dreams over the years. Her delectable mouth was a headliner.
The mouth started moving. “Well, I do seem to remember Mr. Whittle claiming that you raised bad behavior to an art form.”
“Yeah, that sounds like me. What did I do that time?” Mike asked with a grin.
“I think that was when you put a cow on the roof of the new library.”
“You have to admit they left themselves wide open for it. What with all those signs with longhorns on them, asking if we were in the ‘mo-o-o-d’ for reading.”
Heather’s lips twitched as if she wanted to smile again, but didn’t want to encourage him.
They danced without speaking for a few measures. The silence began to be oppressive.
“What have you—” “So are you—”They both started talking at once and then laughed together.
“Ladies first,” Michael said. “Another thing I learned from Mrs. Kady.”
“So since we’re at a reunion, are you going to tell me what you’ve been up to?�
�� Heather asked.
He shrugged. If he told her the truth, she wouldn’t believe him. He barely believed it himself. Granted, he’d worked hard to get where he was, but he’d been blessed by some pretty spectacular luck, too.
“Well, tonight I had supper at the Green Apple Grill and got to size up my future brother-in-law,” Michael said. “A wounded warrior, a generous guy who adores my sister, and best of all, he makes a mean hamburger.”
“You should try Jake’s meatloaf.”
“Think I might.” If Michael stayed in town long enough. He had responsibilities, people who were depending on him. He couldn’t let himself be sucked into such a little backwater. They were probably still limping along with dial-up here. “Jake doesn’t let that prosthetic leg get him down much, does he?”
“I think your sister has helped him with that.”
“Jake and Lacy are good together, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are, but you’re dodging my question,” Heather said with dogged persistence. “What have you been doing with yourself since you left Coldwater Cove?”
“I did some traveling.” That much was true. When he’d first lit out, he wandered around the country on his motorcycle until his money dried up and he was forced to sell his wheels to keep eating. Then he thumbed his way from place to place, taking odd jobs to keep body and soul together, before ending up homeless on the streets of New York City.
Hitting bottom has a way of making a guy realize he’s reached the end of himself.
For Michael, it meant he finally stopped long enough to take stock of things and make some changes.
“Did you ever . . . meet anyone?” she asked so softly he barely heard her over the music.
“I met lots of people.”
“I mean anyone special.”
Michael knew what she meant. He just never thought Heather Walker would care enough to ask. “Everyone I meet is special in some way.”
