Honeymoon For One

by Chris Keniston

  “Do they know why the man was out of control?” Kirk asked.

  The nurse nodded. “Heart attack. He was clutching his nitroglycerin pills when the EMTs pulled him from the wreckage. Didn’t have a chance to take them.”

  At that moment, an orderly approached pushing Corrie in a wheelchair. Her eyes took in the two of them standing side by side in the middle of the hall, then settled on his hand around her sister’s waist. Michelle couldn’t have jumped out of his hold any faster if she’d been blasted with a fire hose.

  She grabbed her sister’s good hand and turned to him. “Thank you for everything. We’ll be fine now. I’m sure I won’t have a problem getting a ride home.”

  He recognized a brush-off when he heard one, especially one as lame as this one. But that didn’t mean he had to cooperate. “It’s no problem. I’ll wait down here for you to get back from X-ray.”

  Apparently he and half the town had the same idea. Forty minutes later the ER waiting room looked like a packed auditorium. Friends and relatives of all sizes and ages gathered in clusters throughout the large room and down the halls.

  Corrie’s wrist was only sprained. The rest of the kids got away with scrapes and bruises. As each teen was released, a wave of relieved bystanders filed out of the building.

  In a brief phone call while Michelle and Corrie were in X-ray, Kirk had updated Pam, convincing her and some other coworkers it wasn’t necessary to come to the hospital. He would stay to drive Michelle and her sister home.

  Michelle stood at the nurses’ counter signing release papers. Just as she signed the last page, a nurse wheeled Corrie through the double doors, into the lobby, and stopped beside him. The way the kid looked at him, anyone would think somehow all of this had been his fault. When Michelle joined them, her expression mirrored that of her younger sister, and for the first time, he wondered what the hell was he doing here?

  Why hadn’t he gone back to the office and let someone else sit around waiting to drive them home? A blind fool could see he wasn’t welcome. So why had he insisted? Why had he pushed so hard to stay, to help?

  Forcing a gallant smile, he pulled his keys from his pocket and waved an arm toward the exit. “I’ll go ahead and bring the car to the door.” He didn’t wait for a response. At a fast clip, he was almost running by the time he reached his car. The new question seemed to be: why was he in an all-crazed hurry? Did he desperately want to get away from Michelle Bradford or to be back by her side?

  Good God, what was he doing?

  ***

  “I’m really sorry. I swear nothing like this will ever happen again.” Corrie looked sideways over her shoulder at her sister.

  If only Michelle could believe her. First the lying about an all-night party and now forging her signature on a permission slip. She didn’t dare think what would be next. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  Corrie rubbed her good hand gently over the injured wrist a few seconds, and then looked up at her sister again. “How much later before you tell me why your new hunky boss was wrapped all over you in there?”

  “He was not wrapped all over me. He was merely being supportive. It wasn’t easy learning my only sister had been in an accident and brought to the hospital with no idea if you were alive or…” The word caught in her throat. “Dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I hope you remember that the next time you get a harebrained idea to sneak around.”

  Her boss’s rental pulled to the curb in front of them. If anything more needed to be said, it would have to wait. She just had to hang on to her last nerve long enough to make it home. And then, that man would be gone, her sister would be tucked away safely in bed, and she could slowly, calmly, and completely fall apart.

  A few minutes later Lloyd McEntire parked in their driveway, skirted around to the passenger side, and offered his hand to help Corrie out of the car. From the sour expression on Corrie’s face, Michelle thought for sure he would be on the receiving end of a teenage lecture on how a sprained wrist did not impede her ability to stand and walk.

  Instead Corrie offered a half smile and a meek, “Thanks.”

  "My pleasure. I'm always willing to help a lady in distress. Especially when her older sister has grounding privileges." Kirk winked and stepped aside to let Corrie pass.

  Awkwardness bloomed around them. Michelle knew the polite thing to do was to invite the man inside the house. Extend her appreciation for all he’d done. Except, now that the panic and fear had subsided, having him close only reminded her of things she didn’t want to think about. Didn’t want to feel. Too many times in the last few hours, glimpses of the thoughtful and caring Kirk she’d known on the ship eclipsed Lloyd McEntire, the hard cold businessman. No, she couldn't handle any more of this man. Not today. “We appreciate all you’ve done, but—”

  “You should stay for dinner." Corrie cut her sister off, beaming as though she'd announced she'd found a cure for cancer. "It's the least we can offer in exchange for having spent so many hours waiting for us at the hospital."

  Michelle thought she might pass out on the spot. What was her sister doing? The last thing she wanted was to have this man in her house. She was already on sensory overload. Her emotions were holding together by a very thin strand threatening to snap at any moment. She’d come within inches of losing the only family she had. Her best friend in the world, who she’d been dying to call since the first moment she’d been left alone in the X-ray department, was off living the perfect life she was supposed to be living. And now her sister had casually invited the one man who could send her totally over the edge, literally and figuratively, to stay and torture her for the duration of an entire meal.

  “Someone just shoot me now,” she mumbled.

  “Huh?” Corrie, standing closest to Michelle, turned to look at her. “What did you say?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea now. You need to rest.”

  “And I really should get back to work.”

  Relief washed over her. She needn't have worried he'd want to stay. Work-obsessed Lloyd McEntire didn’t take breaks, let alone stop for dinner.

  “Yes, of course.” Michelle nodded. “Thank you again.”

  “Yeah, thanks for not letting my sister freak. I really appreciate it, Mr.—”

  “McEntire,” Michelle provided. “Mr. Lloyd McEntire.”

  Extending his hand to her kid sister, he smiled. “Call me Kirk.”

  ***

  "Thanks for calling.”

  Beth slammed down the phone and shot across the room so fast Steven thought for sure the house was on fire. "What’s wrong?”

  “There’s been an accident. Five kids were taken to County Hospital.” She opened the hall closet and pulled out a jacket.

  Steven hesitated a moment; he didn’t get the connection. “Where are you going?”

  “To the hospital. Michelle must be frantic.” She reached for the keys she kept in the bowl by the entry.

  Then it hit him. A fist of emotion squeezed his heart. “Corrie?”

  Beth nodded and had the front door open with one foot on the porch before Steven could reach her and pull her back inside. “Stop and take a breath.”

  “I have to go. She's probably all alone.” Beth turned away from him.

  Steven tightened his hold on his wife. “No. Think about this a minute. Michelle won’t take your phone calls. She practically threw me out of her office. Do you really think showing up at the hospital is going to make her feel any better?”

  Beth took a long breath and sagged against the open doorway. “No, I suppose not.”

  ***

  Michelle stared dumbfounded at the man in front of her. Did he have no conscience at all?

  “Isn’t Kirk an odd nickname for Lloyd?” Corrie asked.

  “I suppose it would be, but it works for Kirkland.”

  The teenager’s forehead wrinkled like a Shar-Pei puppy’s. “Kirkland?”

  Kirk flashed the first real
smile Michelle had seen since his arrival in Bluffview, the one that made her heart flutter like a butterfly. With an exaggerated wave of his arm, he bowed at the waist. “Lloyd Kirkland McEntire Jr. at your service.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Corrie!” Michelle finally managed to process the conversation.

  “Well think about it.” Corrie momentarily pressed her lips together and shot her sister that you’re-so-dumb glare. If she’d had two good arms, she probably would have crossed them and tapped her toes while she gave her not-so-bright older sister a chance to catch on. “First his parents saddle him with the name Lloyd, and then they tack on a Jr. to boot. Total bummer.”

  A familiar rumble of laughter met Michelle’s ears. Not only was Kirk not annoyed by her sister’s comment but an amused twinkle shone bright in his eyes.

  “Total bummer,” he agreed, still flashing a brilliant smile.

  Michelle turned to Kirk, her voice so soft it came out in a near whisper. “Is that really your name?”

  “Excuse me?” he asked, his grin slipping.

  “Kirk. Is that really your name?”

  His eyes turned dark, questioning. For a moment she thought she saw a flash of anger before an emotionless curtain descended. “Only to my friends.”

  She didn’t know which way to turn, which rock to crawl under. She’d assumed the worst of him. That he had intentionally made up a phony name on the ship to deceive her. And worse, now he knew that, too. “We’d be pleased if you’d reconsider. I have a stew slow cooking in the Crock-Pot.”

  “No. Thank you. I really need to get back to work.”

  “But you have to eat.” Corrie leaned against him, lowered her voice, and mumbled something that brought the laughter back to his eyes.

  He glanced up at Michelle, then nodded. “Okay, but I can’t stay long. There’s a lonesome desk calling my name from across town.”

  ***

  What the hell was he doing here?

  Stacks of reports still had to be sifted through, analyzed, and interpreted. He had enough numbers left to crunch to fill a major league stadium. With only twenty-four hours in a day, he didn’t need to be wasting even one of them sitting in a kitchen with an employee and her teenage sister. Even if the kid did make him want to laugh out loud. Besides you can’t leave me alone with Siszilla. She’ll probably freak out again the minute you drive away. Siszilla. The kid was probably onto something. No doubt some TV exec will have had the same idea for next season’s new guaranteed smash-hit reality show.

  He glanced across the table to where Michelle was slicing a loaf of warm bread. She might be a bit hard on the kid, but he didn’t think that qualified her for the title of Siszilla. Then again, what did he know about families?

  “Corrie, set the table. In the dining room.”

  A potato chip midway to her mouth, the kid froze. “The dining room?”

  “Yes, the dining room.” Michelle didn’t hesitate or glance up. Clearly she expected her instructions to be followed with no further questions.

  To her credit, Corrie barely hesitated before pushing her chair back and stepping over to the counter. She pulled three plates from an upper cupboard, then opened a drawer and set a small pile of silverware atop the stack of dishes, turned to grab a handful of paper napkins from another shelf and then paused.

  “Let me.” He shot up from his seat at the kitchen table. In half a step he was at her side and scooped up the dinnerware with both hands. “Which way?”

  “That way.” Corrie pointed across the room, her good arm straight out.

  “Thank you.” Michelle sighed. “I didn’t think.”

  “No problem.” He followed the teenager into the other room and set the dishes on the table. “I gather you don’t eat in the dining room that often.”

  “Hardly ever.” She grabbed a fork and knife, and set it beside a plate. “Sometimes on Thanksgiving, or Christmas.”

  He handed her another set of silverware and waited. He didn’t have a whole lot of practice in reading teenage girls, but he knew how to read women. Since girls grow into women, something in the quiet way she moved told him she had more she wanted to say.

  “Before we’d eat in here all the time. Not just holidays, but dinner every night.” She grabbed the napkins and set one on top of the nearest plate. “Mom used to fold the napkins into pretty shapes. She used real cloth though, not paper.”

  Used to?

  Without looking up, Corrie inched over and placed another napkin. “Do you have a big family?”

  “Only child.”

  She laid the last napkin on the third plate and raised her head to meet his gaze. “Still have your mom and dad?”

  He nodded. Though some might consider not having spoken to either parent in over a decade the same as not having them, he knew that wasn’t what she was asking.

  “Corrie.” Michelle walked into the room carrying a large steaming pot. “Bring the bread, please.”

  Corrie nodded and swept passed him.

  He leaned into Michelle. “How long has it been just the two of you?”

  “I need a trivet, too,” Michelle called over her shoulder before turning to him. “Seven years.”

  “Here you go.” Corrie hurried into the room, a trivet under one arm and the bread in her good hand. “Okay, guys, I'm famished.”

  All signs of her earlier melancholy at eating in the dining room seemed to have completely vanished. Corrie prattled on, skipping from one topic to the next. From the bits of information he could glean between breaths, chemistry was a sure A, Coach Davis was an incompetent idiot, and apparently some kid named Billy Webb thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips, whatever the heck that meant.

  At varying intervals Michelle nodded and smiled, offering encouragement and support, and bristled ever-so-slightly at the mention of Billy Webb. She played the mother role well.

  Single mother.

  Reports and statistics and dollar signs started dancing about in his head. More jobs were going to be cut. HR was only the beginning. No matter how long he stalled, eventually her job would be absorbed. He would have to fire her. And how the hell was he going to manage that?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "Thank you. For yesterday." Michelle stood just inside the door of Lloyd Kirkland McEntire's office. She felt two inches tall. How could she have been so wrong?

  Kirk swiveled away from his computer to face Michelle. "I'm glad it all turned out well. Your sister's a nice kid. Despite the attitude.”

  "Well." She turned the doorknob behind her back. "That's all I wanted to say." She pulled the door ajar. "Thank you.”

  "Have dinner with me?"

  She pushed the door closed again. "Excuse me?"

  "Dinner. Tonight. You and me." He paused a moment and added, "And your sister.”

  "Oh, that's very kind of you, but you don't—"

  "I'd like to." His voice dropped. "Very much.”

  And heaven help her, so did she. The man whose company she'd shared on the ship had come out to play at dinnertime. He'd made her laugh and smile, and reminded her how special he'd made her feel. Her fingers clutched at the golden charm. His parting gift.

  Maybe. No. Getting close to the real Kirk could only lead to trouble. Soon he would be leaving for Montserrat, or Kokomo, or for all she knew Timbuktu. Instead of just having her memories of their time together in a different world, if she spent more time with him here, then her memories would creep into her everyday world, and she couldn't handle that. "I'm sorry. Corrie has homework. Finals. We have to work on the holiday decorations. And..."

  He raised a hand, palm out. "That's okay. I understand. Maybe another time."

  Nodding, she opened the door behind her again. "Yes, thank you. Another time.”

  Before she could change her mind and run to him screaming yes, yes, yes, Michelle scurried back to her desk and buried her head in the latest sales reports. Why did he have to be so damn nice? Couldn't he have stayed icy Lloyd?

&
nbsp; Having read the same page three times, she finally set the file aside and looked for busy work that wouldn't involve coherent thought.

  "I never thought I'd see five o'clock quitting time again." Pam dropped her purse on the corner of Michelle's desk. "You working late?"

  "Not me." Michelle hadn't even noticed the time. She must have been staring at the jumble of dismal numbers longer than she thought. "I'm right behind you.”

  "Want to join Rusty and me for dinner?"

  "Thanks for the invite, but I have to cook dinner for Corrie, and I promised her we'd start working on the Christmas lights.”

  "I really do wish you'd ask one of the guys to help you. The thought of you and Corrie on ladders stringing lights gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

  Michelle had to laugh. Who said heebie-jeebies anymore? "We'll be careful. I promise.”

  "Well. Maybe Rusty and I will drive by after supper, just in case you need some help."

  "Help?" Kirk sauntered up beside Pam and dropped a file on Michelle's desk. "What do you need help with?"

  "No—" she started.

  "Hanging lights on the house. At least the Rat Bastard used to be good for something. If you ask me, some things were just not meant to be women's work, and climbing on ladders to hang lights along a rooftop is one of them.”

  With a huff and a good-bye nod, Pam walked away leaving Michelle up close and personal with the man she most wanted to avoid.

  "Is she right?"

  "Yes and no."

  He raised both dark brows.

  There wasn't anything that she wanted to share about Steven, the Rat Bastard. "Yes, we'll be decorating, but no, even I don't try to hang lights in the cold dark of night." She flashed him her best I'm-faking-comfortable smile.

  "I see." He hesitated long enough for her to worry what he might be thinking, but all he finally said was, "I'll see you on Monday."

  "Monday." She watched him turn to walk back to his office and blew out a relieved breath, resisting the urge to call back, "Not if I see you first.”