She arched an eyebrow. “As I recall, you qualified that you wouldn’t laugh to my face. No, I did mean to get on the floor tonight, but I’ve been talking to parents and teachers and I guess time just got away from me.”
“You could still do it,” Vicki said. “I’ll go with you if you want a friend.”
Shay looked as if she was considering the little girl’s offer. “Where were the two of you headed?”
“To get drinks,” Mark said, “and then to say goodbye to Dee and her family. She mentioned getting home because Bobby wanted to do just a bit more studying for his science exam.”
Shay absently bit her lower lip while she thought it over. “I suppose I could rent skates while you two got your refreshments.”
“Yay!”
Even though Mark didn’t vocally echo his daughter’s sentiment, he felt pretty much the same way.
True to her word, the principal got a pair of roller skates—although Mark noticed that she got waylaid several times on her way to the skate counter. Even as he said good-night to the Riggs family, he found his gaze straying to wherever Shay was. Watching the way she smiled, the way she stilled and really seemed to listen to whomever was speaking. She was kind and funny, but she also had a sharp wit and, as he knew from their first meeting, wasn’t afraid to speak her mind if she thought it was best for one of her students. While he knew she was fully aware of being scrutinized and hoped to garner strong parental support so that she could remain Woodside’s principal, she hadn’t backed down earlier when Carolyn Moon attempted to corner them.
All in all, Shay Morgan was a hell of a woman. The more he got to know her, the more he found to admire in her. Including, he discovered, her courage in going out onto the skate floor because the woman was seriously out of practice.
Even Vicki looked concerned, her feathery red-gold eyebrows drawn together. “We can skate closer to the rail if you want to hang on.”
Shay laughed. “That’s all right, sweetie. I used to be good at this—I just need a little practice to remember how it’s done.” Under her breath, she muttered, “Besides, the rail doesn’t go all the way around.” It was segmented into three short, intermittent lengths, mostly intended to help people as they entered and exited the rink.
They’d only executed a few laps when the guy working the DJ booth announced in the requisite low, cheesy baritone they must teach in some skating DJ class somewhere, “All right, this next song is for couples only. So come on, you lovebirds, out on the floor. Couples only.”
With Vicki in the middle, the three of them skated toward the nearest off-ramp. The lights dimmed except for some sparkles thrown out on the floor by the disco ball and the opening notes of an ’80s ballad played through the speakers. The moment was so unapologetically kitschy that Mark couldn’t stifle his amusement. He met Shay’s gaze over top of Vicki’s head, and within seconds, the two of them were both cracking up.
“What?” Vicki glanced up, first confused and then glaring because no one had filled her in on the joke. “What’s so funny?”
They all sat down on one of the long carpeted benches where people could rest or lace up their skates. Vicki snuggled into his side, obviously getting tired, and Shay smiled at him. Mark knew that, to some of the preteen boys rolling by with their girlfriends, holding hands while listening to a soulful song about roses and thorns probably seemed like the height of romance. But frankly, Mark thought he’d found an even better deal, sitting on the sidelines with a tired first grader and her pretty school principal.
Halfway through the guitar solo, Mark heard a girl ask, “Mr. Hathaway?” Heather Wilkes, Tessa’s older sister, regarded him shyly. “Can you do me a favor?”
“I’ll try. What do you need?”
“That’s my friend, who’s never been skating before.” Heather pointed to where another girl, very petite next to Heather but probably about the same age, waved half-heartedly. “I’ve tried to get her on the floor all night, but she keeps chickening out, saying she wanted to wait until more people went home so no one would see if she fell. Only now, the whole thing’s almost over.”
Pausing, Heather rolled her eyes to show how she felt about her friend’s procrastination. “She promised me she’ll do the next song if an adult will go with us, but Mom’s already turned in her skates. Will you go out on the floor with us?”
“Sure thing.” It was the least he could do, considering how Charlotte Wilkes had kept an eye on Vicki for the first half of the evening. The rock ballad faded, giving way to a peppier song from a recent American Idol winner. Mark stood, asking his daughter and Shay, “Are you guys going back out, or do you want to wait here?”
Vicki yawned, shifting her weight so that she was snuggled against Shay in Mark’s absence. “Stay here.”
“Fine with me,” Shay said with a rueful smile. “I wasn’t exactly hitting my stride tonight. You go on, we’ll be waiting.”
So Mark assisted Heather in coaxing her nervous friend out on the floor. Once there, the girl kept a death grip on the gold bar until she ran out of railing.
“We’ll hold your hands,” Heather volunteered, putting the girl between herself and Mark. After their first complete circle, the other girl gained a smidge of confidence—not enough to actually let go of anyone’s hand; Mark was losing circulation in a few of his fingers—enough to speed up slightly. As they coasted into a turn, however, the girls got too close together, bumping into each other. Somehow, the wheels of their roller skates interlocked. Heather’s friend panicked, and, with a sinking realization in the pit of his stomach, Mark knew they were all going down.
Instead of letting go and abandoning the girls to fend for themselves, he did his best to control the landing. At the last minute, he instinctively put his hand out to brace them, even though, rationally, he knew better. The pain was blade-sharp and immediate. Wrists were more delicate than people realized. His had not been intended to absorb the weight of a grown man and two toppling third graders.
Because the floor was so much emptier than it had been earlier in the evening, other skaters easily gave them a wide berth. The girls needed help standing, and unfortunately, Mark didn’t think he could manage that one-handed.
“A little assistance here?” he called out loudly, to be heard over the music.
Even though it was against house rules, Charlotte Wilkes hurried out onto the rink floor in her sneakered feet. “Mark! Are you all right? Girls?”
“We’re fine, Mom,” Heather answered, while her friend grumbled, “This is why I didn’t wanna skate. I told you I’d suck.”
“Do you need a hand, too?” Charlotte asked him while the girls made their way off the floor.
“Maybe.” He held up the hand that wasn’t cradled painfully to his body, glad she wasn’t wearing skates anymore. The last thing he wanted was to topple the diminutive woman. For a second, his wrist had hurt badly enough that little black dots danced in front of his eyes. Though the pain hadn’t faded, the shock of it was easing. He got a clear look at Vicki and Shay staring at him. Their matching worried expressions made them look comically alike even though their features were so dissimilar.
“Daddy?” Vicki’s voice was tremulous and Mark knew that when she was this tired it didn’t take much to make his little girl cry.
“I’ll be okay.” Which might have been more convincing if he could stop grimacing in agony. Damn, his hand hurt.
Shay kept her voice discreetly lowered. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” He thought he might have heard a cracking sound when he hit the floor, but it was hard to be sure over the pop song that had been playing and the internal Ow! that had roared through his body. Along with a few choice words he could not repeat in front of Vicki.
“I am so sorry,” Charlotte said, obviously suffering guilt that he’d been injured in the line of helping her daughter’s friend. “Heather, go get Mr. Hathaway some ice from concessions.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The third grader
zoomed off in the other direction, while her friend stayed behind, untying her skates as fast as she could and apologizing every few seconds.
“Vicki, honey, why don’t you sit with Tessa for a minute?” Charlotte directed. Then she asked Mark, “Do you think you should get an X-ray?”
He wanted to tell her that was probably overkill, but his wrist was already visibly swelling.
Shay nodded insistently. “There are twenty-seven bones in the hand. You might have broken one or more of them. I can drive you to the hospital if Charlotte needs to get her daughters home. Something like a quarter of E.R. visits are for broken wrists,” she added absently.
He almost managed a laugh. “Were you a health teacher?”
“Biology. But I also helped my brother, Dr. Morgan, study for the MCAT.”
“Well, I don’t have any direct relations to a doctor,” Charlotte said, “but even I know wrists shouldn’t be that color. We’ll take Vicki home with us and she can spend the night. If all else fails, she can wear Tessa’s clothes tomorrow. They’re near enough to the same size.”
Mark frowned about the disruption to everyone’s schedules and routine, but didn’t get the chance to object.
Charlotte put her hands on her hips. She was tiny, but fierce. “Don’t you argue with me, Mark Hathaway. Vicki only has one parent, so it’s your responsibility to take extra good care of yourself.”
When she put it that way…
SHAY KNEW SHE WAS BABBLING like an idiot—well, an idiot with a medical degree—and thought that Mark was showing great patience in not asking her to shut up. As she drove them toward the hospital, she’d told him that he might be looking at a Colles’ fracture, explained what the first-aid acronym RICE stood for—Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation—and had been asking if he had any known allergies to medication.
He finally chuckled, although it was clear from the tension in his face that his wrist was still hurting. “You know, I plan on being conscious when we check me into the E.R. It’s not necessary for you to have my complete medical history memorized. But just in case I do lose consciousness…my health insurance card is in my back pocket. You have my permission to look for it,” he invited.
She slanted him a suspicious look. “I can’t tell if you’re being helpful or flirting with me.”
“Then I must be really bad at flirting. Ignore me. The pain is clouding my judgment.” He grated his teeth. “I can’t believe I did this to my wrist. The thing is, I know better. I’ve done hiking and some low-intensity mountain climbing—they always tell you not to catch yourself with your hand like that.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. Knowing something in the abstract isn’t the same as being caught in the moment.” For instance, she knew better than to ever do anything unprofessional at a school function where dozens of parents could witness it, but there’d been a moment tonight—over by the concessions, with Mark staring down into her eyes—where, heaven help her, she’d wanted to kiss him. Idiot. The man had a daughter who was obsessed with finding a new mommy, for crying out loud. If Vicki saw her dad in a lip-lock with someone, she’d be hearing wedding bells in her head.
And who knew what narrow-minded people like Carolyn Moon might think?
They could assume Shay was a loose woman who didn’t think twice about jumping into bed with a man she’d only known a couple of weeks. The truth was, Shay hadn’t been in anyone’s bed in…geez, it had been so long she couldn’t really keep track. But Shay spent all day around impressionable children. The perception of herself that she presented, as a role model, was almost as important as the truth.
“You know how people joke that something’s so easy they can do it with one hand tied behind their backs?” he asked tiredly. “I hope that proves true of returning the store to profitability and leading the Campside Girls.”
She bit her lip, thinking that this could definitely hamper his arts-and-crafts abilities. “If it helps, they probably won’t actually tie your hand behind your back. They’ll probably go with a splint or cast. And we’re going to put out a call for volunteers to help you with the girls. Just because no one wanted to take charge doesn’t mean they won’t be willing to assist.”
Especially when some mothers at the school learned that the troop leader was an extremely handsome, extremely eligible man.
Once they reached the hospital, Shay struggled to find a parking space. Apparently Tuesday nights at nine-thirty were prime time for accidents, injuries and illnesses. Finally—hallelujah—she located a spot and ushered Mark inside. Even though he’d injured his left hand, not the one he wrote with, she offered to fill out the forms for him.
The place was packed, with very few chairs free. When Shay spotted a lone seat, she gestured toward it with the clipboard the woman at the desk had given them. “You should sit.”
“No.” Mark eyed the chair as if it were a venomous copperhead poised to strike.
Men. “The attempt at chivalry is appreciated,” she said, “but unnecessary. Next time, when I’m the one injured and you have to bring me to the hospital, we can reverse roles.”
Silver lightning flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything else, merely shook his head.
“All right,” she relented, surprised by this cranky side of Mark but reminding herself what a pain Bastien had always been when he was sick. Her mother used to joke that this was why women were the ones who endured pregnancy and giving birth, because men were such babies—no pun intended—about being patients. “I’ll fill this out and then see about getting you fresh ice.”
“Here.” Mark awkwardly angled his good hand behind him, then held out his wallet. “License, social security card, health insurance. Get what you can off those, then let me know what other information you need.”
“All right.” Eventually she did sit, because it made flipping through his wallet and writing easier. She copied his address and full name from his license and smiled at his April birth date. “Hey, we’re both Aries.”
He grunted, looking around the room and not meeting her eyes.
She thought about what he’d told her of his boss and Coleridge’s impending spring decision; she couldn’t help thinking that not closing the store would make a fantastic birthday gift. The pen in her fingers wobbled just a bit over the section where it asked about marital status. She quickly checked widowed, suddenly feeling strange about this, answering personal questions about a man who’d once had a wife. Jess had probably done this for him at some point in their marriage. Or maybe the reverse was true—had he brought Jessica to the hospital when Vicki was born, filled out all the medical forms with anxious joy, hoping that everything went well and looking forward to meeting his new daughter?
Shay had finished with all the straightforward blanks and was getting his answer for each individual question under the family history section when a nurse came forward and called his name.
Shay walked forward with him and handed the woman the paperwork. The nurse smiled at her. “Are you the wife? Girlfriend?”
“No!” Mark answered for her. “She’s just the woman who drove me here.”
It was nothing more than the truth.
Then why, Shay wondered as she watched him go down the hall, had hearing him say it hurt so much?
Chapter Eight
“I-owe-you a ’pology.” Mark’s words ran together, his breath forming foggy puffs of air in the cold parking lot. “For before.” He snickered, then said it again. “For before. Sounds funny.”
Shay felt like smacking herself in the forehead except that both of her hands were fully occupied trying to maneuver him into the car. “Whatever meds the doc gave you, it was the good stuff.”
The nurse who’d returned Mark to the waiting room a little more than an hour after he’d gone back explained that he had a bad sprain. According to the X-rays, no bones were broken. They’d given him a painkiller and immobilized the wrist for now. The doctor had attached a list of exercises to the prescription sheet; if Mark felt
up to it, he was supposed to try the rehab exercises in the next few days. They were anticipating a full recovery in three to six weeks as long as he was careful in the meantime.
But Mark didn’t seem to care overly much about his prognosis. When he’d come back through those doors, his somewhat unfocused eyes had been searching for her. “Shay! So glad I found you.”
She hadn’t known she was lost. “Right here waiting,” she’d said. “Let’s get you home.”
As they’d made their way out of the hospital, she’d realized he was genuinely agitated.
“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you,” he told her. “Was an ass earlier.”
She’d tried not to recall how irrationally wounded she’d been by his brusque dismissal. “Don’t worry about it. You were just cranky because you were in pain. No big deal.”
Despite her forgiveness, he kept trying to apologize all the way to the car. And now, even when they’d reached their destination, he continued the litany.
“It’s hospitals,” he slurred, “that make me cranky. Haven’t been in one…since Jess.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t sure what to say to that, but it did help explain why he’d been in such a bad mood when they went into the E.R. She’d chalked it up to physical discomfort and the general unpleasantness of having to wait around in a throng of miserable people.
“She was sick,” he said as he folded himself into the passenger seat. “Rare cancer, late stage. Too late. Hate hospitals,” he repeated bleakly, looking up at her from inside the car.
Shay reached out her hand to lay it on his shoulder, wanting to offer even a millisecond of comfort, anything to combat the ugly memories.
He surprised her by catching her fingers in his good hand and pressing her palm against his face, covering it with his own. Though he didn’t have a visible five-o’clock shadow, she could feel the slightest bristles against her skin. He turned his head slightly, his breath hot on her flesh. Shay’s pulse kicked into a gallop.
His Valentine Surprise Page 10
