Holding Off for a Hero

by Gail MacMillan

  “None.” She returned her attention to dinner. “I was careful. I brought back a container of gas for my car, too, so I won’t be using yours again.”

  “Good.” He heaved a sigh and shoved his fork into a mound of creamy mashed potatoes.

  “But, wow, can that baby move!” She slanted a wicked glance over at him. “Do you know it can go from zero to one hundred and forty clicks in less than—”

  “Oh, my God!” This time both of Frasier’s utensils clattered onto the plate. “You didn’t—”

  “Just kidding.” She speared a piece of carrot. “But it got your blood charging, didn’t it? Good for the circulation.”

  She paused with the carrot inches from her lips, twirled it, and grinned.

  He stifled the guttural moan rising in his throat and went back to his dinner. Annoying she might be, he thought, as he dug into his vegetables, but the woman was never dull. And she certainly could cook.

  ****

  After they’d finished a dessert of apple pie and ice cream and were savoring a second cup of coffee in front of the fire, Emma asked him the question he’d known couldn’t be far off.

  “What happened to your band, Frasier? I mean, you were heading up the charts. Then suddenly The Sound just vanished.”

  He drew a deep breath and decided she could handle the truth.

  “Larry died,” he said, staring down into his cup. “OD’d one night after a show.”

  “Oh, my God!” Emma’s hand flew to her mouth. “But there was nothing in the media about it.”

  “Larry’s father had the kind of money that can muzzle the press,” he said, still focused on his cup. “After that, the band went belly up.”

  “But you were good on your own.” Emma was adamant. “I thought you were even better than Larry. You could have taken over…after a decent period.”

  “No, I couldn’t.” He looked up at her. “You see, when my father heard about Larry’s death—it’s hard to keep that kind of thing unnoticed by the RCMP—he caught the next flight to Toronto and pulled me out of the music business once and for all. You haven’t met him, Emma, but, believe me, no one argues with Inspector Benjamin MacKenzie.

  “He took me home, sent me back to university. I’d been in my third year when I joined the band. I completed my degree and, several years later, here I am, former rock musician turned backwoods hermit.”

  “So you do know about drugs and what they can do.” She spoke softly as she placed her hand over his on his cup.

  “Yeah, I do, first hand, up close, and way too personal.”

  “I’m sorry, truly sorry, about your friend,” she said. Looking into her eyes, he knew she was.

  “Thanks,” he said gruffly over the thickness gathering in his throat. Again, in his mind, he was in that shambles of a hotel room, seeing Larry sprawled across the bed. He’d never be able to expunge that image. “He was a great guy. He shouldn’t have been murdered by that junk he kept ingesting.”

  “Frasier.” She removed her hand and sat back on the couch. “Would you come to school and speak to my students about drugs, tell them your experience with Larry? I know it will be painful, but they’d listen to you as a rock star. You could save some of them from a similar fate.”

  “No!” He got to his feet too quickly and grimaced as his stitches caught at him. “Former is the operative word, Emma. Those kids are too young to remember The Sound. Anyway, we never made the top of the charts.”

  “Still, you traveled the concert circuit, you witnessed first hand the horrors of drugs…”

  “No.” He placed his cup on the counter and strode as fast as his wound would allow into the bedroom.

  ****

  “I’m going back to my cabin,” he informed her the next morning over breakfast. “I can manage on my own now. Thanks for everything.”

  “Are you sure?” Emma looked up from her bowl of cereal. “Because you’re welcome to stay as long as—”

  “I know.” He spoke softly. “You’ve been terrific, Emma, but I have to get back to work. And…” He paused.

  “And?”

  “And I’m sorry about bolting out on you last night. The idea of talking about Larry and his problems in front of a bunch of kids threw me for a loop. I’m just not ready…”

  “Frasier, believe me, I understand.” She touched his arm. “I shouldn’t have asked. Now.” She pulled back and stood, just as he was beginning to prickle with arousal. “I’ll put our dishes in the washer. Then I’ll run over to your place and get you a jacket. We’ll take a little stroll around the yard before I put you back on your own. That should restore your sea legs.”

  “Sea legs?”

  “Heard it in a pirate movie.” She clattered her bowl and spoon into the dishwasher. “Eat up, matey. It’s a gorgeous day and time’s a-wastin’.”

  ****

  Frasier stopped abruptly in the “stroll” he and Emma were taking around the property.

  “When did that happen?” He gestured at the hole dug beneath his dog run. It had been crudely patched with a stick laced through the chain link.

  “Must have been on the morning I went to pick you up at the hospital.” Emma tried to sound casual. “Bruiser wanted to come, but I left him penned up at your place with Scout. I guess he wasn’t happy about it.”

  “Damn!” Frasier stared at the breached fence. “Next time I’m in town, I’ll have to get some tent pegs to repair it. I don’t want Scout enlarging it and getting out.”

  “Scout would never do anything like that!” Emma scoffed sarcastically. “He’s too well trained.”

  “Yeah, well, your Pug does seem to have a way of corrupting him.”

  “Anyway…” She turned him back toward his front porch. “It’s inside for you, my boy. I have to get your ATV. I don’t plan to leave you wandering around alone outdoors while I’m gone.”

  ****

  Frasier heard them roaring up the trail in the sunny, previously quiet morning. He limped out onto the verandah to watch their arrival, Scout by his side.

  “Oh, God, no!” he groaned as Emma careened into the clearing, his crash helmet on her head. Bruiser, secured in a basket behind her, sported a wide grin.

  “Hey, Frasier!” She swirled to a stop in front of him, tearing up a chunk of lawn as she braked. “I’d forgotten how much fun these things can be.” She swung to the ground and removed the helmet to shake her chestnut curls free. “We had a ball, didn’t we, Bruise?”

  She released the little dog and set him on the ground. He paused, looked up at her, gave a couple of sharp, happy barks, then cannoned off to play with Scout.

  “You do realize this bike isn’t my personal property?” He hobbled down the steps, flinching as his stitches caught him with each drop. “It belongs to the project, and…” He inspected a mud-caked fender.

  “Oh, lighten up, Frasier.” She put her hands on her hips. “ATVs are meant to take rough treatment.”

  “Rough terrain, you mean. At a reasonable speed. Emma…”

  He turned to her to continue his lecture, but she was gone, running up the verandah steps.

  “Put your baby away, will you? I’m going to start lunch.”

  “Argh!” He flinched again as he swung his leg over the saddle. In his annoyance he’d forgotten his stitches.

  ****

  Emma’s cell tinkled as he stepped back inside her cabin. He sank onto a chair at the table.

  “Hello. Oh, hi. This is a surprise. He’s fine, just fine. Thanks for inquiring. Tonight?” She glanced over at Frasier and hesitated. “Thanks, but no. It’s still too early to leave Frasier alone. Maybe a rain check? I appreciate the call. See you soon.”

  She placed the phone on the counter and returned to tearing romaine lettuce.

  “A friend asking you out?” He couldn’t suppress the question.

  “Sort of. Dr. Kent Bradley. You remember. From the hospital.”

  She began to wash mushrooms. Something charged through his veins.
Rising blood pressure had never been a problem, but he imagined it would feel like this. He began to drum his fingers on the table. “You could have gone. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Are you?” She turned to look at him. “I’m not sure. In a week, you’ll be right as rain and I can start accepting dinner invitations, but until then I plan to stick around. As a matter of fact…” She returned to her salad making. “I should call Kent back and ask him to chaperone the high school dance with me on Friday. I need a male companion, someone tall and impressive-looking, who will command the kids’ respect. He fills the bill.”

  She reached for the phone.

  “Dry your hands first.” The words snapped out.

  “What?”

  “You could get a shock.”

  “That’s only electrical plugs. Just how practically inept are you?” She wiped her hands on a cloth. “There. Satisfied?”

  “I’ll do it.” Damn, where had that come from?

  “Do what? Dry my hands, make the salad, place the call?” She quirked a corner of her lips at him, green eyes sparkling.

  “Chaperone that dance with you.”

  “Ah, but you’ll still be in recovery. I hardly think—”

  “You shouldn’t be asking a guy you barely know to take on an important responsibility like seeing that kids have fun in a safe environment.” His fingers drummed harder on the table. “I’ll be fine by then. With my experience at university socials, I come highly qualified.”

  “Well, if you’re sure.” She swung and went back to the kitchen counter, hips swaying in a fashion he saw as self-satisfied and smug.

  She didn’t trick me into this! No, no, no, she couldn’t have. Did she?

  ****

  “Hey, Miss Prescott. Cool guy. Has he got any brothers?”

  A circle of teenage girls garbed in Goth getups formed around Emma and Frasier as they entered the high school gym decked out in a Halloween/horror motif.

  “Yes, but fortunately they’re in a land far, far away. Now shoo! Go pick on someone your own age.”

  Casting them a mockery of an annoyed look, Emma sent them off giggling and pointing back at Frasier.

  “Seems you’re a big hit with the jailbait set,” she hissed sideways at him.

  “Hardly a compliment.” He rubbed his side. “I can’t believe I volunteered to chaperone a high school dance a week after being shot.”

  “Well, you did. Anyhow, you’re fine now. That’s what Dr. Bradley told you when he removed your stitches this afternoon, didn’t he? Or were you lying to me, Frasier MacKenzie?”

  “Dr. Bradley, right,” he grunted. “Rain-check Kent.”

  “Excuse me, you muttered?” She glanced up at him.

  “Nothing, nothing.”

  “Well, then, fine. Get out there and mingle. Don’t forget to check the washrooms for drugs and alcohol.”

  ****

  “Hey, guys, what’s up?” Frasier stepped into the washroom to find four teenagers involved in a deal.

  Amid the scuffle to hide the merchandise, a small packet fell to the floor. One dived for it, but Frasier was quicker, even though he barely managed to stifle a yelp of pain.

  “Now what could this be?” He held it up. Three took a quick glance and, pushing past him, fled. The fourth, wearing black leather and a sneer, stayed, feet planted apart, hands on his hips.

  “Give it here, man.” He held out a hand.

  “I don’t think so.” Damn, this kid is nearly as big as me, and he looks like he works out. He might just take me, the shape I’m in.

  Frasier backed as the younger man approached. Backed until he was in a stall. With a quick flick of his wrist, he threw the packet into the toilet and flushed.

  “Are you crazy, man!” He slammed Frasier aside to drop on his knees, too late, over the swirling water.

  “Gone.” Frasier rubbed his side, throbbing from the blow, as the small plastic bag vanished.

  “Bastard!” The teenager shot to his feet, his face a testimony to how rage could distort even youthful features. “You’ll pay for this—you and your Loon Lake piece of…”

  “Hold it right there!” Frasier’s hands knotted into fists.

  The washroom door opened and two teenagers entered. They stared at the pair in the stall.

  “Get stuffed!” Frasier’s adversary gave him a last, enraged glare before pushing the new arrivals against the wall as he strode out of the room.

  “It’s okay, guys.” Frasier stepped out of the stall. “A little trouble. Everything’s fine now.”

  “You’re lucky, sir,” one of them addressed him. “Todd Stoddart carries a knife. No one, but no one, messes with him.”

  So that was the infamous Todd. Frasier headed back to the gym. Good thing those kids came in when they did. I might have taken a swing at him for what he seemed to be winding up to say about Emma. And wouldn’t that have made a nice headline: Chaperone punches out student over derogatory remarks about school guidance counselor.

  ****

  “Everything okay in the washrooms?” Emma asked when he rejoined her.

  “Everything is fine…now.” He clasped his hands behind his back, feet planted firmly apart.

  “What do you mean ‘now’?” She looked up at him as he stood scrutinizing the dance floor.

  “Small matter of a drug sale in progress. Someone named Todd.”

  “Oh, no! Just when I thought I was making headway with him. Frasier, are you sure?”

  “Emma.” He looked down at her deadly serious. “I can recognize drugs.”

  “Yes, I suppose you can.” Her words held disappointment.

  “You can’t save them all.” He touched her hand. “You’ve done your best. That’s all any of us can do.”

  “You’re right.” She blinked and drew a deep breath. “I’ll live to fight another day, I suppose.”

  “I know you will.”

  “Dance?”

  “Sorry.” The corner of his mouth twitched up in a half grin as the DJ spun a hard rock number. “I’m not good at gyrating right now…on the dance floor, that is,” he added hurriedly.

  “Why, Frasier MacKenzie, I do believe you’re blushing.” Emma moved to face him, grinning. “I like that. It’s sweet and old-fashioned and downright endearing.”

  Damn! Sweet and old-fashioned and endearing? What about hot and sexy and virile?

  ****

  “Last dance,” the DJ announced.

  “You can’t deny me this one.” Emma turned to Frasier. “It’s always a waltz—or something that’s supposed to be, no gyrating required.”

  “Emma…” He started to protest, but she was leading him out onto the floor.

  She placed both hands on his shoulders, leaving him no choice but to put his on her hips.

  “Good Lord, where did that come from?” Emma breathed as the sensuous strains of “Moon River” floated into the air. “The last dance is usually a request. I didn’t think anyone here was old enough to know that tune.”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care.” Frasier let his hands move to the back of her hips and drew her close. Adrenaline still active from his encounter with Todd Stoddart, he couldn’t resist. He let his lips brush her ear. “Let’s just relax and enjoy the moment.”

  Enjoy. Savor. Get lost in. Float off to the moon. The thoughts drifted around him as he moved slowly, fluidly, against her in the shadowy gym. Maybe he didn’t gyrate very well on the dance floor, but for a guy who felt his face heat up at a verbal faux pas, he wasn’t exactly bashful.

  Like a glass of ice water in the face, the song ended, the gym was flooded with light, and the DJ was hollering, “See you next time!”

  Emma stood looking blankly up at Frasier, who still held her in his arms. Blue eyes met green and locked.

  “Well,” he said finally, drawing a deep breath and stepping back. “I guess we’d better make sure everyone leaves in an orderly fashion.” He headed for the main exit.

&
nbsp; ****

  “Did you enjoy the last dance, Miss Prescott?” Penny Jamieson joined them as they left the building. Her brown eyes deep inside a rim of black makeup danced with mischief.

  “Yes.” Emma paused and looked into the teenager’s face in the bright light over the main entrance. “But who on earth requested ‘Moon River’?”

  “It was my parents’ favorite…” Penny’s voice faltered. She became involved in zipping up her jacket. “I figured older folks like you would enjoy it.”

  “Oh, the geriatric crowd.” Emma drew the girl into a hug and chuckled. “Okay, I forgive you. Thanks for the thought.”

  “My treat.” The teenager drew back from Emma, grinning. “Can’t let all that go to waste.”

  She slid a sly head-to-toe glance over Frasier, then winked and skipped off the steps.

  “That’s quite enough, young lady!” Emma called after her, but the amusement in her tone negated any serious rebuke.

  “I feel like some kind of trophy boyfriend.” Frasier took her arm and hunched deeper into his rancher’s jacket. Together they went down the steps. “But what did she mean ‘was’ her parents’ favorite? Divorced?”

  “Deceased. Both killed in a terrible highway accident.” Emma slipped on a frozen puddle. He caught her back on her feet. “She’s had a couple of really bad years. It’s only recently she started to come out of it. Now she’s hooked up with Jesse Jones.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yes, definitely damn. A girl in her fragile mental condition doesn’t need a druggie boyfriend.”

  “But you’re there for her, right? She seems to like you a lot. Right up to pimping me off to you as best she could.” He put his arm around her shoulders as they headed toward the parking lot and gave her a squeeze.

  “Yes, well, most kids are optimists.” She slanted a sideways glance up at him. “They don’t realize some things just aren’t possible.”

  “Let’s put that discussion on hold. Would you like to go for coffee…or a drink?” he asked as they walked toward his SUV. It was the last vehicle in the lot.

  “Another time, thanks. Right now I’m exhausted. Mind if we head home?” She stifled a yawn. “Bruiser and Scout will be getting anxious.”