by Ann Collins
“Is something wrong?” she asked him from ten feet away. At first, he welcomed her approach, but then he feared her inevitable reaction to his face. She kept coming. “You looked rather lost.”
“I’m fine,” he managed to say, “but thanks.” With a resigned sigh, he decided he might as well scare her off now and be done with it. When she stopped a few steps away, he slowly turned and faced her straight on, revealing the ridged scar that vertically sliced his right cheek in half.
Her eyelids fluttered briefly, but to his surprise, she did not flinch or gasp or exhibit any sign of an imminent fainting spell.
The sense of belonging Alex had felt upon seeing the hotel suddenly returned. He tried to dismiss the ludicrous feeling. Since losing everything, he belonged nowhere. And that wasn’t likely to change.
When the young woman held his gaze instead of looking away, his admiration for her grew. He would have liked to study her longer, but a blur of airborne movement distracted him. He glanced up to see a geranium-filled flowerpot flying straight at the woman’s head.
Alex dropped his bag and hurled himself at her.
Her eyes opened wide, but she was clearly too shocked to avoid him or scream.
He grabbed her and held tight as they hit the ground, rolling together over the drive’s broken shells. With his body and his arms, he protected her from the sharp edges as best he could, gritting his teeth at the piercing jabs. He rolled her away, pressing her face to the hollow between his chin and shoulder as the flowerpot crashed to the ground. Petals, pottery shards, stems, and dirt pelted the drive. Their motion came to an abrupt halt when his back slammed into a hitching post. His breath burst from his lungs.
He let the woman go, lay back, and struggled for air.
She scooted away from him on her backside. Fear, shock, and confusion lit her blue eyes. Her creamy face flushed pink. She looked beautiful. And unhurt.
“What … on earth … did you think you were doing?” she demanded. Her voice shook.
Trying to gulp down air, he waved his hand toward the shattered pot. Someone with a strong and accurate throwing arm had aimed that pot directly at her.
The woman’s gaze darted between him and the debris of broken terracotta and geranium remnants spread over the area where she had been standing. Her face paled. “Oh. Oh, my.” She swallowed visibly. “You … protected me.”
He nodded. As a trickle of air entered his lungs, she peered at him with a look of honest amazement on her face, as if no one had ever watched out for her before. How could such a woman not have a father or brother or husband to protect her? He must be wrong.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m indebted to you.”
He shook his head. While trying to draw more air, he surveyed where the flowerpot had come from. No one stood on the balcony. A vacant spot showed where the geranium had once sat with the other pots in the flower box.
“You’re hurt!” She scrambled back to him on her hands and knees. “I’ll get the doctor. He’ll know what to do.”
As she started to get up, Alex grasped her wrist and grunted what he hoped sounded like “No.” Someone had tried to hurt her, and he didn’t want her running off by herself.
“Sir, you need help. I can see you’re in pain. Going for the doctor is the least I can do after …” She glanced up at the balcony. A tremor moved through her body, strong enough that Alex felt it under his fingers. She looked next at the debris scattered nearby. “And I must tell someone to check that the remaining flowerpots are secured.”
He didn’t release her, and he didn’t have enough air to explain that the pot did not just fall off the balcony, as she apparently presumed. Finally, the muscles in his torso started to relax. He inhaled a breath sweetened with the scent of orange blossoms—her scent. She smelled so good he made the mistake of breathing more deeply. His ribs shrieked a protest.
Alex locked his teeth and stifled a groan of pain and frustration. He could not afford to be injured, not when he needed a job and place to stay. But who would hire a carpenter who couldn’t saw lumber or swing a hammer?
She unsuccessfully tried to tug her wrist free of his grasp. Color returned to her face. “Sir, I am grateful for what you did for me, but I must insist you release me immediately.”
He inhaled more carefully. “Do you promise … not to run off?”
“If my staying here will put you at ease, then I can certainly send someone else for the doctor.”
“I don’t need a doctor.” He let her go, eased himself into a sitting position, and breathed as normally as he could considering his aching ribs and the woman’s nearness. His body well remembered the feel of her pressed against him only moments before. Her very proximity was enough to raise his heart rate. He’d forgotten how that felt.
“Of course you need a doctor,” she said. “You must be looked after.”
Her genuine concern for his well-being took him aback. It had been a long time since anyone cared about Alexander MacLean. His late wife had given a good impression of caring when they’d been courting, but it changed soon after their wedding. He had discovered that beneath her beauty and sophistication lay a powerful streak of self-indulgence. What Elizabeth wanted, Elizabeth got.
“Let me help you,” the woman said as he tried to stand up.
“There’s no need.” Alex wanted to show her he would be fine on his own, but getting up proved more difficult than he expected.
She crouched, shoved aside several locks of hair that had escaped during their tumble, and positioned herself under his right arm. On his left side appeared a spry old man wearing wire-rimmed spectacles and a bellboy’s navy blue uniform. Gold braid decorated each shoulder and cuff. He grasped Alex’s left arm and, with the woman’s assistance, gently hauled him to his feet.
“Thanks,” he grunted, wishing he hadn’t needed their help.
“Theo,” she said, “I’m going to take this gentleman to the doctor’s office. Will you see that the geranium pot is cleaned up and the others are not in danger of falling?”
At her uncommon air of authority, Alex tilted his head. Who was she to give orders to a bellboy?
“Yes, Miss Fairbanks,” Theo answered, “but are you sure you don’t need a hand with him?”
Now steady on his feet, and having noted her name, Alex stepped out of their hold. “I’m fine now. It’s you, Miss Fairbanks, that I’m worried about.”
“Me?” she said. “I appreciate your concern, but our roll across the drive did not harm me. I’m just a little dusty.” She batted at her clothing, raising a cloud of dust. Someone laughed from the veranda, and she looked up. “Oh dear, we’ve attracted a crowd.”
Alex followed her gaze and cringed.
Guests stood at the veranda railing like patrons in an opera-house box. The women wore dresses of silk and satin, their hair done up in what Alex assumed were the latest styles. He hadn’t kept track. The men sported fedoras or derbies, high collars, and tailored frock suits, a far cry from his patched brown pants and old work shirt. It was unlikely he knew any of them, or, if he did, that they would recognize him now. Few people had seen him after Danny’s and Elizabeth’s deaths.
“Miss Fairbanks, we need to talk. Let’s go inside.” He hated all this attention, and she needed to know the flowerpot had been intentionally thrown at her.
She turned to the bellboy. “Theo, please take— I’m sorry, what is your name, sir?”
“MacLean. Alex MacLean.”
“Please take Mr. MacLean’s traveling bag inside the lobby. He and I will be meeting with Dr. Dolan.” She cast Alex a look that dared him to challenge her.
He scowled, first at her, then at the bag that had somehow ended up beside the older man. “I can carry my own bag. And if I decide to see your physician, I’ll find him myself.”
“Mr. MacLean,” the bellboy said, adjusting spectacles crowned by wiry white eyebrows, “please allow an old man to offer you a bit of advice. Just do as she says. It’ll be easier in
the long run. Miss Fairbanks is the owner and manager of the Hotel Grand Victoria, and she has your best interests at heart.”
Alex nearly moaned aloud. Great. Just great. He rubbed his fingertips over the stubble on his jaw. She was the one who would decide whether to hire him or not.
“Theo is a wise man, Mr. MacLean. He knows I won’t be able to rest until I’m sure you have not been seriously injured. The Hotel Grand Victoria has a resident physician and is well-known for the service it offers to its guests.”
He knew all about the solicitous courtesies of a first-class hotel, but that had been another life. “I am not a guest,” he said as the bellboy disappeared inside with his bag.
“You’re quibbling, Mr. MacLean. Once you’ve registered, you will be. Now, please, come with me.”
Alex gave in. Irritating his future employer would be foolish. And Miss Fairbanks would find out soon enough why he was here. Once they were inside, he would splinter the illusion she held of being safe on the grounds of her hotel. “You’re the boss. Which way?”
“Follow me.” She started toward a pathway along the exterior of a huge round room lined with tall, double-hung windows. “The doctor’s home and office are in a cottage on the other side of the Grand Ballroom.”
Alex tried to keep an eye out for another assault. However, his attention kept veering to Miss Fairbanks and the innate elegance of her body’s movements. He admired the bold purpose in her walk. She belonged here and she knew it. He envied her that. He belonged nowhere, and his life had no purpose. Surviving day-to-day wasn’t nearly enough for him, and it hadn’t been for a good while now.
Four months ago in Oregon, he thought he’d found his sense of purpose again. Emma Turner had treated him like a man instead of a monster. She hadn’t stirred him the way Miss Fairbanks was doing, but Emma had eased his loneliness with conversation and shared with him her dream of having a family. Alex had realized then that, without family, without a wife and children to love and provide for, he was nothing but a piece of flotsam drifting aimlessly on the current. Wanting to remarry and settle down again, he had asked Emma to be his wife.
Horrified by his proposal, she had unloaded her true feelings for him. What did she want with a poor, appallingly scarred carpenter who kept his past to himself? She’d only engaged him in conversation out of pity, and in hopes of attracting the new preacher’s interest.
Alex had immediately taken to the road again, continuing his empty existence until today, when a woman unlike any other needed his protection. Needed him. For a moment, his life had purpose again, and it felt good.
If only that feeling could last.
* * *
Julia stifled a residual shiver from her narrow escape and glanced back at the tall, broad-shouldered man who had risked his own safety for hers. If Alex MacLean hadn’t thrown himself at her, conveying her away from that flowerpot … well, she would no longer have to worry about the looming deadline her father had set for her.
Finding the right man had taken some doing and three false starts that wasted four of the precious six months specified in her father’s will. Those men had seemed like good prospects, but once each of them set eyes on her and found out who she was, they became like salivating dogs. They had wanted more than she was willing to offer, much more. She had settled on her fourth choice, Phillip Williamson, an old friend who would not take advantage of her. He was due to arrive today after a long journey from Pennsylvania. She expected him at any moment, had been waiting for him on the veranda when Mr. MacLean arrived.
Tomorrow, she and Phillip would speak their vows, meeting the deadline with one day to spare. She prayed nothing would go wrong. For the last few weeks, every time she crossed another day off her calendar, Julia wished she had traveled to Phillip, but she hadn’t wanted to leave the hotel in someone else’s hands. Ignoring her roiling stomach, she told herself Phillip would be here as planned, then leave, also as planned. Her life would be just as she wanted it, except that she would never again feel what she had felt a few minutes ago in Alex MacLean’s powerful embrace.
Initially, when Mr. MacLean had grabbed her, crushing her to him, she had been overcome by her shock at his conduct. Now that she’d had time to think about his actions, though, Julia realized she had felt a gentleness in the way he held her. He had not hurt her, nor let her be hurt. Mr. MacLean had taken the brunt of their fall, carrying her weight as if it were nothing.
She marveled at his strength, agility, and reflexes. He had selflessly protected her, leaving her with a lasting warmth that was unfamiliar and all too enticing. She felt it still as she remembered him pressing her face to his soft shirt and hard chest. The scent of wood shavings and fresh-cut lumber had filled her senses, taking her back to the hotel’s creation and construction, momentarily soothing her.
She aimed another look at him, wondering about him and where he was from.
He gave his shirt a shake and brushed at the carriage-drive dust on each sleeve. “Is there something wrong with what I’m wearing, Miss Fairbanks?”
“No!” She abruptly faced front, her cheeks heating. “Of course not. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”
“Everyone stares,” he said, his voice deepening with what sounded like despair and resignation. “It’s human nature.”
Julia wanted to disappear into the shrubs bordering the path. She had spoken without thinking and put a foot in it. Of course he would think of his scar. No wonder he had wanted to go inside when he saw the guests watching them from the veranda. The poor man. His poor face.
Seeing his scar had taken her by surprise, but she had controlled her reaction, as well as her sympathy for him. He did not strike her as a man who wanted anyone’s pity. But now he had been physically hurt on her account.
He deserved better from her.
She slowed her steps, letting Mr. MacLean come up beside her. “Is your back paining you?”
“I’ll live.”
“I’m glad.” She slanted a look at the handsome side of his face. He did not meet her gaze. A days’ growth of beard darkened an appealingly strong jaw framed by sun-lightened brown hair. Longer than customary, his hair fell across a high forehead, which she had always believed marked a man of character. His eyes were a rich brown with golden flecks.
Having spent her life in two hotels, she had seen many good-looking men, but this man was different. To her, what set Mr. MacLean apart was the way he had been admiring her hotel when she first noticed him from the veranda, as if the Hotel Grand Victoria were more than just a building to sleep in and eat in. His appreciation had made her smile, but then his demeanor had changed. He had stared up at the building for so long she’d grown worried. Now, Julia could not forget how alone he had appeared. On reflection, he had seemed almost devastated by something only he was seeing.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Mr. MacLean said, his eyes very much on her.
Caught looking at him and thinking about him again, Julia felt her face heat for the second time in a matter of moments. “I … was just thinking about your arrival,” she said, wanting to be truthful without giving away all of her thoughts. “You seemed to like the look of the Hotel Grand Victoria.”
“I do like it.” He continued watching her, as if he were speaking about more than the hotel.
She felt impossibly warmer and suppressed an urge to fan her cheeks. Memories of his arms wrapped tightly around her, and her face pressed to his chest, filled her mind and made her long for what she would never have—a marriage based on mutual attraction and love.
Julia gave her head a shake. This had to stop. In less than twenty-four hours, she would be a married woman who needed to uphold her spotless reputation. With a ring on her finger, she would become the legal owner and caretaker of the Hotel Grand Victoria. That was what she wanted, and she mustn’t let anything—or anyone—distract her from the course she had set.
As they approached the two-story, beachside cottage, Julia wracked her brain for som
ething to fill the potent silence. “Dr. Dolan has lived here with his wife and daughter for five years. Having a physician on the premises is a great comfort to the hotel’s guests, many of whom come to Coronado for their health. The ocean air is very beneficial.”
“I can imagine.” Though he didn’t smile, his eyes seemed to shine with what she suspected was amusement at her expense, as if he knew how he was affecting her.
Julia ground her teeth. Her reaction to him was really beginning to annoy her. She considered leaving Mr. MacLean on the doctor’s doorstep and returning to her duties. But how could she? He had likely saved her life. In addition, he was a guest, and she always treated her guests with the utmost respect and hospitality. Besides, if she didn’t take him to the doctor herself, he might not go at all, and she could not bear it if he neglected an injury incurred on her behalf.
Stepping up to the door, she knocked harder and louder than necessary.
Mary Dolan opened the door. “Julia!” The older woman smiled. Dabs of flour speckled her round face and red apron. She smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg. When she looked at Alex, her smile faltered at the sight of his scar, but then her smile widened into one of delight and welcome. She grasped his hand and pumped it vigorously, oblivious to the pain thinning his lips. “Mr. Williamson, it’s wonderful to finally meet you. We’ve been so looking forward to meeting Julia’s young man.”
His eyebrows rose, and he glanced over at her.
Julia cringed. She opened her mouth to correct Mary’s mistaken notion, but her friend barely paused for breath as she released Mr. MacLean.
“My dear girl, you have chosen yourself a … a strapping fellow. A little dusty around the edges, perhaps”—her gaze avoided his face and traveled over the dirt and bits of shell that still clung to his clothing—“but very strapping. Kate will be jealous. Just this morning she was asking after you. We both want to know every last detail about your wedding arrangements.”
