“The surgery happens next Tuesday?” Savannah asked, and gave his hand a squeeze. The gesture made him realize he’d been holding hers tightly. Probably too tightly. He forced his fingers to relax and attempted to draw away. She stilled his retreat without missing a beat in her conversation with his mom. “I’ll come with Beau to the hospital.”
“You have the meeting with the gallery on Tuesday,” he reminded her.
“I’ll move it.” She ran her short, unpainted fingernails along his wrist.
“No, please don’t, sweetie,” his mom interjected. “You either, Beau. I’m going to be a groggy, loopy mess after surgery. I’d just as soon have no witnesses.”
“Except me,” his father said, and kissed his mom’s cheek.
“You made the ‘for better or for worse’ pledge, so you’re exempt.”
“I happen to like you loopy,” he replied.
“Then you’ll like me a lot on Tuesday.”
“You’ll call and let me know how it goes?” Beau asked, well aware his parents’ decision had less to do with his mom’s vanity and more to do with their desire to spare him memories of sitting in another hospital, waiting to learn the fate of his loved ones. He appreciated the intent, but couldn’t help feeling somewhat shut out.
Had he made them feel shut out during the past three years? Probably, and he owed them an apology for keeping them at a distance, but now wasn’t the time to dredge up their sad past. Instead he concentrated on Savannah’s touch, even more so when those nimble fingers absently brushed over his cords, and then wandered back for another stroke. The conversation flowed around him while she smoothed the ridged cotton he’d deliberately chosen on a hunch she couldn’t resist the soft fabric. The hunch paid off, and now the restaurant felt too hot for entirely different reasons. Out of self-defense he moved their hands to her lap, and enjoyed the feel of her slim thigh through her jeans. She stuttered on whatever she was saying to his mom, and her cheeks turned pink.
Oblivious to the game going on under the table, his mom kept talking. “Trent’s going to be in California the week following my surgery—”
“Cheryl, I told you I’d send Wagner to see the client.”
“Don’t be silly. Wagner’s wife is going to pop out a baby any second. He can’t go to California.”
“I don’t want you making the drive alone.”
His mom had made the drive to Atlanta on her own plenty of times, but Beau understood his dad’s sudden overprotectiveness. He pulled up his work schedule in his mind, and figured the feasibility of driving his mom to and from her appointment.
“Laurel volunteered to come with me. She had a really great idea, actually.” His mom’s eyes slid back to Savannah, and they twinkled with excitement. “She suggested we meet up with you after my appointment and spend the afternoon shopping for your wedding dress.”
Savannah’s cheeks went from pink to what he recognized as a guilty red, but to anyone else she looked like a blushing bride-to-be. “Oh. Well…I—”
“Mom, she’s kind of slammed right now preparing for an important exhibit at the end of the month.”
He meant to provide Savannah with a graceful out, but felt like an ass when his mom’s face fell. Before he could offer to treat her and Mrs. Smith to lunch that day, Savannah patted his hand and spoke up. “I’d love to, actually. I’ve made good progress with my exhibit. I can afford an afternoon off.”
“Wonderful!” His mom bounced in her chair like an excited teenager, and a wave of gratitude toward his “fiancée” rushed through him. Mom needed something fun to look forward to, and apparently spending an afternoon traipsing through the bridal salons of Atlanta qualified.
She leaned toward Savannah. “What style of dress are you partial to?”
He didn’t hear her reply—and probably wouldn’t have understood it anyway—because his dad grinned at him and said, “Gee, Beau, what style of suit are you partial to?”
“Whatever style she tells me to get.”
“Smart man. Bill and I refuse to shirk on our fatherly duties, though. Do we need to take you suit shopping at some point? And by ‘suit shopping,’ I mean eighteen holes at Stone Mountain.”
He returned his dad’s grin. “Sounds like a plan.” Especially since he had no need for a suit.
“We’ll put something together after the holidays.” His dad’s attention drifted to the flat-screen over the bar.
Across the restaurant a little blond boy no older than five sat at a table with his mom, another woman, and a little girl in a high chair. While the boy stared at the TV, he gripped the edge of the table, and rocked his chair onto its rear legs. Back, then forward. Back again. Beau stared, trying to catch the mom’s attention, but the two women were deep in conversation. As the kid rocked forward, the back legs slipped on the tile floor. The chair skidded out from under him. The little guy flew forward and smacked his head against the table on the way to the ground.
The mom was on her knees cradling her son against her chest before the first wail went up. As soon as it did, waitresses hurried over. A few nearby diners offered napkins to the other woman at the table, who tried to mop up their spilled drinks before her friend got completely drenched. Then the mom drew back to check the damage, and cried out as well. Blood stained her light blue sweater and streamed down the boy’s face.
Beau got up.
…
Savannah tailed Beau across the room toward the screaming boy and distraught mom, almost barreling into him when he paused at a wait station to snag a handful of the restaurant’s signature red napkins. He reached the table before her, his long strides eating up the distance without seeming to hurry. She skidded to a stop behind him as he knelt across from mom and son.
“Hi. My name’s Beau, and I’m a paramedic. Mind if I take a look?”
“Please.” The mom glanced up at him, her face a mask of panic. “Please help.”
He moved closer to the boy, who clung to his mother, his little hand blocking the wound. “Hey, buddy, what’s your name?”
“Liam,” his mom replied. “His name is Liam. Oh my God. So much blood. Should I call an ambulance?”
“Let’s have a look first.”
Liam whimpered at that suggestion and aimed wide, wary eyes at Beau.
“William.” His mom took hold of his little arm and tried to pull his hand away from his head. “Let the man see—”
Beau shook his head at the mom to stop her tug-of-war with her son. “Liam, how old are you?”
“He’s five.”
“Five an’ a half,” Liam corrected with a sniffle.
“So you’re a pretty big boy.” He slid his phone out of his pocket and hit a couple keys. “Do you play Minecraft?”
“Uh-huh, b-but I loosed my pri-pribleges ’cause I gave Kitty a haircut.”
Beau’s lips curved at the confession, and Savannah felt some of her worry drain away. He wouldn’t smile and talk video games with the kid in the midst of a true medical crisis. Would he?
“Well, that’ll definitely do it,” Beau sympathized. “But this is a special circumstance. Think Mom will grant a temporary reprieve?”
“Of course,” she said.
“Awesome.” He held his phone out to the boy. “We’re in creative mode and this looks like a really good world. I see trees, and water, and…hey…are those cows or pigs?”
Liam reached for the phone with both hands. “Pigs! See? They’re pink.”
Beau adjusted the screen higher, so Liam was forced to raise his head. “You gotta hold it up here. How many pigs do you see?” He asked the question while he gently moved Liam’s blood-matted bangs away from his forehead.
“Tons.” He tapped the screen repeatedly. “I’m building a fence ’round them.”
“Good thinking. While you do that, I’m going to check your head, okay?”
“’Kay,” he said, still tapping the screen. “I got an owie.”
“I know. I’ll be careful.”
&
nbsp; While Beau used a napkin to clean around the wound, he spoke to the mom, who’d turned pale to the lips as soon as he’d started mopping up the blood. “Mrs.?”
“Beth. I’m Beth.”
“Hi, Beth. Do you have a compact or mirror in your purse?”
“A mirror? Um…yes. I do.” She grabbed her purse from the back of her chair and dug through it. “Here,” she held it out to him.
“Great. You hold on to that. Savannah?”
She was so lost in watching him work it took her a moment to realize he’d said her name. “Yes?”
“Meet Beth. Beth, this is my fr—my fiancée, Savannah. You’ve got some blood on your face and neck. Would you mind if Savannah scared up a glass of water and some more napkins to help you wash up?”
“Oh. Gosh. No.” She glanced at Savannah. “I’d appreciate it.”
“No worries. I’ll be right back.” She’d barely taken a step when a waitress appeared and handed her a glass of water and several napkins. She crouched beside Beth, put the glass of water on the floor, and traded the napkins for Beth’s small silver compact. She held the mirror and the other woman scrubbed off what she could. Beau kept up a low running commentary. “I see the cut. It’s a little less than an inch long and about a quarter-inch deep.”
“Goodness, it’s much smaller than I imagined.” Relief put a quaver in Beth’s voice. “With all the blood, I thought laceration, skull fracture…I don’t even know what I thought.”
“Kids’ heads have extra padding, but as a result they bleed a lot even from a relatively shallow cut. I can wrap him up well enough to hold him over while you drive to the ER. They can close the wound there.”
“Thank you. Honestly, I’m so grateful.” She accepted her compact back from Savannah with a weak smile.
“We’re happy to help.” Beau folded a fresh napkin into a strip. “Hey, Liam, do you like pirates?”
“Arrr!”
“Who’s your favorite?”
“Jake. He always wins the treasure over Captain Hook.”
“He’s my favorite, too. And what does Jake wear around his head?”
“A red thing.” He scrunched up his face. “I forget the word.”
“Bandanna. Exactly. I’m going wrap this napkin around your head so you look just like Jake, okay? When I’m done you can check yourself out in your mom’s mirror and tell me what you think.”
Savannah bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling. This man tried so hard to remain detached, but he was the first to respond to a cry for help, and did so much more than simply evaluate and treat. He empathized. He cared. Her stupid heart wandered closer to a cliff she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge lay ahead. A steep one that likely ended with a hard landing.
Liam sat still while Beau secured a clean napkin around his head, then handed the phone back to Beau and took the mirror from his mom. He turned his head right and left, checking himself out from every angle.
“Cool?” Beau asked.
“Cool.”
“I think so, too. Now I need to ask you for a couple promises. Your mom is going to drive you to a place where people go to get their owies fixed and I need you to promise to leave the bandanna alone until a doctor or nurse takes it off. Got it?”
“I promise.”
“Thanks. And when the doctor or nurse takes the bandanna off, they’re going to do things to close up your owie and help it heal correctly. I want you to promise me you’ll be brave like Jake, and let them do what they have to do.”
“Uh-uh. I don’t want them to touch it! That will hurt me a lot!”
Beau dipped his head and looked the upset boy in the eye. “I promise it won’t hurt a lot.” He lifted his hair away from his forehead and pointed to the thin row of black stitches visible at his hairline. “See this?”
Liam nodded.
“I got a bad owie on my head last week. I went to the doctor, too, and she used stitches to close the cut, so I know what I’m talking about when I say it doesn’t hurt a lot.”
“For real?”
“For real,” Beau said, and helped the little boy to his feet. “Can I get a high five?” He held up his big, strong hand for a slap from Liam’s miniature one, and Savannah’s ovaries exploded. A little more of her emotional safe ground slipped out from under her.
“Thank you so much.” Beth wrapped Beau in a hug, and then, to Savannah’s surprise, she found herself the recipient of the same treatment.
The woman smiled as she drew away. “He’s so good with kids. Hang on to him, honey. You’ve got yourself a keeper.”
Chapter Fourteen
Beau ate the last handful of his french fries and watched his partner crumple his empty burger wrapper, toss it in the bag nestled in the console between them, and take a giant slug of his bladder-buster-sized soda. A second later Hunter let loose a thunderous belch, and then grinned proudly. “My compliments to the chef.”
“Jesus Christ.” Beau threw his wadded sandwich wrapper at Hunter, who batted it back at him. “You’re a pig.”
“I hate to break it to you, princess, but that burp is likely to be the least offensive thing to come out of me over the next half hour.”
“Great.” Beau hit the button to lower his window. “Hard to believe no lucky girl has scooped you up, what with all your charm.”
Hunter gathered up the rest of the trash and dumped it in the bag. “I reserve some of my charm just for you, Beauregard. But speaking of lucky girls, how’s your fiancée working out?”
“Fine.”
“Better than fine, I’d hazard. Based on the goofy smile stretching your ugly face these past few days, I assume you finally gave up your second virginity to your tasty little neighbor.”
The second virginity comment irked, and Beau decided Hunt could handle the next puking drunk call they caught. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
“You do. You just don’t know you do. Did you two sell it to your parents the other night?”
“Yeah. We sold it so well she got roped into going wedding dress shopping the week after my mom’s surgery.”
“Hmm.” Hunter leaned back in his seat and smiled. “I picture her in something ivory and form-fitting.”
“Stop picturing her in anything, dumbass. We’re not getting married, remember?”
But it was all too easy to envision Savannah wrapped in curve-hugging satin. Just like it had been all too easy to ask her to spend the night after dinner with his parents, all too easy to fall into a habit of listening for her footsteps on the stairs, opening his door in invitation, and watching her accept with a slow, sexy smile. The easiest thing of all? Sinking into her warm, giving body, hearing her uncensored cries, and feeling her tremble as her eyes went blind and his name fell from her lips.
“The better question is do you remember? And does she remember?”
“We remember.” True, he was batting a thousand every night with Savannah and they were both enjoying the hot streak, but this season would come to an end. Neither of them had lost sight of the fact.
A woman with a little girl about three or four years old walked down the sidewalk past the rig. The girl had long white-blonde curls just like Savannah’s when she’d been that age. What was she doing right now?
“If you two are hitting it off so well, why not let things ride and see where this goes? I know your families expect a wedding, but tell them you decided on a long engagement to…I don’t know…save up for your dream wedding.”
Hitting it off with Savannah had turned out to be easier than he’d imagined. He’d pegged her as loud and distracting when she’d first moved in—and he really hadn’t known what to make of her being an artist except it sounded flighty and impractical—but she was also vibrant, funny, passionate, and incredibly compassionate. Whether critiquing their first kiss, punching her ex in the nose, or reading palms, she never failed to captivate, and as much as he’d balked about having her clutter spill over into his life, he was getting used to seeing her earrings sitting on
his nightstand or her sweater tossed over the back of his sofa.
“She’s leaving for nine months in Italy come the first of the year.”
“So? I hear absence makes the heart grow fonder. Nine months of long-distance calls and Skype sex, then you’re back to doing whatever you’re doing now.”
Sounded great, except that other than pretending to be engaged for the sake of his parents, he couldn’t explain what they were doing now, and he sure as hell couldn’t say where it led, other than far short of a place fair for Savannah. She wanted the whole deal—marriage, kids, happily ever after. She deserved a man who could give her all that and more. He was not that guy, and it was only a matter of time before she found some lucky bastard to step up and deliver.
“What we’re doing works for now, but I don’t have any more to offer. I’m played out when it comes to gambling on the future.”
Hunter stared out the windshield for a moment, then turned, and Beau found himself on the receiving end of an uncharacteristically serious look from his partner. “You might want to reevaluate your hand before the first of the year. I don’t know what the future holds, either, but I do know these last few days you’ve been happy. Happier than I’ve seen you in three long years.”
…
Savannah hurried off the elevator and down the corridor to the surgi-center waiting area. She scanned the small, sparsely occupied lounge for Beau’s dad, and almost started for the reception desk to ask if Cheryl Montgomery had come out of surgery when she spotted Beau sitting in the corner of the room. He wore jeans and a brown crew-neck sweater the same shade as his eyes, and looked big and restless with an arm slung across the back of the empty seat beside him and his right ankle resting on his bouncing left knee. He stared blankly at the television mounted on the wall beside the reception desk. A daytime soap played with the sound down.
Dark eyes moved her way when she approached. “Hey,” she whispered and took the seat beside him. “Any news?”
His expression remained unreadable. He shifted, drawing himself in, resting his forearms on his thighs and linking his hands. The move effectively turned him into an island. As if he believed nobody would detect his anxiety so long as he maintained a perimeter.
Emergency Engagement (Love Emergency) Page 12
