Harlequin Special Edition July 2013 - Bundle 2 of 2: The Widow of Conard CountyA Match for the Single DadThe Medic's Homecoming

by Rachel Lee

  Only sheer will could have gotten Dad to sit up on his own because Mom, who stood close by with a yellow robe over her shoulders and that bright pink cast, couldn’t possibly have helped him with her one good hand. The man was too damn big. Good thing Dad had a will of steel.

  “What did you always say to me, ‘This too shall pass,’ or something?” Lucas said, wanting to ease his dad’s frazzled mood.

  Kieran grimaced. “Using my own words against me—that’s cold, son.” He flashed a brief grin at Lucas—more of a touché than an affirmation. Truce. For now.

  “Let me explain how we do this,” his mom, Beverly, said, stepping around the bed to her husband’s side.

  He’d done thousands of patient transfers in his nine years of active duty. But Lucas bit his tongue and let her explain their routine for getting Dad into the wheelchair.

  Forty-five minutes later he’d helped his father wash and get dressed and had rolled him into the kitchen for breakfast. After years of helping his share of proud-but-wounded soldiers in the field, Lucas understood how humiliating it was for a grown man to need someone else to help him bathe. So he’d offered his dad all due respect, looking away when necessary, and the man had appreciated it.

  He could tell because Dad had let his guard down a little. They carried on a civilized conversation...as if new acquaintances. Same stuff he’d covered with Anne on the drive from the airport. Weather, food, old friends. Though the conversation with his dad had felt stilted, anything was better than snarky attacks.

  At least his dad hadn’t mentioned his appearance. Lucas had caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom with Dad and had to laugh at how bad he looked. He’d at least managed to throw some water on his face and run damp fingers through his hair. He’d thought about shaving when he’d shaved his father but decided to wait until later when he showered. And Dad would have nothing to do with the soul patch he’d tried to talk him into, opting for a clean shave. He noted that Dad’s hairline seemed to be getting higher and higher.

  In the kitchen, after gulping down the orange juice Anne had set on the counter for him, Lucas headed out front for the newspaper. The neighborhood hadn’t changed a bit—a meandering street lined with pine and ash trees, mostly single-story ranch houses except for the Howards’ next door and a few others. The beige of the Grady home was accented with red brick, which set it apart from the otherwise similar homes along the street. Bushes or rustic wood fences divided most property lines.

  He glanced up and down the block as he searched for the paper on yet another sunny day in Southern California. God, he’d missed that. The paper had been thrown between the family car in the driveway and the long row of box bushes bordering the Howards’ yard. As he bent to reach for it, he heard footfalls running down the sidewalk. He popped his head over the car bumper in time to see Jocelyn jog by. He hadn’t seen her in almost ten years, yet he instantly recognized her.

  She wore black thigh-length form-fitting running shorts and a sports bra. More athletic than voluptuous, she could get away with it. And did she ever. Her long torso, thin legs and arms looked fit, covered in a light bronze California tan. Her fawn-colored hair, held high in a ponytail over the back of her visor, shone in the sun.

  Flooded with good memories and hit by an impulse, he shot out from behind the car after her. Her long ponytail wagged back and forth with each stride, begging to be yanked. Nearly catching up with her, he reached out for her hair and tugged.

  “Hey there,” he said.

  She gasped and spun around, recoiled with muscles tensed, eyes large and dark with surprise—or possibly fear. Idiot, you scared her! Maybe he should have thought through his bright idea a bit more.

  Just as suddenly, she beamed with recognition.

  * * *

  With the yank on her hair, Jocelyn almost leaped out of her skin. Every muscle in her body went on alert as memories of another time she hadn’t been paying close enough attention to coursed through her. She spun around...and couldn’t believe her eyes. Trying to catch her breath and reel in her wildly beating heart, she broke into a smile.

  It was Lucas, all six feet and change of him. He stood before her wearing a T-shirt and shorts that seemed to have been left in the dryer too long. He looked like a never-forgotten, though rumpled, dream. A dream from ten years ago that hadn’t ever faded.

  She grinned wider, her lower lip trembling. His shoulders seemed broader, and his flat stomach, muscled arms and legs advertised one super-fit male. His dark brown hair stuck out in several different directions, and by the goofy, upside-down attempt at a smile he was glad to see her.

  After ten years, Lucas had finally come home, and the sight of him practically made her knees buckle.

  “Lucas!”

  Chapter Two

  Jocelyn kicked out at Lucas. “I could crown you!” she said, taking a swing at him. “You could have given me a heart attack.”

  He dodged her swing. “I’m sorry.” He held up his hands, fighting back his grin and enjoying every second of her protest. “I saw you run by, and, well, I never could resist pulling your ponytail.” The warm feeling in his chest caught him off guard, plus the fact he was genuinely glad to see her.

  “Were you hiding in the bushes or something?”

  He tapped the newspaper in the air. “I’m not that messed up. I was getting the paper.”

  Color rose on her olive-toned cheeks.

  “Who says you’re messed up? You’re just a freak who likes to sneak up on unsuspecting women and pull their hair.” She squared off, hands on her hips, and stared at him.

  “Not true. Not women. Only one unsuspecting woman. You.” He folded his arms and watched.

  Man, she’d changed, yet she hadn’t. Gotten a lot taller—almost as tall as him. Filled out a little. Grew some hips. Looked good in sports gear. Had the same pretty teeth and shiny brown eyes...and he hadn’t even washed his face yet. What the hell was he thinking?

  “So, you’re home for good now?”

  “Yup. Got back last night.”

  “Fantastic. Welcome home.” There was that pretty and contagious grin again. He felt dumb smiling this much so early in the morning, but, there you go, he was. “Then I guess I’ll see you around,” she said.

  He nodded, wondering why he’d bothered to bug her. What was the point?

  “Great!” She turned, tossing her ponytail, and resumed running. His gaze followed her long, smooth strides for a few seconds.

  Without looking back she lifted her arm and waved, as if she knew he was still there. Watching.

  For a moment, he’d felt like that kid he used to be, the one full of bravado, pretending to take on the universe, not like the world-weary dude he’d turned into.

  “I’m glad you’re home, Lucas,” she called out two house-lengths away.

  He cupped his hands around his mouth. “You run like a girl.”

  She gave a single-finger salute and picked up her stride. It made him laugh, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed.

  You know what? Maybe he was glad to be home.

  * * *

  Monday afternoon, after performing all of the basic duties for his father and setting him free in the wheelchair, he’d caught his sister making plane reservations to return home on Saturday. It only made sense. She worked as an RN in Oregon and couldn’t stay forever. But was he ready to take on the whole show—to be nursemaid, chauffeur, cook and delivery boy?

  Lucas wandered out to the garage with his new best friend, Bart, hot on his trail. Well, best friend since he’d shared some of his peanut butter sandwich with him at lunch. Lost in tinkering with his Mustang, he’d enjoy the solitude for what few days were left before Anne went home. Time flew by, and soon it was late afternoon and he heard Anne scraping the grill and firing up the barbecue.

  “Annie-belle, could you throw another shrimp on the barbie?” Kieran, using his worst Australian accent, sounded really close. Lucas shook his head. He had to hand it to his
father—he never gave up. And somehow he had gotten the wheelchair out to the garage all by himself. “I’ve invited Jocelyn for dinner.”

  Jocelyn?

  Lucas pretended he hadn’t heard. Fortunately, since being cooped up in the house the past month, Dad had the attention span of someone with ADD hopped up on caffeine. Kieran’s melancholy gaze had already drifted to the totaled Harley motorcycle parked in the corner of the garage.

  “It’s a crying shame, isn’t it?” Kieran said.

  “Most definitely.”

  “Too bad your specialty isn’t motorcycles instead of Mustangs.”

  “I used to know a guy named David in auto shop who loved bikes. Want me to look him up for you?”

  “Your mother would divorce me if I ever got back on one of those babies.”

  “You’ve got a point.”

  “Hey, let me run something by you,” Kieran said, shifting to yet another topic as he rolled his motorized wheelchair into the garage.

  “I want you to help out Jocelyn with our annual athletic department fund-raiser.”

  “Dad, I’m really not interested in...”

  “I need you to help me, Lucas. I can do all the phoning and can make contacts with vendors and solicit donations, but I need you to be my legs.” Dad looked earnest, the corners of his blue eyes crinkled and staring Lucas down. “Jocelyn’s great. But the thing is, she doesn’t think she can sub for me as coach because she lost her track scholarship when she was at the university and she’s insecure. She needs help with the fund-raiser and track. And that’s where I need to throw her a crumb—you. Not that you’re a crumb.”

  This was the first Lucas had heard about Jocelyn bombing out of her scholarship. Hmm. She bombed out. He slacked. Maybe he and Jocelyn had more in common than he ever thought.

  “This is our big fund-raiser for the entire year. I need someone to watch over Jocelyn, help her out and report back to me. Someone to be my eyes and ears until I can be there myself.”

  “Your snoop, you mean.”

  “That’s just an added bonus.” Kieran looked serious. “I really need your help. She needs your help. The Whispering Oaks track team needs your help. I’m not sure I’m ever going to be able to be head coach again, and this team has lots of potential.”

  “I feel so special.” Lucas put splayed fingers over his chest.

  The old man was laying it on pretty thick. Despite himself, Lucas listened with great interest, wondering how he’d let himself get sucked into the plan. Oh, right. He was the coach’s son.

  As he listened to his dad, Lucas stuck the key into the ignition of the Mustang, turned it and after a few rum-rum-rums, a tingle of excitement bled out from his chest as the engine almost turned over before moaning like a distressed horse.

  “I thought you already jumped the battery with my cables,” Kieran said.

  “I did one better. I bought a new one,” Lucas said. “It started okay earlier. Maybe it’s the alternator.” If he turned out to be right about the alternator, as soon as he cashed his last check he’d buy a new one, which was no easy feat when dealing with classic cars. He’d have to get online tonight and research a few possibilities. Good thing he’d saved up substantially during his army stint because the car could suck him dry. In the meantime, he’d have to wait to take his baby for a test-drive.

  Lucas shut the hood and wiped his hands, turning in time to see Jocelyn walk up. She wore tan cropped pants, double-layered tank tops in bright yellow and dark orange, flashy gladiator sandals and even had a pedicure complete with a tiny flower on each big toe. Nice.

  “Hi, Lucas,” Jocelyn said, losing her step on the gravel. She opened her arms, and he gave her a quick one-arm hug, feeling uncomfortable. Seeing her now was nothing like the other day when it was just the two of them. Anne was bound to make a big deal out of them meeting up again. His dad wanted him to help her coach. The whole situation made him tense. The last thing he needed was pressure over anything. Not in his state.

  Jocelyn stepped back uncertainly. “How are you?” she asked.

  “Fine. Just fine.” He glanced at the ground, molars pressed tight. “I hear you’re house-sitting for your parents.”

  “Yeah, they’re finally taking that RV road trip they’ve always dreamed about.”

  “There she is,” Kieran said, rolling out of the garage, Bart tugging on the knotted rope in his hand.

  “You wanted to talk to me, Coach Grady?” Jocelyn asked. To Lucas, she sounded relieved to have a purpose for being there.

  Lucas chuckled. “He’s got big plans for the fund-raiser this year. How are you at being micromanaged?”

  “I’m right here and I can hear you,” Dad said, droll as ever.

  In jest, Lucas flashed her a warning glance. “Let me know if you need backup.”

  “That’s the last time I run my game plans by you,” Kieran muttered, obviously unfazed by Lucas’s jab, maybe even enjoying the guy banter.

  “I guess I’d better see what you’ve got in mind.” Jocelyn tossed Lucas a playful look, stepped behind the wheelchair and rolled it toward the back door, which had a makeshift ramp. She glanced over her shoulder and mouthed “thanks.”

  “Good luck.” He raised a brow and enjoyed the color tinting her cheeks when she smiled.

  “Don’t listen to him, Jocelyn,” Kieran said, sounding anything but perturbed.

  He watched Jocelyn push his father into the house, liking the sway of her hips, then glanced up to find Anne watching him. Yeah, snoopy big sisters noticed stuff like that.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be barbecuing?” he said.

  Once Kieran and Jocelyn were well inside the house, Anne used her playground whisper. “She is so adorable, don’t you think?”

  “Back off, Sis,” he said, heading toward the garage.

  He didn’t mean to snap at Anne, but his father had already laid out his cockamamie plan for Lucas to help with the sports department fund-raiser. He didn’t need his sister playing matchmaker on top of that.

  Sure, being the coach’s kid, he’d attended the annual athletic event since he was little and had always enjoyed it, but never did he ever want to help plan it. Too bad Anne wasn’t sticking around. That was more her thing.

  He didn’t appreciate the obvious matchmaking on his father’s part, either. Now, with Anne’s comments, he was beginning to feel the brunt of a family conspiracy. Guess what, folks—I’m not looking for a girlfriend.

  If his dad was trying to get him some job experience by asking him to look after Jocelyn, he was barking up the wrong tree. Chasing a bunch of teen runners around the Tartan track would have about as much clout on his thin résumé as being a medic in the army would in getting a job in a hospital. Unless he went back to school, there wasn’t a place in California that would hire him without a degree. Good thing he had that small nest egg saved up.

  College. The last thing he felt like doing was going back to school. But it seemed like the only option at this point. Truth was, though, he didn’t have a clue what he wanted to do next. He’d always planned to stick it out in the military. But then the damn PTSD started.

  Now what?

  * * *

  “Pass the veggies, Annie-belle, would you?” Mr. Grady said, sitting at the head of the huge, white-washed, French country-style dining table. The bank of ceiling-to-wainscoting windows let in peach-tinged evening light. Gusts of wind battered and rumbled the double panes.

  Even though Jocelyn had worked with him for the past eight months and known him since she was a baby, she still couldn’t bring herself to call him by his first name. He’d always been Mr. Grady. Ditto for Mrs. Grady. Using her first name just didn’t seem appropriate.

  “Is this jasmine rice?” Mrs. Grady sniffed and closed her eyes.

  Anne nodded with a hint of a proud smile. “I thought you might like that.”

  “I never thought you had it in you, sweetheart, but you’ve turned out to be a good cook,” Mrs. Grady said.

/>   “Gee, thanks, Mom.” Anne’s sarcasm put the cherry on top of the backhanded compliment.

  For an only child like Jocelyn, a large family dinner with everyone passing food and chatting was a special treat. When she was young, longing to have brothers and sisters, she used to dream she was one of the Grady kids. When she hit preadolescence, having developed a huge crush, she was glad she wasn’t Lucas’s sister.

  As the relaxed dinner banter continued, Jocelyn passed quick looks at Lucas. He’d left home ten years ago built like a long-distance runner. He’d filled out, muscled up and looked all man in a natural way. Not all men looked like that. Her ex-fiancé sure hadn’t.

  She needed to look away before Lucas caught her again, but, uh-oh, he’d noticed. What was that, the sixth time? She made a quick smile and took another bite of Japanese eggplant, grilled to perfection by Anne.

  Speaking of perfection...Lucas had turned into a gorgeous man. His classic pentagonal-shaped face with high forehead, squared jaw and angular chin was striking to say the least. The military-short hair was filling in, darker than the brown she’d remembered. He didn’t seem to care about combing it, and it stuck out in assorted directions. Tonight he’d wound up with a faux-hawk ridge on top of his head. His hazel eyes evaded contact, but she’d managed to catch his gaze a time or two or three. And he’d actually smiled for her—well, if you counted lips that turned downward instead of up while showing some teeth a smile. An upside-down smile that looked like he was in pain. Like smiling had become foreign to him.

  So a smile from Lucas wasn’t necessarily a happy thing. She’d have to think on that for a while.

  As great as he looked, Lucas seemed withdrawn and guarded—nothing like the crazy kid and overconfident teen she used to know. Well, she wasn’t nearly as carefree as she used to be, either. Life had a way of teaching everyone lessons about caution.

  Kieran tapped his knife against his water glass. “So, here’s the deal. Jocelyn has been taking over the Whispering Oaks track team as head coach while I’ve been laid up, and now Lucas has agreed to help her out with track meets and the annual sports fund-raiser.”