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

  Lucas’s brows shot up. “Who said anything about track meets? You just asked me to help out with the fund-raiser and occasional practices.”

  “You can’t expect Jocelyn to run a meet on her own,” Mr. Grady said. “She’s got a couple of assistant coaches, but they’ll all have their hands full. We need another body, and you make the most sense.”

  Lucas shook his head, took another bite of rice with vegetables and, by the way his jaw worked overtime, ground the food into pulp.

  Jocelyn chewed her bottom lip, then flashed her cheerleading smile. “Mr. Grady.”

  “Call me Kieran, would you, please?”

  “Uh, Kieran.” It came out completely unnatural. “I think I can find more help. Maybe Jack...”

  “Jack volunteers for the fire department on Saturdays,” Anne spoke up. “He wouldn’t be available for the weekend meets.”

  “Well, maybe he could help at the weekday practices.” Jocelyn’s smile was quickly fading, but she wasn’t going to let Lucas get put on the spot. Not because of her own failings. Not because she was being a wuss about running the team on her own. Not because she still felt guilty about losing her track scholarship.

  “Lucas, honey,” Mrs. Grady said. “You used to love track. Maybe you’d enjoy sharing your experiences with the kids. And Jocelyn could use your help. Please think about it.”

  “Yup. Sure, Mom,” he said, short, clipped words heralding the closure of the subject.

  Stilted silence followed. Jocelyn’s smile faded to nonexistent. I should be able to handle things myself. But was she even worthy of being a coach? What was the old saying: “Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach”?

  Lucas took a long draw of his ice water. “Well, I’m not sure what you want me to do for the fund-raiser, Jocelyn, but once Annie leaves on Saturday, I don’t know how available I’ll be for much of anything.”

  “You’re leaving, Anne?” Beverly said, concern drawing her brows together.

  Anne flashed a thanks-a-lot look at Lucas, who pulled in his chin and raised his shoulders. Clearly, he didn’t know she hadn’t told anyone about leaving.

  “Well, yes, Mom. We agreed from the beginning I’d go home once Lucas got discharged.”

  Beverly’s bright expression deflated on the spot. “You’ve been such a big help around here,” Beverly said. “And who’s going to do my hair?”

  That lightened the atmosphere and got a chuckle out of Lucas. “Don’t look at me.”

  “Maybe you could teach me,” Jocelyn said. She felt a bit foolish making the offer, especially when everyone, most especially Mrs. Grady, checked out her simple ponytail at once.

  “How are you with a blow-dryer and hair spray?” Anne asked, an impish flint in her light brown eyes.

  “It really is all about the cut,” Beverly said. “And fortunately, I’ve got a good one.”

  “See?” Anne said. “All you’ll need to do is wash, comb and fluff.”

  “Well, because Mrs. Grady’s hair isn’t long enough for a ponytail, I guess I can learn to dry, fluff and spray.”

  “If you’re going to be my hairdresser, you’re going to have to learn to call me Beverly.”

  Jocelyn grinned. “Beverly.” Would she ever feel comfortable saying Kieran and Beverly?

  “What about Jack?” Kieran said. “Does he know you’re leaving?”

  “Dad, just drop it, would you?” Anne stood and picked up her plate, then her mother’s, and headed to the sink.

  With Jocelyn’s help, Jack had convinced Anne to go out with him since she’d been home, and he’d been looking very happy the last couple of weeks. In Anne’s defense, she did have a nursing job in Portland, Oregon to get back to—but Jocelyn was pretty sure Jack had bigger plans in mind.

  No one looked more disappointed than Beverly. “It’s been so great having you around, Anne. We just hate to see you go—that’s all.”

  Jocelyn noticed the expression on Lucas’s face, like he wasn’t good enough to take Anne’s place. She remembered that look from high school. Then he changed. Got tough. Used to brag about being a slacker.

  She never believed him. Not for a second.

  * * *

  Wednesday morning, after Lucas helped Kieran get washed and dressed, he jumped into the shower. Midway through, a pounding on the door cut short the soothing hot ribbons of water streaming over his tense shoulders and back.

  “Jack isn’t answering my calls,” Kieran shouted through the closed door. “We need to find another way to get to the doctor’s appointment.”

  Lucas shut off the water, grabbed the bath towel and wrapped it around his waist in the thick-with-steam bathroom, then opened the door. “Why don’t you give him another call in a minute or two? Maybe he’s already on the road.”

  Today’s appointment was important. It would clarify for Kieran when his leg cast might come off and, for a normally hyperactive guy, he was looking for a light at the end of this recovery. If he missed the appointment, it might be another month before he could reschedule.

  His parents both owned hybrids, cars that had lots of attributes but weren’t made for people with full leg casts. Especially six-foot-four people with full leg casts. Anne had mentioned that Jack had been providing his 1980s van for Kieran’s transportation.

  Lucas turned to wipe steam off the mirror.

  “What the land’s end is that?” Kieran said, as if he’d noticed a gaping wound on Lucas.

  At first it didn’t register, then it hit him. He’d turned his back on his father and exposed the tattoos. “Oh, these?” He played dumb and glanced over his shoulder as if he’d forgotten the raven on the backside of each shoulder blade existed.

  “For cryin’ out loud, are you serious? What got into you? Next you’re going to tell me you’ve taken up smoking again.”

  Lucas had actually put a lot of thought into his choice of tattoos. The ravens were Hugin and Munin, “thought” and “memory.” According to Norse mythology, each morning Odin sent the birds out to the world to report back what they saw. Lucas preferred to think of his ravens as thought and reason—because he didn’t put much stock in memories.

  Sometimes, those ravens were the only things that kept him from having lousy judgment. Still, he saw that old and familiar look in his father’s eyes. Slacker. Only slackers get tats.

  Yeah? Well, you don’t know everything, dear old Dad. But it wouldn’t be worth the breath to explain how it felt to have men’s lives balanced in your hands or how a wrong decision could cost a limb or eyesight or, worse yet, death. Dad wouldn’t get it.

  “For your information, I didn’t start smoking again, and these are the only tattoos I have.”

  It’s not like it’s a dragon or demon or snake winding up my neck. They’re ravens—just black birds. Okay, more like crows on steroids.

  “The damn things nearly cover your back. Your mother will burst into tears when she sees them.”

  “Are you going to call Jack or what?”

  On edge over the possibility of missing his appointment, Kieran momentarily put his judgment about tattoos aside, flipped open his cell and put his special electric wheelchair in reverse. At least for now, Lucas had gotten him off his back. Literally.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Kieran still hadn’t reached Jack. Lucas ran next door.

  He rapped on Jocelyn’s door, and moments later she answered, looking surprised. “Hi, Lucas. What’s up?”

  She was dressed for teaching in a pin-striped pencil skirt, white blouse and black flats. Her hair was down and he liked how it gathered in fluffy bunches on her shoulders, but he wasn’t here to gawk at her good looks. He’d come to get help.

  “Sorry if I disturbed anything, but...” Lucas said, pulling back on track. “Does your dad still have that big old van?”

  “Yeah. It’s in the garage. Why?”

  “Any chance we could borrow it?”

  “No one has driven it in years. Probably doesn’t even run.” />
  Due to her confused expression, brows low, eyes narrowed, lips pursed—he especially liked that last part—he figured he owed her an explanation. “I’ve got to get Dad to his doctor’s appointment in half an hour and Jack was supposed to pick us up and take us. He’s a no-show.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Yesterday afternoon Jack got a call at school to report for duty to fight the fire.”

  Anne had already explained how Jack was a teacher at the high school and a volunteer fireman for Whispering Oaks. Wait until Anne found out about Jack getting called in to fight the fire.

  “Let me find the key,” Jocelyn said. “Though the van battery’s probably dead.”

  “I’ve got jumper cables.”

  She found the key hanging on one of multiple hooks in the laundry room and handed it to him. Their fingers touched and the pop of pleasure immediately grabbed his attention. “Let’s see if it starts,” she said, leading him into the garage. “If it does, it’s yours.”

  “Thanks,” Lucas said. “We really appreciate it.”

  Once in the driveway, Lucas couldn’t help but notice how Jocelyn had to hike up her tight skirt in order to climb inside the van. Not wanting to tick her off, he averted his eyes after a quick appreciative glance.

  He ran home to grab the jumper cables and to wheel his dad outside. On his way, he noticed a darkened sky with deep purple and red haze beneath and huge black clouds above a distant ridge. The wind had picked up instead of settling down, which didn’t bode well for the firefighters, including Jack. Anne would be worried sick.

  After he’d gotten a relieved Kieran inside the big old red van, with his leg cast stretched across the spacious back bench seat, Lucas loaded in the wheelchair. He closed the heavy door and turned, almost bumping into Jocelyn. Up close she smelled really good, like marshmallows and flowers.

  He stretched the orange cables from car to van. “Pull your car up and leave the engine running,” he said.

  Lucas gave her a thumbs-up and Jocelyn started the car engine. “Now the van!” he called.

  Lucas watched Jocelyn hike up her skirt again in order to slip behind the steering wheel. This time Lucas let himself enjoy the whole, long-legged show. When his eyes kept moving upward, he realized he’d been caught.

  Jocelyn glanced at her lap before her lashes fluttered back up and she looked into his eyes. There went another mini jolt right through his chest—better than caffeine.

  A tiny mischievous smile accompanied her glance as she turned the key and the old behemoth engine coughed and sputtered to life. Their eyes met and held a few moments, and he wondered if she felt what he was feeling. Turned on.

  “Come on, you guys, or we’ll never make it on time,” said Mr. Personality from the backseat.

  * * *

  Lucas shot up in the dark, panting, drenched with sweat. There was fire. He smelled it. Where the hell was he? Clutching his chest, heart pounding in his throat, he searched frantically for a clue, but he had to wait for his eyes to adjust to the dark. It was too soft to be in a sleeping bag on the desert floor. Besides, he had a pillow, and he never had a pillow out there.

  Right. He was home, at Whispering Oaks. It was two in the morning on Friday. There were wildfires in the distant hills. He was okay.

  With adrenaline crawling along his arms and legs, he threw back the covers. He needed mindless tinkering. Keeping busy. Distraction. Anything to keep from thinking.

  His pulse slowed a fraction as he headed for the kitchen. He avoided the creak in the hall floor outside of Anne’s bedroom so as not to wake her.

  After he got his drink, when he stepped outside, he came to a halt. Something had changed. The wind had stopped. He glanced across the backyard to a glowing orange ridge in the distance. Maybe now the fire would settle down, too.

  Letting the last of his nervousness drizzle out, he opened the garage door and got to work changing out the headlights on the car.

  Time slipped by and, as had been the early morning routine since he’d been home, Anne eventually showed up. Tonight she had an old high school yearbook in her hand and a melancholy expression in her eyes. She’d tried not to be obvious when she found out about Jack fighting the fire today, but Lucas could tell by the way she bit her nails and twisted her hair all evening that inside she was freaking out. Something big was going on between her and Jack.

  He glanced at his sister, hair every which way, nightgown hanging loose nearly to the floor, looking like some kind of messy angel. She climbed into the Mustang, talking about anything that seemed to pop into her head. It led back to high school and a love triangle between Anne, her best friend at the time and Jack. He’d tried his best to stay out of that drama back then but still recalled the heartache his sister had lived through.

  When she started what he called the remember game, he tried to keep up, knowing she might throw in a curveball pop quiz. So far, the first few questions she’d thrown at him had been slow and down the center.

  “Remember the night before I left for college when I came and sat here and told you that I still loved Jackson Lightfoot but I could never have him?”

  Was he supposed to remember those kinds of conversations? “Uh, kinda.”

  She went dramatic, tossed back her head and groaned. “Damn, Lucas, I break open my heart and spill my guts to you and you don’t remember?”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t remember. I just said it’s a little vague. Why don’t you run it by me again?”

  And she did, boy did she, the whole sordid tale, which went on for at least fifteen minutes. He kept busy with the headlight, eyes nearly glazing over. Finally, things got around to the real reason she couldn’t sleep.

  “The thing is, I never quit loving him...”

  So this was her bombshell? Hell, he could have told her that. Now all she had to do was be practical.

  “Then why not move back here and be with him?”

  For his effort of listening to and supporting his sister by offering a solution, he got the death glare.

  “Ugh. It’s not that easy.”

  “Sure it is,” he said. “What do you have in Portland that you can’t find here?”

  She sighed and, ignoring him, thumbed through the yearbook.

  Several minutes slipped by in silence. He was okay with that. It allowed him to work on the headlight change in peace.

  “Do you believe in people finding the love of their lives, Lucas?”

  “Nope.” He knee-jerked his answer as he used a wrench to tighten a bolt, then thought about Anne and Jack and what she’d just confessed. “But maybe in your case...”

  Not answering, she closed her eyes and hugged that ancient yearbook to her chest. A moment later she got out of the car. “Thanks for listening, little brother.”

  Lucas loved his sister. He’d probably never said the actual words I love you, Sis, but right now he felt her pain and wanted her to know he cared. He gave her the first genuine smile he’d made since coming home, besides the one for Jocelyn, and it reached all the way inside, warmed him up and felt pretty damn good. He rubbed at a foreign, dull tugging in his chest.

  “And by the way—” Anne said, closing the car door “—when you get ready to find the love of your life, may I suggest that you start by looking next door?”

  He threw the greasy rag he’d wiped his hands on at her as she brushed past him on the way out of the garage. A ridiculous notion. Yet his eyes drifted across the dark yard to the house on the other side of the fence, and in his mind’s eye a long pair of shapely legs came back into focus.

  Chapter Three

  Saturday morning, Lucas showed up for track practice like he told his father he would. It was already sunny at quarter to eight, no wind, mostly blue sky with leftover smoke in the distance along with a lingering sooty scent. He checked his watch. Where were the athletes? More importantly, where was Jocelyn?

  He paced the length of the track, pieces of memories patching through his thoughts. Just focus on the race. Giv
e it your full effort. He would swear his father spoke over his shoulder, though he knew Dad was home in the wheelchair where he’d left him—in the family room watching golf on TV. The poor guy was practically on house arrest.

  How many times had he let dear old Dad down when he raced? How many times could he have won and made Dad proud if he’d just three-stepped between hurdles instead of stuttering? But signing up for track hadn’t been his idea. Anne had talked him into it, just so she could be around Jackson Lightfoot. Speaking of Anne, she’d never come home last night. Last he’d heard, she’d gone looking for Jack at the fire command center.

  More thoughts rushed his mind as he walked the track. Back in high school, Lucas hadn’t yet learned the fine art of total focus, except for when it came to cars. Being the coach’s kid meant having to prove yourself, and it seemed that in his father’s eyes, Lucas never really did. Second place was only a quick flash on Kieran Grady’s track radar; third place didn’t register at all. At least that’s how it’d felt.

  Lucas shook the bitter memories from his head.

  What the hell was he doing here? Jogging on this track was like reliving his slacker days all over again. It felt idiotic. Old insecurities laced through him, quickly followed by anger. He wanted to punch something or kick over a hurdle and storm off, just like he used to.

  Here he was, honorably discharged from the army, a medic, twenty-eight years old, no plans, no job, subbing for his dad for some stinking high school fund-raiser. He squinted into the sun. In some ways he still felt an L was tattooed on his forehead.

  Ambushed by frustration, he burst into a sprint, slowed down a few paces, then sprinted again. Maybe he could run off the negativity.

  “Lucas!” Jocelyn came trotting across the grass wearing running gear and holding her workout bag in one hand, long strides accentuating the tone and muscle of a female athlete. He could get used to looking at those legs, all right.

  “Hey,” he said when she got ten feet away, chiding himself for being so glad to see her.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Where’re the kids?”

  She checked her watch. “They should start straggling in any time now.”