He handed Nathan the beeper and grinned. “I know you’re officially on call now, but I’m giving you a break. Albie Carby’s got his fingers stuck in the gumball machine at the Cup. Luke’s disassembling the machine, but he’s worried about the fingers. Have a good weekend.”
“Call me if you need me!”
“Right.”
THE CUP WAS ABSOLUTE pandemonium when Shelly saw Connor push his way through the crowd gathered around Luke and Albie and his father. Albie was sobbing, and his younger brothers were crying in apparent sympathy. Ned Carby, who’d already dealt with a very eventful day and had brought the boys to the Cup for dinner while Francie spent the night in the hospital in Pine Run, looked stressed.
Dan knelt beside Luke with a handful of tools, and Shelly stood over them holding Max, who supported the other weeping children with screams of his own.
“Connor!” she exclaimed when she saw him. The name burst out of her, relief filling her at the sight of him. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him through the layers of onlookers. “He’s been stuck for half an hour!”
Luke, lying on his back under the machine, unscrewing the clear ball that held the gum from its metal base, spared him a grin. “Hey, Doc.”
“Hey, Sheriff.” Connor knelt down beside Albie, who stood trembling, his index and second finger solidly stuck in the machine’s dispenser.
“We’ve tried soap,” Luke said, “Vaseline, bacon grease—you name it. Only thing left is taking it apart, but it’s a longer job than I expected.”
Connor braced a foot on the floor and pulled the boy gently onto his knee. “How you doing, Albie?” he asked, peering into the gum-filled globe, probably trying to see the boy’s fingers, but they were covered by the colored balls.
“Is he okay, Doc?” Ned Carby asked. “He’s been shaking.”
Ned had put his jacket on Albie’s shoulders and Connor reached into it to take the pulse of the hand with the stuck fingers.
“It’s probably just stage fright,” Connor said after listening a moment. “He’s got quite an audience. His pulse is fine. Color’s good.”
Connor grinned at Albie. “You got a black gum ball,” he asked, “and reached in to try to get a red one instead?”
Albie stopped crying long enough to nod. “Hate the black ones!”
“Well, when we get the top off, we’ll get you a red one. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Can you feel your fingers?”
“Yeah.”
“Are they cold?”
“Kinda. And a little sore.”
“Tingly?”
“No.”
“Shall I get him a cup of cocoa, or something?” Shelly asked.
Connor shook his head. “No. Maybe later. His brothers might like that, though.” He indicated the weeping boys with a nod of his head.
“Right. Come on, guys.” She shooed Frank and Charlie toward the counter. Irene Caldwell, who’d worked at the bookstore today and come in for dinner before going home, came to take Max from her.
“Let me hold him while you do that,” she said.
Shelly handed him over. “Bless you, Irene.”
She made strong cocoa, cooled it with an ice cube, then made a mound of whipped cream in each cup and sprinkled it with chocolate jimmies. The boys were diverted from their brother’s problem by their excitement over the treat.
While Irene paced with Max, Shelly went back to a chink in the crowd and stood on tiptoe to watch as Luke gave the big globe a twist. It gave.
“Something to put the gum balls in, Shelly!” he shouted.
She ran to get a large bowl and passed it into the crowd. Jack, who’d come over earlier to see what the commotion was and stayed to help, held the bowl under the globe. Luke gave the big plastic ball a turn, then another, and soon gum balls fell noisily into the bowl, sounding a little like firecrackers.
The globe was off, but Albie’s fingers remained in the dispenser still attached to the base, just above the pedestal. There was quick applause, then an increase in tension as Connor closed his hands over the two fingers.
“Can you wiggle them?” he asked Albie.
The boy did so but grimaced. “It’s tight.”
Luke went to work on the screws on the back of the plate holding the dispenser. They were visible now that the globe was off.
“Phillips,” he said, handing Dan back the standard screwdriver.
Dan reclaimed it and handed him a Phillips screwdriver, and everyone waited, breath held collectively as Luke worked.
In a moment he had the dispenser free of the pedestal, the boy’s fingers still stuck.
“Let’s have that soap again, Shelly!” Luke called. “Now that we can work on it from both sides we might get somewhere.”
“I brought cold cream!” Sylvia Rutledge, from the hair salon across the street, passed a jar through the crowd.
Luke took it, removed the lid and dipped two fingers. He grimaced and made a sound of disgust. Albie, spirits rising at almost being free, laughed.
Luke slapped a dollop of cream into Connor’s hand. He slathered cream all over Albie’s fingers from the front and the back of the dispenser that still held him prisoner. Connor helped.
“Towel, Shelly!” Luke called.
Shelly had second-guessed that request and handed him one. He used it to grasp the dispenser.
Connor held the boy to him and took a firm grip on his small palm. “Pull back, Albie,” he said. “If it hurts too much, you just say so.”
“Okay,” he agreed, shutting his eyes tightly in preparation.
Nothing happened on the first try, but on the second effort to pull off the dispenser, it gave with a slick, oily-sounding “Thwack!” and Luke fell onto his backside, holding the piece of metal in his hand.
Albie held up his free fingers with a shout of triumph, and a collective cheer rose from Shelly’s customers.
Connor ran his fingertips over the boy’s fingers, made him flex them, then stretch, then finally nodded, apparently satisfied that there was no damage beside a little swelling.
“I think he’s fine,” he told Ned. “But let’s take him to the center to x-ray his hand to be sure.”
Ned wrapped his arms around his son, then Luke, then Connor. “God, what a day!” he exclaimed. “Okay, boys. Let’s go with the doc.”
“Wait!” Connor reached for the bowl of gum balls. “After what he’s been through, he should have a couple of red ones.”
Albie chose several, then his brothers insisted on a few.
With Nathan’s help, Albie was soon declared sound and the Carbys were sent on their way with lollipops to add to their gum ball collection.
When Connor returned to the restaurant, Jack shook his head at Connor over the goings-on. “Aren’t you glad you came to Jester?” he asked. “Where else can you get dinner theater over a hamburger?” He and Luke were still reassembling the machine.
“Jack, you’re into Kiwanis for nine gum balls,” Luke said.
“Me?” Jack protested. “The doc’s the one who insisted Albie take them.”
“I’m not paying,” Connor laughed. “I provided the medical consultation. Luke’s the one who took the machine apart and probably won’t be able to put it together again.”
Luke put a hand to the holster at his side. “You’re forgetting who you’re talking to, Pilgrim.” The words and tone of voice were barely recognizable as a John Wayne impersonation.
Shelly, coming out of the kitchen, rolled her eyes at their playful behavior. “I’ll stand for the nine gum balls,” she said. “And if you two get that back together, there’s free pie and coffee for you.”
Jack frowned at Luke. “You better know what you’re doing.” The two turned their complete attention on the project.
Without thinking about what she was doing, Shelly wrapped her arms around Connor’s waist and leaned into him. She’d been so glad to see him when he walked in the door. As crises went, it had been a small on
e, but she’d still felt responsible for its outcome, then felt more sure of a positive one when Connor appeared.
“Thanks for coming so quickly,” she said. “We knew we could get him free, but Luke was really worried about his fingers.”
Connor squeezed her to him. “It’s all right. It could have been a problem for Albie, but, according to the X rays, he’s fine. And I was heading this way to pick up the baby, anyway.”
Irene waited to pay her bill.
“Dinner’s on the house tonight,” Shelly said. “Thanks so much for helping with Max.”
Irene tucked several small bills into Shelly’s apron pocket.
“I said…” Shelly began.
Irene nodded, cutting her off. “I know. Dinner was on the house, and I appreciate that. But good service deserves a tip.”
Shelly tried to give her back the money. “And I appreciate that, but I’ve just won—”
“The lottery. Yes, I know. It doesn’t change anything.” She pinched her cheek. “You take care of that baby.” She winked at Connor. “And that man.” And she was gone.
Max squealed his delight at nothing in particular and grabbed Shelly by the nose.
Connor laughed and freed her by taking Max. “Can you bring home another piece of coconut cream pie?”
“Sold out,” she reported apologetically. “How do you feel about Dutch apple pie?”
“Sounds good. Call me when you leave.”
“Okay.” She walked him to the door and reached up to kiss him goodbye, this time without thinking twice about it.
Chapter Eight
Connor sat on the floor with Max between his knees, playing with a squeaky toy shaped like a dog. Sean Connery watched them from the safety of a lamp table some distance away, apparently disdainful of the dog-shaped thing. He’d considered the noisy little person doubtful all along, but the squeaky thing had hit him in the head twice. It had achieved enemy status.
After just a few days, Connor noticed that Max sat up a little straighter, wasn’t quite as inclined to lean forward. He knew this age was a time when babies changed before your eyes, when they learned something new daily. He’d just never been with one so regularly to see it happen himself.
The time spent with Max underscored his desire for children of his own. And—and though he’d come to terms with this, he still found it difficult to believe—the time spent with Shelly made him believe he could deal with marriage again. He hadn’t wanted to, had been sure after the sad turn of events with Lisa, that he wouldn’t be able to trust another woman with his dreams for a pediatric clinic of his own. Or, maybe, simply a pediatric practice within the Jester Medical Center.
But he did now. He’d known Shelly less than a week, and though they’d been at odds at first, he’d seen her with Max and understood that what she lacked in knowledge and experience, she more than made up for in caring and enthusiasm. This was more than a crush. More than lust. He was in love.
The telephone rang. He’d placed the cordless phone on the carpet beside him and reached for it without disturbing the baby.
“I’m on my way,” Shelly said. “You’re sure Dutch apple is okay? There’s a pumpkin mousse left.”
“Dutch apple’s great. Max and I’ll watch you from the porch.”
“Okay. Five minutes.”
“Okay.”
He scooped up the baby, went into the kitchen to turn on the coffeepot he’d prepared earlier, then wrapped the baby in a blanket and went out onto the porch.
She was home in five minutes as promised, a small take-out box in her hand. He hung up her coat while she took the baby from him. Max was all smiles at the sight of her, again somehow offended by the sight of her nose and determined to change its location.
She pretended to bite his little fingers and he laughed in a high squeal.
Connor followed her into the kitchen.
Shelly was a bundle of nerves. On one level, she was so comfortable with Connor that it felt as though they’d been married for twenty years.
On another level, she was on the brink of an epiphany and her entire world—her entire being—was aquiver. Everything was against her and Connor having a relationship. As she was always telling him, the restaurant took all her time and she didn’t want to be tied down to anyone or anything that might confine her when she finally had the opportunity to do things, to go places.
But there was no denying what she’d felt when he’d walked into the restaurant tonight. It had been such a simple thing, but her heart had leaped when she’d seen his face, and she’d had a deep-down sense of comfort. He might not be able to affect the whole world, but he had the ability to make a very safe place for her in hers.
Of course, there was always the possibility that he didn’t see this thing between them in quite the same way she did. He’d been very candid about his attraction to her, but then he’d actually spent a lot of time with her since then and maybe that had all changed.
He’d been kind, considerate and helpful, but he was a doctor. That was the way he was. And he had a deep affection for Max. Whatever kindness he offered to her might just be an extension of his feelings for the baby.
So she chatted while they had pie and coffee together at the little kitchen table. The baby played with her watch, banged on her arm, then on the table with her spoon so that she and Connor had to shout at each other.
Then Max began to whine and rub his ears. “Getting sleepy,” she said, pushing away from the table.
Connor was already up and getting Max’s bottle. He ran it under the hot water, then handed it to her.
“I’ll clean up in here,” he said.
She thanked him and smiled, trying to read what was in his eyes. But they were focused on the plates he was stacking, and she had to guess whether or not he felt any of the tension she felt, if his heart was pounding like hers was.
She took Max into the living room near the fire. He reached for his bottle eagerly and drank with greedy little noises while she rocked slowly back and forth in the wicker chair. His lids swept heavily down, then rose again as he fought sleep. She rocked and hummed softly.
His task finished, Connor came to sit in a corner of the sofa and propped his feet in boot socks on the coffee table. “You’re humming the song Dan always plays on the jukebox,” he said, casting her a smile.
She nodded. “It’s all about a man trying to convince the woman he loves to love him in return.”
“Ah, my theme song. How’s he doing?”
“Dan?”
“The baby.”
“Drifting off.”
“Good.” He swung his feet to the floor, went to add more wood to the fire, then took the chenille throw from the back of the sofa and opened it out on the floor. He disappeared into his room and returned with the coverlet off his bed. He dropped it at the foot of the throw.
Shelly watched him with a quickening pulse. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
He went to the sofa beside her for a pillow. His glance chided her pretense at ignorance. “Preparing for what’s been in your eyes since I walked into the Cup.”
Momentarily off balance because he understood her so completely, she asked with a challenging tilt of her chin, “You’re claiming to read my mind?”
He leaned down to kiss her quickly. “No. Your heart,” he said, and kissed her again, more slowly. Challenge turned into surrender.
He tossed the pillow at the blanket, then went to the kitchen and returned with the carrier, which he placed on the coffee table. He took Max from her and placed him in it. There was one worrisome moment when Max opened his eyes, but Connor stroked his head and his eyes closed again instantly.
Connor held a hand out to Shelly.
She took it, choosing to forget all her commonsense arguments about the restaurant, her need to be free. Sure and steady Shelly was taking a walk on the wild side. The life she’d been comfortable in for so long—the life she’d understood—now seemed to bear no resemblance to the li
fe in which she found herself. And, at least for this moment, she was as different from the old Shelly as though she were someone else.
She let Connor lead her to the blanket then looped her arms around his neck as he placed his hands at her waist. They looked into each other’s eyes. His were clear and deep, like walking into a meadow that extended forever.
He smiled. “You look worried,” he observed.
“I’m not,” she denied. “It’s just…I’m just…different than I usually am. I feel…” She groped for the right word.
“What?” he prodded, putting a hand to her hair.
If she’d had trouble clarifying what she felt before, his touch made it even more difficult. She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand, struggling to think.
“Um…I feel…unlike myself,” she said finally.
He dropped his hand to her shoulder. She opened her eyes to find that he looked worried. “But it’s the Shelly I know that I want to make love with.”
She shrugged artlessly. “Well, the Shelly you know hasn’t felt like herself since the day you walked into my life. Or, I guess, I walked into yours.”
“Really.” He frowned. “What changed?”
“Everything,” she admitted. “My life was safe, but you aren’t.”
He dropped both hands from her and folded his arms, his expression more troubled. “I feel like a threat to you?”
“Not to me.” She undid his arms, hating that he no longer touched her. Then she stepped into them and wrapped hers around his waist. “To my peace of mind. To my concept of how things are. To what I want.”
His arms closed around her again, but tentatively. “What do you want?” he asked.
She tightened her hold on him and said with sincere emphasis, “I want you, Connor.”
HE’D DESPAIRED of ever hearing her admit it. The words were like silk running over his skin. He praised her with kisses, drew her sweater up and off, and rained them all over her throat, her shoulders, her clavicle.
He found one small hook on the scrap of white lace that covered her breasts and unfastened it. He tossed it aside with the sweater and cupped his hands over the small but firm globes. Their tips pearled against his palm and he stroked them with his thumbs.
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