“I’m not a superhero, sweetie. I’m just a one hundred percent regular woman.”
The words caused Drew’s abdomen to contract. An air of awareness hung in the room like fog.
One hundred percent woman? Definitely.
Regular? No way.
His pulse deepened as an unexpected pull toward this woman gripped him. Not solely because of the easy, loving manner she had with his son, either, although that was definitely a plus. But aside from that, Lexy Cabrera was, quite frankly, stunning. She wore jeans and a red tank top that showed off tanned and super-toned arms and shoulders. She reminded him of an exotic Marilyn Monroe, all dark tumbled hair, slanted bedroom eyes and creamy cappuccino skin. Super sexy without even trying.
Yeah, Lexy was leaps and bounds beyond regular.
Dear Reader,
I’ve been the voice behind 9-1-1 for eight years, now, and certain calls reach out and imprint themselves on your soul. Usually those are from children, who are braver and more capable under pressure than we give them credit for.
So it is when Lexy answers a terrifying, life or death 9-1-1 call from six-year-old Ian Kimball. Afterward, Lexy knows heroic little Ian will always be in her heart, but she didn’t expect his widowed father to find his way there, too.
She quickly realizes Drew Kimball is far more than simply a patient, or the new guy in town, or a sexy, eligible daddy. He’s the one and only man who makes her contemplate risking her heart again.
For those who’ve followed Lexy through the first three Troublesome Gulch books and begged me not to forget about her (I never would!), I hope you find her healing path as satisfying as you did her friends’.
Wishing you health, safety and, of course, love,
Lynda
LEXY’S LITTLE MATCHMAKER
LYNDA SANDOVAL
Books by Lynda Sandoval
Silhouette Special Edition
**And Then There Were Three #1605
One Perfect Man #1620
*The Other Sister #1851
*Déjà You #1866
*You, and No Other #1877
†Her Favorite Holiday Gift #1934
*Lexy’s Little Matchmaker #1978
LYNDA SANDOVAL
is a former police officer who exchanged the excitement of that career for blissfully isolated days creating stories she hopes readers will love. Though she’s also worked as a youth mental health and runaway crisis counselor, a television extra, a trade-show art salesperson, a European tour guide and a bookkeeper for an exotic bird and reptile company—among other weird jobs—Lynda’s favorite career, by far, is writing books. In addition to romance, Lynda writes women’s fiction and young adult novels, and in her spare time, she loves to travel, quilt, bid on eBay, hike, read and spend time with her dog. Lynda also works part-time as an emergency fire/medical dispatcher for the fire department. Readers are invited to visit Lynda on the Web at www.LyndaLynda.com, or to send mail with a SASE for reply to P.O. Box 1018, Conifer, CO 80433-1018.
For the brave little girl who called 9-1-1
and followed all my CPR instructions despite her fear.
Your grandpa will always be your guardian angel.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter One
Drew crouched at the carved wooden sign with white-painted letters and clapped a hand on his son’s slight shoulder, warm from the sun. “What’s that say, pal?”
Ian studied the words, his bottom lip jutting out in concentration. The expression always reminded Drew of Gina. “Um…Deer Track Trailhead.” He squinched his nose at his dad. “That’s hard to say.”
“Yeah, it’s a tongue twister—” Drew stood, then ruffled Ian’s golden hair “—but easy to remember, right? Deer Track?”
“Yep,” Ian said. “Deers make tracks.”
“That’s a good way to think of it.” Drew angled his chin down. “You won’t forget if you repeat the name in your head three times, just like I taught you.”
Ian squinted up at him and smiled. “I already did.”
“Good boy.” Drew lifted one arm and glanced at his wristwatch. “Ready for synchronization?”
Ian mimicked his father’s action, focused on his plastic digital superhero watch. “Mine says 11:11 a.m.”
Drew nodded once. “Mine, too.”
“Okay, so we started hiking from the Deer Track Trailhead,” Ian enunciated carefully, “at 11:11 a.m. You remember, too, Daddy. Just in case.”
Drew smiled down at his son, his heart swelling. “That’s right. The Kimball men can never be too prepared. You have your water bottle and energy bar?”
“It’s all in here.” Ian hooked his thumbs beneath the shoulder straps of his Batman backpack. He was in the midst of an extended superhero worship phase. Nothing could harm a superhero, after all. “And the special card I made for Mommy’s in here, too.”
It took all of Drew’s will to keep the soul-cutting pain out of his expression. “That’s my little man.”
“I don’t forget stuff.”
“No, you sure don’t. Let’s get started. We have a long day ahead of us.” Drew blinked up at the crackling sun. “Looks like it’s going to be a hot one.”
Ian slipped his hand into his father’s. “Did you used to hike here when you were little, Daddy?”
“I did.” Boy, that had been a lifetime ago. “With your grandpa.”
“Cool,” Ian said.
Their hiking boots crunched softly on the packed dirt as they ascended the path through the Rockies. All around them, summer wildflowers bloomed with riotous, multicolored abandon, and the soft breeze through the evergreens sang on the air like angels’ whispers. Birds chattered in the trees, and the occasional chipmunk darted through the underbrush. In a word? Peaceful. And heartbreaking, but that was two words. This ritual, on this particular day—the anniversary of Gina’s death—might be excruciating for Drew, but it was important.
For Ian.
Drew set aside his private pain and sucked it up.
Ian peered up at the steep climb ahead of them. “I really think we’ll be closer to her at the top of the mountain, Daddy.” His voice had gone pensive, albeit determined.
After a moment to school his emotions, Drew smiled tightly at Ian. “Of course we will,” he said, in a gentle tone. He felt the sudden need to fill up the silence with words that might make the whole thing easier. “See those clouds?” He pointed to a blindingly white thunderhead hanging in the deep turquoise Colorado sky.
“Yeah?”
“That’s the part of heaven we can see from here on earth.”
“Where Mommy is?”
“Yes.” Drew cleared the catch from his throat. “And Mommy’s always watching you from heaven, okay? Taking care of you.”
“What about you?”
“Both of us, son. Every time you look at those clouds, think of her and believe.”
Ian’s wide-eyed stare remained fixed on the fluffy cloud. “We will be closer to her at the top,” Ian said, firmly. “I know it. I can tell.”
Drew smiled wistfully into the golden sunshine. “So close, you’ll be able to feel her arms around you in a big hug. And she’ll be so glad we’re remembering her with happiness on this day and not sadness.”
A beat of silence passed. “But I am a little sad,” Ian admitted.
“I know, pal. That’s okay. I am, too.”
Ian kicked his toe into the
ground as they walked, sending a pinecone skittering. “Do you think she’ll like my card? I messed up that one part.”
“She’ll love it, and it’s perfect.”
“But, how will it go to heaven?” Ian fretted, shooting another worried glance up at the clouds that were, admittedly, so far away. “I don’t get it.”
Drew clenched his free hand into a fist. A six-year-old boy’s brow shouldn’t knit with such worries. At this point, Drew would do or say anything to alleviate his son’s distress. If Ian thought the top of the mountain brought them closer to his mommy, then by God, hike they would. He had no plans to dash a little boy’s hopeful illusions. “Well, we’ll leave it at the top, and when the stars come out, the angels will fly down and carry it up to her.”
“For real?”
“Cross my heart.”
Ian wore a dubious expression. “But how do you know?”
Think, Drew. Think. He cleared his throat. “Remember that shooting star I showed you last week?”
“Uh-huh. I made a wish.”
“Right. Well, that was an angel, coming down to get a message to deliver it to someone else’s mommy in heaven.”
Ian searched his face for a moment, checking for the truth of his words. Finally he nodded once. “Good.” He paused. “But Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“How come there are so many mommies in heaven?”
The question hit Drew like a body slam. “There are a lot of people in heaven, big guy. Not just mommies.”
They hiked in relatively calm silence through patches of dappled sunshine for a few moments. When they reached a tunnel of shade created by thick, overarching tree branches, Ian dropped his hand. “I miss her. A lot. Is it okay to say that?”
Drew draped his hand across Ian’s shoulders and pulled him closer, fighting the urge to stop, to wrap his arms around Ian, to succumb to the pall of mourning. Neither of them needed that. “Of course. I miss her, too. But let’s have a fun day, yeah? The kind your mom would’ve liked.”
“Okay,” Ian said. “I don’t like being sad.”
“Neither do I, Ian. Neither do I.”
They managed to get through several minutes talking about the terrain and trees, about the colorful striations in the rocks and what they meant. They managed, just for a little while, to set their grief aside and enjoy a normal father-and-son moment. Progress, Drew thought, however small and halting.
A few paces after a switchback carried them once again into the buttery sunlight, they came upon a vast field of stunning, bright-orange flowers—Gina’s favorite color. Bright-eyed and happy for the first time in days, Ian stopped short and bounced on the nubby soles of his hiking boots. “Look!” he exclaimed, as if it were a clear sign that his hike-up-high-to-mommy plan had been on-target.
“I see. They’re beautiful. Just like Mommy, right?”
“I know. Can I pick some for her? Please? To leave for the star angels so they don’t miss my card?”
“Sure, pal. Whatever you’d like.” Ian bounded into the field, all cowlicks and energy and thick rubber soles. Drew followed just to the edge. He’d give anything for Ian to be able to give those flowers to his mother in person, but that wasn’t possible. As much as losing her had left a gaping hole in their family, Drew was grateful her battle with “the beast,” as she’d called it, had ended. That was something, at least. A balm for the soul. Now all he wanted was to see his son happy again, whatever it took.
No more nightmares.
No more depression.
No more bed-wetting.
A boy of his age shouldn’t have to deal with those issues. Seeing Ian carefree, running through a field of flowers, Gina’s quirky favorite color, brought Drew a modicum of joy he sorely needed, especially on this saddest of days.
Ian whipped back, eyes bright and lively. “Come on!”
“You pick,” Drew said, waving him on. “I’ll arrange them in a bouquet as you gather them,” he said, as if he had the first clue about flower arranging.
Content just to watch his son thoughtfully gather the most beautiful blossoms as a memorial for his mother, Drew sat on a rock jutting out from the edge of the soft blanket of vibrant petals. Honestly? Days like this exhausted him emotionally and physically, straight down to his bones. Gina’s birthday, Ian’s birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, his and Gina’s wedding anniversary.
Family days.
He’d never planned on being a single father.
And yet, he was determined to do his best, even though a small part of him yearned to curl up and shut out the world until the day was over. Until his pain had eased. Until he could wrap his brain around the logic of a twenty-seven-year-old mother, in this day and age, dying from diabetes. She’d been diagnosed as a teenager, but had never accepted it, a fact that had always pissed him off. The familiar rush of guilt crested inside him, bringing back the times he’d accused Gina of being reckless with her health.
Reckless. He hated that they’d argued about it.
Screaming fights. Tears.
The undeniable truth was, Gina pushed herself too hard, stubbornly determined not to let the diabetes control her life. Instead of managing it, though, she’d laughed in its face. He understood her motivation, but it hadn’t worked. It would never work, which is what he’d told her. Why they’d fought. Not that it mattered in the end. Just as he’d feared, the diabetes had won, and he was just the jerk of a husband who’d argued with his headstrong, diabetic wife.
But all that? The past. What mattered now was that he was the grown man while Ian remained a child. Only four years old when Gina died. Drew had shoes older than that. Despite Gina’s infuriatingly stubborn nature, she was the mother of his son. Drew simply had to keep her alive in Ian’s mind, no matter what it took. So? Shutting out the world wasn’t an option; his son needed him.
Emotionally flattened, Drew blew out a breath and leaned his hands back on the hot, jagged rock.
The stings ripped through him like little searing shockwaves.
One, then another, and another. And more.
He hadn’t even seen the bees.
“Dammit.” He flailed, then shot to his feet, spinning this way and that to knock the bees off. How could he have been so careless? Where there are flowers, there are bees. Simple fact of nature.
An immediate rush of heat up his arm set the alarms clanging in his heart. The effects seemed much faster than his usual allergic reactions, which had always been bad enough. But this…probably due to the multiple stings.
Tamping down the panic, he inspected his forearm. Five stings that he could see, already swelling, with hives spreading well beyond the cherry-red bumps. His pulse kicked into overdrive and his face bloomed tight and hot. He recognized the signs of imminent anaphylaxis all too well. He’d been deathly allergic to bees since childhood and had brushed with the life-threatening condition more than once.
This could not be happening.
Not today.
He needed to talk to his son before he was no longer able. Needed help. Needed it damn soon. “Ian!” he choked out, coughing through a tightening throat. Damn. His tongue had already begun to swell, as had his windpipe.
Ian pivoted toward him and froze, instantly on alert by the urgency of his dad’s tone.
Drew fumbled in his cargo pocket for the EpiPen he never left home without…then stilled. Empty.
No EpiPen? He numbed. Dread spread through him as fast as the bee venom.
He always carried his EpiPen.
Panic pushed through his veins and squeezed him; he couldn’t breathe. Shaking, he tore through his other pockets, partially ripping one flap off his hiking shorts. Nothing. He shrugged off his backpack then pawed through it, clumsy and slow, craving oxygen.
Nothing.
Stars burst in his vision as he watched his son run and stumble toward him, the carefully chosen orange wildflowers falling forgotten from the boy’s little hand. “Daddy! Daddy! What’s wrong?
”
He wanted to reassure his son.
Wanted to make it all okay.
But couldn’t.
Gasping, choking, Drew sat, then slid back on the rock. He tried to keep the stung arm angled downward, to slow the venom’s attack on his body. The skin on his face and hands seemed stretched to its limit, fire-hot and apt to split open if he moved or spoke. When Ian’s terrified and confused face appeared above him, Drew didn’t have the option of many words. He reminded Ian of the most important ones. “Deer…Track.”
He labored for air, his vision blackening. The last thing he heard was Ian yelling for him to wake up.
Eleven-eleven.
Deer Track Trailhead.
Ian repeated the words in his head as he plowed through his daddy’s belongings looking for the medicine shot that was supposed to save his life if he ever got stung by a bee. But it wasn’t there. It wasn’t there! His heart pounded so hard, he could hear it in his head. His throat had gone dry and sore from his heavy breathing.
The shot was nowhere.
Daddy had always told him, use the shot. But how could he use it if he couldn’t find it?
“Mommy!” he wailed in panic and frustration, fists clenched as he glanced up at the fat white cloud.
No answer.
Why couldn’t she say something?
Wasn’t she supposed to be watching out for them?
He felt so alone. So scared. Tears squeezed out of his eyes. The breeze tilted the orange flowers in the field to one side, then the other. They didn’t look so pretty anymore.
Eleven-eleven.
Deer Track Trailhead.
Unsure what to do without the shot, he choked out a sob and shook his dad by the shoulders as hard as he could. It didn’t wake him up, but Daddy’s cell phone fell out of his shirt pocket just as Ian was about to lapse into full-on hysteria. The cell phone felt like a sign from Mommy.
Help!
He could get help for Daddy. That’s what Mommy was trying to tell him. Snatching up the phone, he pressed the three important numbers he’d had memorized since the police officer came to talk to his kindergarten class.
Lexy’s Little Matchmaker Page 1
