Lord Markworth drew her close, his lips descending to hers, eliciting a shiver of delight. Oh, how wonderful to know she had his approval, and that the Queen had deigned to sanction this union with her blessing. She drew back, resting her head against his chest, and heard the loud thump, thump of his heart.
Staci sighed, her lips curling in a smile. She really should write this down. Even if it wasn’t in the correct sequence, she needed to grasp scenes while they floated by in her subconscious. And this scene could be so romantic…
A thump sounded. She opened an eye. Penny was gone. The thumping noise came again. “Penny?” What had the silly dog got into now? She hoped it wasn’t—
“My room!” She pushed upright on the couch, squinting. No lights were on, and it was much darker now. How long had she slept? She could barely see. She swung her legs to the side and stumbled up, when her knee banged into the coffee table. Sharp pain splintered through her leg. “Ow!” She grabbed her knee, pressing against the pain. “Penny!”
Where was the dratted dog? Her brain felt woozy, the dimness making shapes seem unfamiliar as she stumbled through the kitchen to her room. The thud came again, one that matched the thudding pain between her eyes. She groaned, a sound that seemed loud enough to finally attract Penny’s attention as she bounded toward her. Then, somehow between Penny’s bounding and Staci’s drowsiness, she stumbled, and her ankle turned to one side. Pain ricocheted up her leg, magnifying a hundred times as her ankle twisted—the wretched ankle that had been twisted too many times before. She gasped, a noise that sounded more like a scream, and collapsed onto Gran’s tiled kitchen floor. Her head cracked hard, and she lay there, eyes closed, as the throbbing in her brain escalated to something technicolor.
Seconds later, she was being licked, her face pushed by a rough tongue. She coughed but couldn’t move her arm for the sheer pain. Was it broken? How could she write? How would she ever finish the story?
Panic rose. Forget the story: would she ever be discovered? What if Gran never woke again, and it took years for them to discover Staci’s remains on the cold tiled floor? Would she ever be remembered? Forget the NYT list; she just wanted to be alive!
Gradually she became aware of muffled shouts, and that thudding sound again. She closed her eyes, willed herself to roll and push upright with her good arm. She gasped as the movement jerked more pain. In the gloom she could see her right wrist—her main writing wrist—hang as limply as her ankle surely did. A ripple of hysteria escaped. She was never this clumsy. Never. What had just happened in the past three minutes?
Penny’s ears pricked, and she ceased her pawing at Staci to go whine by the front door. Was someone there? Not that Staci dared move. Nausea heaved, begging release.
“Hello?”
She closed her eyes again, willing the queasiness to abate. What, she was dreaming aloud now? The characters in her head were speaking with deep, mellifluous tones…
Wait. She pried her eyes open. Was someone at the door? This wasn’t a dream? Penny’s pawing hadn’t ceased.
A thud came again, then another, then a loud cracking sound and Gran’s door was flung open. “Staci?”
Lights came on, and she caught a glimpse of dark hair and concern before she closed her eyes against the brighter light and turned her head to release her stomach’s contents. Gross. She tried lifting her hand to wipe the residue from her mouth, gasping once more at the pain.
“Staci? Oh, you’re here.”
For a blessed few minutes, she felt herself being cared for as a child. Her mouth was wiped with a cool washcloth, an arm wrapped around her shoulders, helping her to a sitting position. She inhaled the faintest scent of bergamot. A scent worthy of a hero…
“What happened?”
She couldn’t speak; her mouth felt like slurry.
“There’s blood on her head.” A fainter sound, higher-pitched. “Was she attacked?”
“Were you attacked?” the deeper voice asked.
Though unutterable weariness threatened to claim her, she forced her eyes open again, to meet Dr. Coffee’s gaze. He was so close now, she could see the individual hairs bristling his chin, and could smell the mint on his breath. Which meant he could no doubt smell the vomit on hers. Her vision blurred, her head lolled.
“Staci?” She felt herself being clasped in warm arms, being picked up from the floor. Pain quivered up her arm. She bit her lip to stop the moan. Vaguely heard the deep voice mention the hospital. Police.
“I don’t think she’s been attacked,” the feminine voice said.
“Only by a dog,” Staci finally managed to mumble.
She was hefted closer to the lean body of hero-worthy aroma. “What did you say?”
“A dog. Penny.” It was so nice being cradled here. “Tried… tried to lick me to death.”
A rumble of something that sounded like amusement rolled across his chest, then she was placed gently back on the couch she’d lain on before, her back and shoulders sinking into the soft cushions.
“Staci.”
She forced herself to not think about the pain, but to concentrate on the masculine lips speaking her name. The firm-looking lips. The lips she’d seen pulled into wryness and humor. Her head tipped closer. What would those lips feel like—?
“Staci?” Vertical lines marked James’s brow, emphasizing the frown in his voice. “Are you feeling dizzy?”
“Yeah.”
“Headache?”
“Big time.”
“Blurred vision?”
Was that one handsome face or two? “Yes.”
“You cracked your head pretty hard on the floor. I think you’d best come in for observation.”
“No.” She pushed his arm away. “Don’t want to. Too much to do here.”
“I’m afraid that will have to wait for a while longer. You need to be checked out properly.”
“Haven’t you checked me out?” A hysteria-laden giggle pushed out. “That’s what your mom says anyway.” Wait. Had she? Or had Staci only wanted him to? So confusing…
She heard soft laughter in the background and turned to see the Barbie doll from church. Why was she laughing? She tried to frown, but the movement only caused her senses to swim. “I don’t feel too good.” She pressed her fingers against her mouth.
“Get a bucket,” he called to his girlfriend.
Staci vaguely heard her flustered arguments in the background but was more conscious of trying to keep her dignity as the too warm, too gentle hand softly stroked her back, and the lovely voice spoke soothingly.
“You have a lovely voice,” she mumbled.
“Do I? Well, you have lovely hair.”
As if to emphasize his comment, he gently gathered her hair dangling across her face and swept it behind her ears. Her skin trembled as his fingers brushed gently across her neck. She groaned. How could she notice things like that at such a time?
“Staci?” His face lowered to meet hers, worry shading his eyes. “Can you hold on a moment longer?”
For what? Oh, the bucket, which Barbie had finally found and had placed before her, along with a murmured complaint about an overly friendly Penny. Staci pushed it away, tilted her head back against the pillows. “I’ll be fine. Just need to rest.” She closed her eyes, tried to focus on her breathing. Maybe if she rested long enough, Dr. Coffee and his perfect girlfriend would go away, and she could wake up and pretend this had been a nightmare.
“You do need to rest, which is why you should come to the hospital.”
“Don’t want to rest there. Too tired.”
Another soft chuckle, and she felt her wrist being gently grasped. She hissed out a protest as her eyes flew open.
“Did you hurt this when you fell?”
“Yes,” she whispered. His dark green eyes held golden specks. Drops of gold. Drops of warm gold. Delicious gold. Could you eat gold? Not that she wanted to eat… Focus. Focus! She dragged her attention away, trying to focus on what he was saying. But a girl could get lost in his eyes. Eyes perfect for a hero…
“…other injuries?”
What? Oh, her injuries. “Ankle,” she said, raising a foot, then wincing.
He pulled away, checking over her ankle with careful, prodding fingers, eliciting another whimper as he found the site of painful tenderness. “Is this the same one you twisted before?”
“Yes. I have a gift.”
“Seems you do.” He glanced up and looked beyond Staci’s shoulder. “Can you check the bathroom cabinets to see if there’s a medical kit? I need long bandages.”
“Rice,” Staci mumbled, as the sound of departure suggested he was being obeyed.
“What was that?” He peered closer, “Did you say something?”
He had such pretty eyes. A pretty color, like— “The sea.”
“Si?” He pushed closer, so all she would have to do would be to lean in and she would know what his lips tasted like. “Do you speak Spanish now?”
“What?” She had dim memories of learning Spanish for a year or so in high school. “I’m an English major.”
“Never mind,” he muttered, glancing as the blonde reentered Staci’s vision. “Must be why Mom loves her so.”
Jenny loved her? The thought swelled her heart, pushed the ever-near emotion into her eyes, to mass inside her throat. She knew Gran loved her, but to think someone else in this world cared for Staci…
“Staci, I’m going to wrap your ankle now. We’ll need some ice, too.”
“Rice,” Staci murmured again.
He chuckled. “That’s right. You’ll need to rest, ice, compress and elevate that ankle for a good while. You’ve hurt it a few times before, haven’t you?”
The nausea had subsided enough she thought she could risk a nod. Bad mistake. Thank God the bucket was within grasp, as she made full use of it, retching her way to complete humiliation. Oh well. She’d just need to ensure none of her heroines ever acted with such lack of decorum. Although, Dr. Coffee had totally nailed the sympathetic hero part.
A cold, damp washcloth was handed to her, and she gingerly wiped her mouth. It felt weird performing the action with her left hand.
“Better now?”
“Much,” she croaked.
“Poor thing. Let’s get you to the hospital—”
“And see Gran?”
“And we’ll see how your grandmother is doing after we get you fixed up.”
“Okay.” It was nice to have someone look after her. He made her feel… at ease, like she could exhale.
He wrapped an arm around Staci to prop her upright and she snuggled closer. Then caught the look on the other woman’s face, and almost died of mortification. She pulled away, heat pulsing past the fingers covering her cheeks. What the heck was she doing? Acting like a… like a hussy, like someone she was not, like one of her evil characters who always ended up unhappy and alone at the end after trying to steal the heroine’s suitor. She was so not going to behave like that person.
“Sorry.” Maybe her actions would be overlooked due to her lightheaded confusion. She hoped so, anyway.
“Brandi, can you grab some clothes for Miss Everton?” Seriously, Barbie’s name was Brandi? And what was with the professional ‘Miss Everton’ now? “I’m going to help her into the car. I’m afraid I’ll need to drive her to the hospital.”
Brandi’s “sure” didn’t sound too delighted, but Staci didn’t care. It was enough to hold her balance as she was gently boosted to a standing position, Dr. Coffee’s arm supporting her shoulders as she drag-hopped her way to the door. “Oh!”
“What is it?”
“I need my bag.”
“Let me get you out to the car, then I’ll grab it.”
“Thank you.”
He really was proving to be something of a hero, someone with the capacity to match Fiona’s heroics. She stifled a moan as the chill of late afternoon darkness rushed at her. How was she ever expected to manage the icy path?
A muttered, “Excuse me,” and a swoop of arms holding her soon solved that problem. Her body stiffened as she fought the temptation to snuggle again, tried to look cool and not like Clumsy Vomit Woman who’d succumbed to the alluring scent of Tough He-man Doctor. She wasn’t that kind of female, all helpless and needy. Although she did feel pretty helpless right now…
He reached a muscled bicep past her nose to open the Volkswagen’s passenger door—he had to be muscled, right, or else how could he hold her?—and gently placed her inside. “There you go.”
“Thanks.” It was a relief her weight—and breath—hadn’t made him keel over and die.
His hands braced either side of the car door frame. “Anything else you need, apart from your bag?”
Penny’s yelping hammered through her mind. “Penny. Gran’s dog.”
“Got it.” He nodded, then gently closed the door, leaving her to lean back against the headrest and close her eyes. But not before catching the disgruntled expression on Barbie’s—no, Brandi’s—face as she exited Gran’s house, with a rattan enviro bag of clothing-like lumps and a package of something that looked like frozen peas.
Staci was tired. So tired she didn’t bother opening her eyes as the car door released and cold air suggested Brandi stood there waiting. “Here you go.”
She wrenched ajar her eyelids enough to manage to hold the cold pack handed to her and offer a thanks and a smile she hoped looked like a non-boyfriend-stealer. A minute later, Dr. Coffee was back, her handbag was stowed at her feet, Gran’s door was closed and the squirming pile of puppy was given to the unhappy camper in the back seat. “I called Dad to ask him to come fix the door. He should be here shortly. We’ll drop Penny at Mom’s so you don’t have to worry about her anymore.” He got in the driver’s seat, glanced in the rear vision mirror. “You don’t mind staying at Mom’s to explain, do you, Brandi?”
“Nope.” But judging from her facial expression in the mirror, Staci thought she kind of did.
“Thanks,” he said.
Staci echoed her thanks weakly, then turned to look outside. Twinkling lights decorated house after house, lawn after lawn. The dusky light suggested she’d been asleep for several hours now. She glanced at the clock. At least four hours. So much for her little rest.
The car turned into the Wells’ drive, and he parked, unlocked the front door, then guided Brandi and Penny inside. “Bye,” Staci whispered, before biting her lip. She hoped Jenny and Mitch were up to the challenge of Penny’s delightful companionship. Brandi, well, she hoped she wouldn’t hold Staci’s clumsiness against her.
James returned, noticed Staci watching him, and his lips pulled to one side. He dragged open the car door, rubbing his hands against the cold. “Well, this day hasn’t exactly gone as expected.”
“Sorry to be such a burden.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I think Brandi did.” The words escaped before she could stop them. Honestly, why couldn’t she remember to filter?
“You think?” He turned to her, one arm almost touching her shoulder as he turned his head and reversed before his eyes touched hers once more. “I didn’t notice anything.”
“Probably because you’re a man.” For crying out loud, where was this coming from? “Ignore me,” she mumbled.
“I’ll do my best.”
She peeked across, met the amusement in his eyes and felt her shoulders relax. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so rude.”
“Oh, you were being rude, were you? I just thought it part of your special brand of charm.”
She bit her lip. She deserved that.
He steered the car around the corner.
“Where is your truck?” she asked.
“This is Brandi’s. Mine is at her store.”
Oh. Her heart drooped.
“How is your vision now?” His manner had reverted back to professional medical practitioner. “Any more headaches? Nausea?”
“My head still feels like a chainsaw is slicing through it.”
“I’m not surprised. You’ll likely end up with a nasty bump.”
“Another thing to add to my special charm,” she mumbled.
His chuckle caught her by surprise, and she felt herself relax again. Maybe humor and regret and enough distance could prove an effective buffer against this disconcerting attraction.
Within minutes they were once again at the hospital, though he parked in the staff parking lot. “Your new home away from home.”
“Awesome,” she muttered, her mind flicking back to her judgy comment about Davis from weeks ago. Although if said with sarcasm, surely one teenager-like ‘awesome’ could be overlooked, couldn’t it?
“I’m glad you’re excited.”
She shot him a sour look he ignored as he opened her door, concentrating on helping her move.
“Want me to carry you again?”
Her pulse leapt. But no, she could be mature, instead of the man-stalker scary woman of vomit and injured limbs. “I should be fine.”
He eyed the path and then her doubtfully. “I don’t think it’s worth risking. Come on. Let me have you.”
She gulped and allowed herself the pleasure of being carried once more. His coat couldn’t hide the muscled strength she’d noticed before, nor completely disguise the scent she found enticing. She forced herself to relax, to not give rise to comments about excessive wriggling—which might give rise to suggestions of improper snuggling.
The automatic doors swooshed open, then the second set permitted entry to the emergency room waiting room, where, once again, Larissa was on duty. “Hey, Larissa.”
Larissa’s eyes bulged. “What happened?”
“Clumsy girl here,” Staci said with a weak wave.
“Okay,” Larissa said, dragging a wheelchair from behind the desk. “Put her in here.”
Dr. Coffee slowly lowered Staci into the seat and looked deep into her eyes. “You’ll be fine.”
The intensity of his stare, his kindness, his assurance, swelled the ever-lurking pressure of emotion once again. She blinked it away, nodded, found a smile. “Thanks again.”
She thought she felt his hand caress the back of her head, but she couldn’t be sure, not with the way he snapped back into professional mode, issuing instructions and orders like a boss. She couldn’t help but wonder what Larissa thought of it all.
Two hours later, she was tucked up in white cotton in a ward shared with a skinny teenage girl and a woman in her sixties. A sign attached to the wall above her bed declared that Staci should be checked every hour for concussion. Really, it seemed a little overkill for her to be here, but maybe this was another benefit of a small town, lacking the drive-by shootings and such that made city hospitals too busy for such things. And she was grateful, even if it meant she’d need to stay a while longer, ankle wrapped as her swollen wrist waited for an x-ray. The drugs to ease her pain seeped into her bloodstream, and she felt her eyes drift closed. And wondered if Dr. Coffee thought of her in any good way at all.
The kitchen was shadowed, the day’s long hours stretching across his heart and wearied brain. Brandi had gone home, Penny had finally settled in a basket in the corner, his dad had fixed both Rose’s front door and James’s truck, but still the whirr of the past few hours refused to go away.
“James?” His mom touched his shoulder. “What’s bothering you?”
He exhaled, lifted his gaze from where he’d propped his head, elbows against his knees as he sat at the table. “What would have happened if I hadn’t arrived then?”
“You mean with Staci?”
The scene from earlier continued to track across his mind. “She was so helpless.” So fragile. And yet still somehow had maintained a sense of humor.
“She’ll be okay,” his mom assured.
Her gaze continued, as steady as any time when she’d had something to say he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear. “What is it, Mom?”
“Do you care about her?”
“You want me to.” He posed this as half question, half statement, and was unsurprised when she nodded.
“Staci is smart, believes as we do, is funny, successful and understands loss. I think you’d make a good match.”
The more time he spent in Staci’s company the more he thought that too. “You could say the same about Brandi,” he pointed out.
“Well, Brandi is a lovely girl, but I don’t think she’d be right for you.”
He agreed, but still felt a perverse need to be contrary. “Regardless, it’s not as simple as that.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t think about a girlfriend. Not when I’m returning to Africa.”
“Are you?” his mother asked gently. “Have you received the letter from the board?”
“Not yet.”
“Do you mean to say you want to return to Africa?”
“Maybe. I don’t know anymore. I know there is still good I can do overseas, but…”
“But not if your heart isn’t in it anymore.” She stroked the back of his head, like she used to do when he and his brothers were young boys. He found the motion soothing. “There is good you can do here, too,” she reminded him.
“I know. But the need there is so much greater.”
“And the need won’t lessen just because you serve, or not.” A beat. “And how can you serve well, if you need strengthening yourself?”
He nodded, aware of the truth of that statement. He knew himself to often wear a coat of affable good-humor, but still the loneliness burned, the depression hovered at the corners of his soul. Since his return to Muskoka Shores he’d felt the brittle edges of his heart start to ease, to find hope. The letter might say he could return to his duties in Africa, but faced with the unrelenting nature of pain and death, would that indeed be wise?
“You need someone who makes you smile, someone who lifts your heart, someone who understands the value and grit of life.”
“And you think Staci does?”
“Yes.”
The confidence in his mother’s answer bolstered his wearied emotions, whilst sparking him to recall something else. He glanced up at her. “Did you tell Staci I’d checked her out?”
“What? No. Of course not.”
He chuckled. “She was a little spacey.” His mind flicked back to earlier. She’d said she liked his voice. He remembered the way she’d almost cuddled into him. Almost as if she liked him.
Despite her occasional rebuffs, and blunt comments others might construe as rude, part of him wondered if maybe she really did like him.
And maybe if these feelings he’d suppressed could be encouraged to live a little too.