And the idea of leaving Mark behind, should she move on, was growing more and more difficult to imagine.
What’s with all the noise?” Mark’s dad wandered into the kitchen.
Mark stopped whistling long enough to answer. “I’m making your favorite breakfast.” He flipped the pancakes and shook plenty of pepper on the bacon.
“Where did all this food come from?” His dad looked around. “Is that flour?”
Mark nodded. “We were out of everything but the frozen stuff Steph brought over and salad dressing. Who eats like that?”
“We do.”
“Not anymore.” He slid the pancakes onto a stack already waiting. He piled the bacon on top and set it on the table. “I didn’t learn to cook from the best firehouse company in Washington for nothing.” He pulled out a covered dish of scrambled eggs where they’d been keeping warm in the oven. “Could you get the orange juice out of the fridge? Oh, and the syrup’s warm in the microwave.”
His dad finally moved into action. “Just the way I like it.”
Mark resumed whistling, turning off the burners and wiping down the counters. He tossed the dishcloth behind his back, aiming for the sink. He missed, the cloth hitting the cabinet and dropping to the floor. He didn’t even care. He’d spent the best few hours he could remember with a woman, and it had happened with him the way he was now, not the way he used to be. When he’d walked Riley to her front door, he hadn’t cared about anything but the feel of her hand wrapped in his and the next time he’d see her. He hadn’t been sure he’d ever feel like that again.
His dad picked up the cloth, dropping it in the sink. “What’s up with you? Did you take some of those pain pills? The ones that make you want to hug everybody?”
Mark shook his head. “Trust me, if I wanted to hug you, you’d know. Sit down—breakfast is getting cold.” He pulled out a chair.
His dad watched Mark closely as he sat across from him.
“I cooked it; you bless it,” Mark said.
His dad narrowed his eyes. Mark blinked at him. Then his dad bowed his head and gave a brief blessing on the food. Just before he said amen, he interrupted himself.
“—Oh, and whatever You’ve done to Mark that’s waking him up, let’s have more of that.”
Mark opened his eyes, watching his dad.
“Amen.”
“Amen,” Mark echoed.
His dad placed a napkin on his lap and surveyed the breakfast. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain art teacher, would it?”
Mark tried to stop the stupid grin that pulled across his face. “What makes you ask that?”
“Some little birdies told me you’ve been spending a lot of time with her.”
“Small town,” Mark said, reaching for the syrup.
“So, anything else you want to share with your old dad?” He looked at Mark expectantly.
“Look, it’s all kind of new, and we’d like it kept quiet. So that means not telling you anything more.”
“Not fair.”
“Tell me about it,” Mark murmured.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Forget it. You’ve got your network of spies. I’m sure you’ll get all the juicy gossip sooner or later.”
His dad grabbed some bacon. “Nurse a guy back to health and he shuts you out. Typical.”
“Dad.”
He paused, a piece of bacon halfway to his mouth.
“I’m not shutting you out. I really like her. I didn’t see this happening. Not ever again. I feel like I need to protect it.”
Cal nodded. “I get that, son. I do. If anybody deserves something—”
“No, don’t say that. It’s not about deserving.” He pushed his eggs around on his plate.
“Then what’s it about?”
“I don’t know. I feel like I’ve stumbled into something that has the potential to kill me. Only it isn’t. It’s—”
“—waking you up.”
Mark nodded. “Yeah.”
“To the smell of bacon,” his dad said, picking up his fork.
Mark smiled as he watched his dad tuck back into his food.
“So, have you asked Riley to the firemen’s ball?”
It was Mark’s turn to pause. “She’s coming to the memorial,” he said carefully.
“You didn’t ask her to the dance?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Not sure she’d want that.”
His dad raised a brow at him.
Mark shrugged. “Like I said, we’re keeping things quiet.” Still, the idea warred inside him. On one hand, he’d love to have Riley next to him at the annual firemen’s social. He and Jay had gone to the hometown event since they were old enough to take girls, up until year before last. But he didn’t want to go to the dance. He wasn’t ready, and he hadn’t planned on it. Until Riley.
“Don’t miss your chances, son. You don’t know how many you’ll get.”
Mark stared at his eggs. “I’m aware.”
“Hey there, Rivers. What are you up to?”
Mark turned, straightening. “Gainer. Hey. Picking up paint supplies. You?”
Dalton held up a package. “Light bulbs.”
“Ah.” He still needed painter’s tape and moved that direction. “Good to see you.”
“I figured something out,” Dalton said behind him. “About Riley.”
Mark paused and faced him. “About Riley,” he repeated.
“Yep.”
He sighed, not wanting this conversation but needing to put out any fires Dalton might be setting. “What did you figure out?”
“You know who she dated before, right?”
“Some scumbag actor?”
Dalton chuckled. “Yeah, ‘some actor.’ Do you ever get on the internet? She dated pretty-boy Gavin-freaking-Darrow. The Sounds of War? Sounds like he humiliated her pretty badly. No wonder she’s gun-shy. Stringing the two of us along.”
Mark held Dalton’s pointed gaze while a flare of emotions battled for top spot in his thoughts. “You looked up Riley on the internet?”
Dalton’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Just research.”
Riley hadn’t told Dalton anything. That idea alone bolstered his nerves. “Here’s a tip. Riley’s a pretty private person. It wouldn’t do you any good spreading around what you find.”
“My intentions are honorable, I assure you.”
“Hm.” Sure they were.
“I’m taking her to the firemen’s ball.”
Mark fought to keep his expression steady even as his gut twisted. “You asked her?”
He shrugged.
“And she said yes?”
“She’s thinking it over. Like I said, gun-shy.”
Mark nodded slowly. “Well, good luck with that.” He turned, hoping it was enough of a dismissal.
“Painting your dad’s house?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Riley’s.” He kept walking.
Mark waited on Riley’s porch holding paint rollers, drop cloths, and painter’s tape, his insides turning like gears he couldn’t slow, the image of her with movie star Gavin Darrow burning in his brain. She opened the door with a smile so welcoming he immediately nudged her inside, dropped all his stuff, and pulled her close. Before she could say anything, he caught her mouth with his and kissed her until the gears shifted, still turning, but different. Better.
She made a pleased sound in his arms and pulled his coat off, keeping the kiss going. Once his coat hit the floor, she pulled him farther into the room. Together, they dropped down on the couch, continuing from where they’d briefly left off.
“We won’t get much painting done this way,” she whispered when he broke away to graze his lips against her ear.
&nb
sp; “Sure we will,” he said. “It’s only three walls.” He tucked her in closer, savoring the feel of her next to him, deciding where to kiss her next.
She smiled. “It’s four walls.”
“One wall has a big gaping hole in it.” He made for her neck, and she giggled. He couldn’t help smiling.
“And you can hardly count the wall with the front window,” she said.
He nuzzled her hair. “Hardly. We don’t even really have to paint, if you think about it.” His lips met hers again, and he felt her shiver.
After a few more minutes entangled on the couch, she slowed the kiss, and he opened his eyes. She blinked up at him, her expression unreadable. He traced the freckles across her nose, his heart beating a rhythm he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe not ever.
“What is it?” he asked, suppressing the inevitable insecurity.
Her lips and cheeks blushed as she looked away.
His hand smoothed along the definite curve from her waist to her hip, bringing her gaze back to his.
“We’re keeping this to ourselves, right?”
He blinked, drawing back. “Yeah,” he answered. “Yeah, of course.” He frowned, running a hand over her hair, trying to ignore the pang her question shot to his ego. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind everyone knowing.” He could think of one person in particular he’d liked to shout the news to. “But I get not wanting that right now.”
She nodded. “And we’re taking this slow, right?” she asked, her eyes searching his.
He exhaled, and dropped his head. “Yes.” He’d only just kissed her for the first time that morning. He was barely used to letting her see his face, let alone touch it. As for the rest of him, well . . . He hoped time with her would ease his fears. “We can go as slow as you need.” He gave his head a shake and sat up. “As slow as I need.” He brushed his hand through his hair, a sudden sense of vulnerability making his heart race like a jackrabbit. “With my scars, I’m just . . . Slow is good, that’s all.”
“Slow is good,” she agreed with a sigh. “But it’s going to take us a month to finish painting.”
He shook his head. “A year at least.”
She snorted out a laugh. He growled and made a grab for her. She squealed and didn’t make it out of his reach. He took some consolation in that it wasn’t long before he was wrapped up in her arms again, and it was more than a few minutes before either of them brought up painting. And still he couldn’t shake the feeling he was playing a very dangerous game with his heart.
The next couple of days were spent focused on the house. Painting, ripping off trim, tearing up carpet. Riley had been right. Solid oak floors were hidden under the old brown carpet—a few scratches and stains, but salvageable. Mark borrowed a floor sander from a friend, and they spent a couple afternoons staining and sealing.
When they weren’t at Riley’s, they were at Mark’s house, cooking meals for his dad and taking the snowmobile out for a turn. And making more snow angels, but the messier kind. Mark said he hadn’t been so thankful for snow in a long time. Riley smiled at the thought.
They’d done their best to keep things under the small-town radar. Mark’s truck was parked at Riley’s for hours, but most people knew he was working on her house, often while she wasn’t home. True, people speculated, watched, smiled, but nobody knew enough to come out and say that Mark Rivers and the art teacher were an item.
Thursday night while painting, Riley got a call from Yvette.
“How are you doing?”
The concern in her voice confused her. “I’m fine. Why?”
“Have you been watching TV tonight?”
Riley’s sense of self-protection knotted in her chest. “No. Why?”
Yvette sighed. “First off, Eyes on Hollywood is a guilty pleasure—I admit that.”
Riley tightened her grip on the paintbrush in her fingers.
“But they were doing a segment on Gavin Darrow, that actor from—well, I’m guessing you know. Anyway, he’s getting married to that actress—again, I’m guessing you know who—”
Riley’s heart dropped, and she sat down.
“—and they always do that part about who the actors were linked to in the past and . . . Honey, I had no idea. They said your father’s name, and then they showed pictures, and I know you’re a private person—”
Riley’s head spun as Yvette went on. This couldn’t be happening. If Yvette had seen it, then who knows who else had? Gavin could’ve at least warned her or—
“—my first thought was that you’d need a friend. No wonder you picked up and moved here, after being under a microscope like that. Of course, that show sensationalizes everything. You’ve obviously wanted it kept quiet, and I just had to warn you that it likely won’t be quiet anymore. I wanted you to know I’m here for you.”
“Thanks,” she answered numbly. How much had been shared on TV? What pictures had they used? She rubbed at her aching chest, her eyes burning. “It’s in the past.” Gavin was getting married. To the woman she’d caught him with.
“Does Mark know about Gavin?”
Mark. Memories of all the side-glances and scrutiny from the people of Miracle Creek flipped through her mind, all the questioning looks at her and Dalton, all the conjecture about her and Mark were suddenly amplified. She remembered every car that slowed as it passed by, every eyebrow that rose, and every look of judgment from Dalton’s admirers, people watching on their porches like they had their own Eyes on Hollywood. And now this. It would be a match on a gas leak. A leak she couldn’t patch up no matter how far she ran.
And Mark would go up in flames with her.
She struggled to breathe. She didn’t want it. Any of it.
“He knows some,” she answered. “Not enough.”
“Will you talk to him before the memorial tomorrow?”
She dropped her head to her hand, not knowing how to answer.
On Friday afternoon, the day of the memorial ceremony at the park, Mark sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the bulletin board he’d covered with cards and drawings and the picture of him and Jay. He turned the glass doorknob over and over in his hands while his speech lay next to him on the bed, read a hundred times.
A knock sounded. “Come in.”
His dad entered and sat down next to him. “How’re you holding up?”
He cocked an eyebrow, and his dad nodded.
“You’ll be fine. I know Jay would appreciate this.”
“Are you kidding? He’s getting a good laugh. ‘Look what I got Mark into.’”
His dad chuckled. “That sounds about right.” He patted Mark on the shoulder.
“I’ll be okay, Dad.”
“Good to hear it.” He cleared his throat. “There’s something I wanted to run by you.”
“You sound nervous.”
“Probably because I am. I figured I better start practicing what I preach. I’m asking Yvette to go with me to the dance next week.”
Mark arched a brow. “You asking my permission?”
His dad paused and then chuckled. “Heck no. Just wanted to let you know so if I disappear for a few minutes after the ceremony, you’ll know what I’m up to.”
He gave his dad a smirk. “Glad to see your priorities are in line.”
His dad slapped him on the back. “They are. You have a lot to do with that. What do you need me for anyway, right?”
Mark lowered his head with a smile. “Right.”
His dad stood up, heading for the door.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Yvette’s great.”
“Yeah, I think so too.” He cocked his head. “Are you picking up Riley for the ceremony?”
He shook his head. “This is something I need to do on my own.”
“I guess I can understand that. See you
downstairs?”
Mark nodded. His dad turned to go.
“Dad? Have you heard if Gainer’s taking Riley to the dance?”
His dad made a sound of exasperation. “Not that I’m aware of. Yvette asked me why you hadn’t asked her yet. I had no answer. Got one for me?”
Mark didn’t.
“Hey,” his dad said gently. “You’ll do great up there today.”
The door closed, and Mark thought for a moment, smoothing his fingers over the glass.
He knew of an estate auction Riley would love out near Orondo. Old stuff like barn wood and old clocks and stained glass. Maybe he’d ask her to the dance then.
He reached for his phone to text Riley.
Can I take you somewhere tomorrow? I promise no blood.
He set his phone down and pushed his hand through his hair, the callouses on his palm brushing against his scars. He sighed. What was he doing? He couldn’t get her out of his head. He didn’t want her out. He craved her like water. But he felt it. Something coming. Something he should be bolting from. He didn’t know if it was fear or insecurity or self-preservation.
His phone buzzed.
I’ll see you after the ceremony. We can talk then. Good luck today.
He smiled. Riley made him forget he was scarred. And that was worth any storm coming.
I know a lot of you think I’m a hero.”
Riley wrung her hands, as she’d been doing since Mark had ascended the platform next to the veiled memorial. Miracle Creek had come out in full force, with who-knew-how-many from neighboring towns. Snow in the park had been cleared for the crowds, and most eyes were glued on Mark, though she knew some flickered to her. His hands had a death grip on either side of the podium.
Mark’s gaze met Riley’s—briefly—but enough for her cheeks to warm. He’d picked her out of the crowd almost as soon as he’d taken his chair on the platform with the mayor, his former fire chief, Jay’s parents, and a few other officials. Now he stood, his dress shirt and tie visible under his jacket, a black knit cap not quite covering his dark hair. He lowered his head, as if considering his next words. Riley’s heart pounded with anxiety for him.
Miracle Creek Christmas Page 28