Mr. Walker snapped his mouth closed but planted himself right next to Mary in the crowded space, watching the proceedings.
After a few minutes of gently wiggling the cut faucet on her toe to work the lubricant further, it finally slipped off. Kneeling again at her feet, he looked at the swollen, bluish digit. “Ma’am, I would have that x-rayed, if I were you. I’m unable to tell if it is broken without one.”
She nodded and peered up at her husband. His face still red, he nodded. “I’ll get you dressed and then we’ll head to the ER.”
With thanks all around, they packed up and headed back down the stairs, glad to be out of the tight confines of the bathroom, but happier that the call had a satisfactory conclusion.
“What was that you used?” Bob asked Phil as they made their way outside to the trucks.
Phil shared a look with him and grinned. Holding out his hand, he showed a tube of K-Y Jelly.
Mouth open, Bob said, “You used pussy-lube on her toe?”
“Jesus, you moron,” Mary called out. “K-Y Jelly is a surgical lubricant, not just for women.”
The others laughed as Bob grimaced, stowing the gear back into the ambulance. Climbing into the driver’s seat, he looked at the time, seeing the shift was half over. Before he had a chance for more planning on how and when to see Morgan again, another call came in.
Flipping on the siren, they headed down the road. This time, the situation was serious. A child had been climbing a tree and while still on a lower limb, had fallen onto a fence and the spike had pierced his upper arm.
The child’s mother was screaming and, while a policewoman gained control of her, he and the others raced to the back yard where the child’s father was supporting him.
The man’s expression was ragged as he said, “I can’t get him off. I’m afraid I’ll make it worse—”
“We’ve got it now, sir,” he said, his voice calm. “What’s his name?”
“Brad.”
Looking into the boy’s wide eyes, tears streaming down his face, he said, “Hey, Brad. I’m Jaxon and we’re gonna take care of you now.”
Continuing to speak to him softly, he held Brad’s body high enough for the firemen to cut the fence spike below his arm. Mary and Bob stood behind the child, assessing the wound and what would need to happen once he was free.
“Looks like it went through muscle, not bone,” Mary said in a quiet voice, gaining a nod from him.
Once the boy was free from the fence, he knelt on the ground with Brad’s body carefully tucked into his. Allowing the firemen to now be at the child’s head, he talked softly to Brad as the firemen sliced the top of the spike close to his arm.
Making the decision to get him to the hospital before chancing removal of the metal that was still embedded, he placed him onto the stretcher. Rolling him passed the white-faced father and still hysterical mother, he nodded to the policewoman. As they lifted him into the back of the ambulance, she was giving them the instructions to follow.
“Bob, stay in the back with Mary. You know what to do. You’ve got this.”
With a curt nod, Bob followed the gurney and climbed into the back while he hauled himself up into the cab. Calling in their location and ETA, he flipped on the siren and pulled onto the road.
Once at the hospital, they transferred Brad to the surgeon and staff, and he bent over the child, saying, “You’re a brave boy. These people will take care of you and you’ll be just fine.”
Watching them roll him down the hall, surrounded by medical personnel, he turned back to Bob and Mary, who were packing up the equipment. The boy’s parents rushed through the door and Mary took them by the arm and escorted them to the ER receptionist, who hurried them back to the bay.
Bob looked at him and said, “That could have been so much worse.”
He nodded, his mind having taken that turn as well. “Yeah. As it is, he’ll have stitches and a helluva scar to impress his friends with, but a few more inches to the side and he could have pierced his chest.”
Mary returned, saying, “His parents are with him. You got the report done?”
He was working on the tablet, finishing the last entry. Walking to the reception desk, he handed it to the attendant and turned to follow Mary and Bob out the door.
With five more calls out that day, he gratefully clocked out at the end of the shift, but realized it was too late to get to the arena.
It wasn’t until the next day that Jaxon was afforded the opportunity to leave work on time. Changed into a clean t-shirt and jeans, he drove to the sports arena, hoping Morgan would be there. If not, he would need to do a little searching to find her. After all, she probably wants her earring returned.
After parking, he walked inside and headed straight to the pool area. He had been surprised at the crowded parking lot and had to drive around twice before finding a space. Walking past the receptionist, he noticed she turned her attention to him, a smile curving her face. She blatantly dropped her gaze slowly from his head to his toes and back again, her tongue slipping out to lick her lips. “Anything I can help you with?”
Ignoring the innuendo, he asked, “What’s happening today?”
Her eyes widened and she bent over the counter, maximizing the appeal of her sports bra. “Oh, the women’s swim trials are going on. You know, for the Olympics? The winner here will be able to advance onward and if she keeps doing well, then she’ll make the Olympic team.”
“Wow,” he replied, keeping his eyes away from her exposed décolletage and wondering how he would ever be able to see if Morgan was present amongst all the spectators. Turning back suddenly, he asked, “Do you know if Morgan McAlister is here today?”
The receptionist threw her head back in laughter. Cackling, she said, “Oh, yeah, I’d say she’s here today. Just check the pool.”
Brows lowered at her strange sense of amusement, he turned and headed into the massive pool arena. Spectators were in the stands and it appeared that there were reporters at one end. The scent of chlorine filled his nostrils and his eyes watered slightly.
The screams and shouts were ear-splitting, but he continued to make his way to the end of the stands near the finish line and searched the pool. With each female swimmer wearing a cap and goggles, their bodies encased in tight swimsuits, it was impossible for him to discern which one might be Morgan.
“Morgan!” a man’s shout came from the sidelines.
His eyes darted to the woman the man was yelling at and he realized the swimmer that was in the lead must be her.
“Morgan!” the man screamed again.
Suddenly, a long-forgotten memory slammed into him and it dawned on him where he had heard that voice before. A public pool and an intense man coaching his daughter—the little red-headed girl who swam like a mermaid from when he was a child. The one who had lifted him up after his head had slipped under the water.
Pulling himself back to the present, he watched as she deftly flipped at the end, gaining an even bigger lead. His heartbeat began racing in his chest. Leaning forward, he cheered for her with the rest of the crowd.
10
Morgan’s head broke the surface of the water, her turn executed perfectly, and she shot down the lane. Her father’s voice was in the background, but she did not need to hear him call out times to know that she was in line for a personal best.
He had reamed her out when she first showed up at the gym yesterday, angry that she had been out late the night before. She had not told him that she had stayed out all night, knowing he would have become apoplectic as well. She was determined to live her own life. Plus, the night with Jaxon was her own memory to cherish, leaving her energized and ready to take on the world. For a brief second that morning, she had considered waking him up to see if he could come today to watch her swim. But, considering his reputation, she had forgone that line of thinking.
Now, arms and legs in absolute synchrony glided her body along. Every stroke ensured that her head was fully submerged
to reduce drag, but she heard the cheers when she lifted her head to breathe. Executing another perfect turn, she kicked off the side and powered back down the lane, aware that no one to either side was close to her.
Focusing only on the prize at the end, she stretched her arms out, not slowing for a second. Her fingers touched the edge of the pool and she heard the cheering of the people who had gathered to see her. Screams and shouts echoed in the swim complex and she held on to the rope, trying to see the time on the clock. She clung to the side, her lungs burning as she gulped in air. Pulling her goggles down around her neck, she swiped her eyes and saw her father’s exuberant face.
“Finally, girl. You got your act together, listened to me, and did what you needed to do.” She watched as he stood, puffing out his chest.
She felt a hug from behind and turned to wrap her arms around one of her competitors. A few others swam over the ropes to offer congratulations as well. Hauling her body out of the water, she sucked in a deep breath, her smile genuine. Her gaze drifted to her father, who had moved over to the bank of reporters, all there to discuss her Olympic dream.
Swiping her hand over her face, she pulled her cap from her head and shook out her hair. Accepting a towel from one of the gym employees, she wiped down before walking to her chair to grab her jacket. Staring at the bank of reporters, she sucked in a deep, fortifying breath, before walking over.
“Ms. McAlister, how does it feel to make the next level of qualifications for the Olympics?”
“What did you think of your time today?”
“Ms. McAlister, who do you think your major competition will be at the next trials?”
“Do you have plans to stay in the area to continue training or will you be moving on?”
The camera lights were blinding and the questions came at her fast and furious. Trying to answer one at a time, her father continually jumped in to elaborate on her responses.
“Her time will improve now that she’s in top physical condition. We’ve got two more coaches on board her team now and expect her to shave even more time off her personal best…”
As he continued to drone on, she smiled for the cameras and, with a jaunty wave, moved back to her gym bag, grabbing her sweatpants. She sat in the chair to dry off her legs before pulling on the pants. Zipping up her jacket, she stood, turned, and ran into a hard body.
“Oh, I’m sorry—” Her eyes widened as her apology caught in her throat. “Jaxon?”
He smiled at her, his gaze penetrating. “I had no idea. No idea you swam at this level of competition. You were amazing out there.”
“You saw me?”
“Well, I got here near the end, so I saw the finish.” He looked around, his gaze moving toward the crowd, and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’m really impressed, Morgan. I had no idea that you did this. I mean, the Olympics…fuck, that’s…that’s…well,” chuckling, he added, “I don’t even know how to say how awesome that is.”
She nodded, her smile for the cameras still firmly in place. “Thanks. That’s been the goal all along. To reach that level.” Her eyes darted behind him, where her father was still holding court. When she shifted her gaze back to him, she observed him stepping back slightly.
“Well, I need to let you get back to your adoring fans,” he joked, but the smile did not reach his eyes.
“Why did you come here today? Was there a special reason?” she asked, more curt than she intended. She was surprised he had shown up and did not want to assume the reason. He looked even more nervous at her questioning and she hated she had given the wrong impression. In truth, she battled the desire to throw her arms around him.
He pulled his hand out of his pocket, opening his fingers as he held it out. Resting on his palm was her lost mermaid earring. “I found this on the floor and wanted to return it.”
She gasped and her practiced smile fell away, leaving a natural smile that lit her face. “Oh, Jaxon, you found it.” She reached out to take the jewelry, holding it reverently in her hand. “My Nonnie gave these earrings to me and I couldn’t believe I had lost one. I figured it might be at the bar and I’d never find it.”
“Then I’m glad I could give it to you.” He stepped back even further, jamming his hands into his pockets. “Well, I should go. It looks like you’ve got some people who want to talk to you.”
“Wait,” she said, her hand darting out to rest on his arm.
He stared at her hand for a second, before lifting his gaze back to her face, his head tilted in silent question.
“I wanted to thank you for the other night.” Blushing, she said, “I suppose that sounds rather lame. It was…well…it was special.”
His lips curved slightly, and he nodded. Chuckling, he said, “Yeah, it was. I hated that you were gone the next morning.”
Biting her lip, she ducked her head. “I thought, well, I thought it was best. I knew I needed to get to practice since I had the meet today. And I didn’t want to be seen as one of those girls you think get too clingy.”
He covered her hand with his, hers cool underneath his much warmer one. She loved the feel of his skin on hers.
With his other hand, he reached up to tuck a strand of wet hair behind her ear. “I’d never think that about you, Morgan. I actually missed you when I woke up alone.”
As they stood, staring at each other, the rest of the swim arena’s noise faded away. Her fingers twitched to link with his, the desire to step closer overwhelming.
Taking a chance, he began, “I wondered if you would perhaps like to—”
“Morgan!”
Her father’s voice interrupted Jaxon’s invitation and she grimaced when he jerked his hand back as her father neared.
“Morgan, come on. We’ve got an interview with the TV station in an hour and then the magazine spread first thing in the morning.”
Dropping her hand, she said, “I’ll be there in a moment, Dad.”
“I want—”
“Dad. I said in a moment,” she emphasized, standing her ground. Her father bristled but with reporters still around, he stalked away.
Jaxon stepped backward but she reached out to touch him again. “What was it you were about to say?” she asked, her eyes pinned hopefully on his.
Hesitating, Jaxon looked to the side before stepping closer. “Just to say that I’m glad we met, Morgan. I wish you all the best and I’ll be rooting for you.” He bent forward to place a kiss on her cheek, the silky skin cool to his lips.
Closing his eyes for a few seconds, he opened his mouth to say more, but just offered another smile, one Morgan could have sworn was tinged with sadness. With a parting squeeze on her hand, he stepped back, allowing her to be engulfed in well-wishers.
Her heart ached as she watched him walk away, the desire to race after him filling her soul. Before she could act on her instinct, her father took her arm and escorted her to the side.
“Who was that man?” he barked.
“Just someone I met,” she replied, jerking her arm from his grip. Seeing her father’s pinched lips, she added, “I lost an earring and he was returning it.”
“Hmph,” he grumbled, then held her gaze. “Just remember, Morgan, you have no time for distractions. Eyes on the prize. Always keep your eyes on the prize.” Seeing someone else he wanted to talk to, he straightened and smiled, hailing them as he walked along.
She breathed out a long, slow sigh. She was no longer able to see Jaxon’s head amongst the crowd and she battled the threat of tears. “Yeah,” she said aloud to no one but her own heart. “Eyes on the prize.” Walking away, she slipped her mermaid earring into her earlobe and wondered if she even knew what the prize was anymore.
Jaxon sat in his Jeep, still parked in the lot of the gym, and wondered why his heart ached. It’s not like I know her very well. We just met. She’s got her life, I’ve got mine. She’s going places and I’m…well, my life is here.
Giving his head a shake, he started the vehicle, pulling out and drivin
g down the street. In one night, he had begun to lose his heart to Morgan, an Olympic hopeful swimmer who had no room in her world for him.
Morgan walked into the nursing home, smiling and accepting congratulations from the staff at the reception and nurses’ desk. She continued down the hall, her sneaker covered feet padding softly on the white tiled floor. The walls were painted a soft rose color with framed pictures of flower gardens, seascapes, and mountains.
Arriving at the door she was looking for, she knocked on the doorframe before entering, a smile spreading across her face as she spied the familiar figure sitting in a chair by the window, looking out over a courtyard garden.
“Nonnie?”
The room’s occupant turned her head, her wrinkled face unmoving for a few seconds before sight and memory allowed her to recognize her visitor. Then, her smile settled into the creases. “Morgan, my girl. Come in, come in.”
She flew toward her grandmother, landing at her feet and throwing her arms around her. Her grandmother’s plump body, soft white hair, and the delicate whiff of a rose-scented perfume were all familiar and comforting. She felt arms encircle her and as she pressed her face into her grandmother’s lap it was as though the cares of the world fell away.
“My, my, what an exuberant greeting,” Nonnie said, patting her back.
Leaning back, she smiled and said, “Just like when I was little, right?”
“Oh, yes. You always had so much energy. Racing around. Throwing yourself into everything you wanted to do.”
“How did you stand me?” she laughed.
“Oh, the young always have so much energy and fun. You wanted to swim, dance, climb trees, run races. Until your father harnessed all that enthusiasm into swimming, I thought you’d do a little bit of everything.”
Her grandmother’s words caused her smile to slip slightly, but Nonnie continued, “And from watching TV last night, it seems that congratulations are in order, my sweet girl. An Olympic hopeful. My goodness.”
Jaxon: Heroes at Heart Page 7