“She’s a cute little thing. Spunky, too.” The man took a few steps and then paused. “And she don’t have no wedding ring on her finger, either.”
Mark looked down at the hand that gripped the compass, a familiar lump building in his throat at the sight of the half-inch band of skin that no longer stood out the way it once had when his ring was off. What on earth was he doing? He’d taken this class as a release, not to pick up chicks. It was way too soon. Seth needed his complete focus. He needed his complete focus....
Mark started back across the grass and along the path where Emily had just disappeared. Step by step, he ventured farther into the woods, and found the excitement he’d felt during the hands-on portion of the class resurfacing in spades.
It was as if the sunlight that randomly poked through the heavy leaves, warming him from the outside in, had somehow managed to rekindle a part of his spirit that had disappeared along with any respect he’d once had for himself prior to Sally’s death.
Mark climbed onto a stump and looked from side to side, his heart rate picking up at the sight of Emily heading back toward him, the bag she’d been carrying into the woods now looped over her shoulder, a pad of paper and a pencil in her hand. “Emily? I saw you head back here. Everything okay?”
She stopped midstep and gave him a funny look. “Just jotting down a few new coordinates for next time. Did you forget something, Mr. Reynolds?”
“No, I…” He glanced down, saw the compass he held in a death grip. “Actually, yeah. I forgot to turn in my compass. By the time I realized it, Trish had already collected them and I didn’t want to just leave it sitting around.”
The smile he’d found so engaging all afternoon returned. “Kind of got used to holding it, huh? Well, don’t worry about it. I’ve found myself driving home with a compass still in my hand after one of these kinds of outings, so you’re in good company. Means it started to feel natural.”
He tucked the compass into his pants pocket and swept his gaze across the woods, nodding. “I can’t believe how good it felt to be out here…playing.”
Her laughter echoed around them. “Welcome to my job. Where I get to play—and help others play—all day long.”
“Sounds like heaven to me.”
“Really? Because the last time I checked these woods were in the middle of Winoka, Wisconsin,” she joked, before beckoning him to follow as she wound her way back through the trees. “If you don’t mind me asking, what made you decide to take this class, Mr. Reynolds?”
He considered the best way to respond. If he shared too much, the lift in his heart from stepping out of his reality would be gone. If he didn’t give her any kind of answer, he’d come across as rude. He opted for the safest reply he could find. “First of all, it’s Mark. Mr. Reynolds makes me feel as if you’re talking to someone much older than I want to be. And as to why I came today, I guess you could say I’m looking for something that’ll help me unwind.”
“Sounds like a good reason.”
They emerged from the woods side by side, then cut across the clearing toward the old converted barn that served as the offices for Bucket List 101. When they reached the front door, Mark tried to think of something else to say, something to allow him even a few more minutes in her orbit, but he came up empty.
“Well, thanks for today. It was really great.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Mr. Reynolds.”
“Mark,” he reminded her gently. At her nod, he turned and headed toward his car, the sound of the door opening and shutting behind him making it both easier and harder to breathe. Never in his recent and not-so-recent memory could he recall a woman who affected him quite the way Emily did.
Except, of course, for Sally. And even then, it was for very different reasons....
When he got to his car he reached into his pocket for his keys and froze.
“Oh, no…” He wrapped his fingers around the circular object and pulled it out, denial quickly morphing into self-recrimination. “What an idiot I am!”
Shaking his head, he retraced his steps to the barn and went inside, his feet guided down the hall by the sound of music and a pinpoint of light streaming through the crack under a door.
He knocked and heard Emily say, “Come in.”
Pushing the door open, Mark peeked inside, to find her hunched at a desk, poring over some sort of outdoor catalog. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I forgot to actually give you my compass after tracking you down in the woods. I’m a head case, I know.”
Her laugh echoed off the walls and brought his body to attention. “Considering the fact that you showed it to me twenty minutes ago and I didn’t take it, I think it’s safe to say your state of mind isn’t the only one in question at the moment. But no worries. I happen to believe momentary insanity is par for the course after running through the woods for two hours the way we did. It rattles brains, I think.”
He took a few steps into her office and leaned against the wall, her sincerity and her genuineness speaking to him on some unexpected level. “Do you ever get tired, running around like that?”
The sparkle in her eyes dimmed. “No, never.”
“Wow.” Despite his best intentions, he found himself glancing around the room, looking for any excuse to stretch out their time together. It was as if by being there, talking to her, he could almost forget the unforgettable. He pointed at the illustrations on the wall behind her desk. “Looks like you’ve got a budding artist on your hands.”
The sparkle returned. “Nope. Just a dreamer who happens to have a very sentimental friend.”
“You lost me.”
She grinned. “I drew those when I was ten. Kate, my sentimental friend, just uncovered them in her hope chest a few weeks ago, and felt the need to share them.”
He took a step toward the pictures. “And this is you in all of these?”
“Minus the freckles, of course. I hated my freckles when I was ten.”
“You shouldn’t have.” He pointed at the first drawing. “Trail riding?”
“That’ll start back up in the spring.”
Stepping to the right, he considered the second. “Nice rapids in this one.”
Her laugh sent a skitter of awareness down his spine. “If I took my customers white-water rafting without helmets today, I’d lose my license.”
“Artistic liberties, that’s all.” He matched her laugh and took in the third picture. “Something tells me I didn’t look quite as confident in the woods just now with my compass.”
“You did great.” Emily swiveled her chair a hairbreadth to study him. “Everyone did.”
Aware of her gaze, he pointed to the final picture. “I’ve always wanted to rock climb.”
“Then why haven’t you?”
He stared at the drawing, his lips forming the words he’d only recently come to acknowledge. “Procrastination, I guess. I figured there’d always be time. “
“And now?”
“I know better.” He cleared his throat of its sudden gruffness and gestured toward the line of framed pictures. “Looks to me like the dreamer who drew these hit a grand slam.”
Her silence made him turn just in time to see her open her eyes and force another smile to her lips. “Considering my sentimental friend uncovered a fifth, which I opted not to hang, I’ll settle for a home run.”
“Oh? What happened to that dream?”
She waved his question aside. “To b
orrow your words, Mr. Reynolds—I mean Mark—now I know better.”
Momentarily unsure of what to say, he shoved his hands into his pockets and reclaimed his spot against the wall opposite her desk. “Well, four out of five is nothing to sneeze at. Hell, when I was ten, all I thought about was being a firefighter and trying to kiss the redhead who sat behind me in math.”
“And how’d you do?”
“One for two.”
She laughed. “You’re a firefighter, then?”
“No. An accountant.”
“So the redhead inspired your academic path?”
“She inspired me to quit putting off until tomorrow.”
“Oh?” Emily’s eyebrows rose. “Does she need a job? We could use a spokesperson.”
“No. No, she doesn’t need a job.” With his good mood rapidly spiraling, Mark tipped his head forward and pushed himself from the wall. “I’d better get out of here. Lunch-making duties await.” He took two steps toward the door and stopped, a flash of color out of the corner of his eye hijacking his attention to the floor. “Oh…hey, you dropped something.”
Squatting down, he retrieved a tattered pamphlet from the carpet beside the trash can and turned it over in his hands, the headline, Multiple Sclerosis, catching him by surprise. “You know someone with MS?”
When she didn’t answer, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a business card. “I volunteer with an organization called Folks Helping Folks. We help people with disabilities by building wheelchair ramps, installing handrails in bathrooms, funding specially equipped automobiles, and that sort of thing. You know, whatever can make their day-to-day life a little easier.”
Placing the card on top of the pamphlet, he held them out to Emily. When she didn’t respond, he held them out farther. Again, she didn’t take them, her hands remaining on top of her desk as if glued to its surface. And in that instant he understood why she sat there and said nothing, why she looked at the pamphlet and business card as if they were poison capable of seeping through her skin and into her soul.
He understood because he’d been where she was. He’d loved someone who was sick, too. He knew the fear. He knew the sense of denial that came on the heels of such a bitter experience. And he knew the gut-wrenching pain that came with pulling back.
Leaning across her desk, he set the paperwork in front of her, his heart aching for this beautiful woman who’d allowed him to shed his well-worn cloak of regret and live in the moment for three glorious hours. “I understand where you’re at, Emily. I really do. But please, take this anyway. Pass it on to whoever it is you know that’s sick. By denying what’s going on, all you’re doing is hurting yourself and your loved one. Trust me on this.”
Then, without realizing what he was doing, he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, the warmth of her skin beneath his hand lingering in his thoughts long after Bucket List 101 had faded from his rearview mirror.
Chapter Two
Tossing her paddle to the shore, Emily maneuvered her way out of the kayak and tugged it onto the sand, the satisfying soreness in her upper arms a welcome relief. No matter how hard she’d tried to bury herself in work the rest of the day, the images spawned by Mark’s words had risen to the surface again and again, gnawing at her convictions like a beaver hell-bent on toppling a tree. She’d resisted, of course, but the doubts had claimed a foothold, reappearing throughout the remainder of her workday.
When she’d been teaching her introduction to rock climbing course, she tried to imagine dangling over the side of a cliff in a wheelchair.
When she’d taken a call inquiring about an upcoming white-water rafting trip, she envisioned herself piercing the raft with the end of a cane.
And when she’d locked up her office for the evening and actually considered the notion of wallowing in pity from the confines of her bed, she knew she had to do something. Fast.
Now, two hours later, she felt like herself again. Ready to conquer anything and everything that crossed her path.
Raising her arms in the air, she stretched, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips as she spotted the pint-size towhead feverishly digging in the sand some thirty feet from where she stood. Curious, she closed the gap between them to take a closer look at what the child was doing.
“That’s a really nifty castle you’re building,” she said.
The little boy’s hand stilled long enough for him to look up and smile, the deep, penetrating blue of his eyes bringing a momentary hitch to her breath. “Thanks, lady.”
She forced her attention back to the castle. “I like all those turrets you built onto the corners.”
His cheeks lifted farther as he dropped his shovel in favor of directing Emily’s attention toward the tower on the back left corner of his creation. “See that one? That’s the princess’s room. She’s real nice. And this one here—” he shifted his finger to the right “—that’s where my room would be if I lived there, too.”
Dropping onto the sand beside the boy, Emily retrieved a stick from the ground and secured a nearby leaf to the top. When she was done, she spun it between her fingers while he eyed her across the top of his sand pail. “When I was little, I used to dream about living in a castle, too,” she told him. “Only instead of a princess, mine had a handsome prince who would sweep me off my feet every morning and carry me around the castle all day long.”
At the child’s giggle, she, too, cracked a smile. “That sounds funny,” he said.
“Now it does, but when I was young, I thought it sounded romantic.” Shaking her head free of the images that threatened to ruin the innocence of the moment, she poked her makeshift flag into the sand by her feet and scrunched up her face. “But don’t worry, I don’t intend to be carried around by anyone. Ever.”
The little boy rocked back on his heels, then jutted his chin in the direction of her stick creation. “That sure would look nice on my castle, don’t you think?”
She plucked it from the sand and handed it to him, the answering sparkle in his eyes warming her from head to toe. “But just because my dream was silly doesn’t mean you can’t share a castle with your princess one day. In fact, I hope you do. Dreams that come true are mighty special.”
When he’d positioned the flag just the way he wanted it, the child nodded. “I found an old tree house in the woods behind Gam’s house. I like to climb up the ladder all by myself and dream with my eyes open. That way they don’t get scary like the ones in my bed.”
She studied him for a moment, guessing him to be about four. Maybe just turned five. Either way, he was too young to be alone on the beach....
“What do you dream about in your tree house?” she asked, before squinting down the shoreline.
“Smiles. Lots and lots of smiles.”
Startled, she brought her full attention back to the little boy. “Smiles?”
He nodded. “Happy ones. Like the ones me and Daddy used to smile before my mom got sick and went up to heaven.”
Emily cast about for something to say, but he didn’t give her much of a chance.
“I want us to make great big smiles like that again one day.”
“That sounds like a special thing to dream about,” she whispered.
“It is.” Jumping to his feet, the child surveyed his castle, deeming it a success with a clap of his small hands. “Wow! This is my very bestest castle ever!”
She swung her focus out toward the water and noted the absence
of any swimmers or fellow boaters in their immediate vicinity. “You seem awfully little to be out here by yourself.”
“I’m not by myself. I’m with my dad.” Shooting a pudgy index finger over Emily’s shoulder, he pointed toward a man fishing from a line of rocks that led into the lake some twenty or so yards away. “See? He’s right there. Fishing.”
Shielding the last of the sun’s rays from her eyes, she strained to make out the outline standing on the rocks—the tall stature, the broad shoulders, the gray T-shirt and black shorts, the brown hair…
No. It couldn’t be.
She looked back at the boy. “That man over there is your dad?”
“Yupper doodle.” He dropped to a squat and stuck his finger in the sand. Then, slowly but surely, he drew a snake that nearly reached her toes. “My daddy is so smart he taught me how to make my name. See?”
Stepping back, she looked again at the wiggly line and recognized it as an S. Three additional letters later, he was done. “Your name is Seth?”
“Yupper doodle.” His broad smile reached his bright blue eyes.
His Ocean Wave Blue eyes…
She glanced from Seth to the man and back again, the confirmation she sought virtually certain. But still, she asked, “Do you know your last name, Seth?”
“Of course I do, silly. But I can’t write that name yet. It’s too big and kinda tricky. Especially the first letter.” Seth cupped his left hand to the side of his mouth and tipped his head upward. “Gam says I just need to pretend the circle at the top changed its mind and is runnin’ away from the line.”
Squatting down beside the boy, she left a space between Seth’s efforts and her own, talking him through the letter he’d just described. When she was done, she nudged her chin in its direction. “Is this the letter?”
“Yupper doodle.” He leaped to his feet and came to stand on the opposite side of Emily. “R for R-R-R-Reynolds!”
Storybook Dad (Harlequin American Romance) Page 2