An Old-Fashioned Romance

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “Yep,” Reese said. “I’m a candidate.”

  “What?” Breck asked.

  “A candidate. For hearing loss,” he explained. “See? Use of loud machinery, listening to loud music, chronic ear infections as a child. It’s a wonder I can still hear at all.” Then he tossed the pamphlet to the chair next to him and began tapping his foot. “What do you want to do while we’re waiting?” he asked.

  “You don’t really have to wait with me, Mr. Thatcher,” Breck said, not wanting to inconvenience him any further. “I can call someone to—”

  “How many times have you had stitches?” he interrupted.

  Breck giggled. He was like a little boy trapped in a Sunday school meeting on an inviting summer’s day.

  “Never had any,” she answered.

  “What?” he exclaimed in sincere disbelief. “How can you never have had stitches before?”

  “I don’t know,” she told him. “How many times have you had stitches?”

  “Fifty-seven,” he said.

  “Fifty-seven?” Breck exclaimed. “How can you possibly have had to have stitches fifty-seven times?”

  “The first time I slammed my finger in the door when I was two. Then there was the snowmobile accident I had when I was nineteen…drove my ride into a barbed-wire fence. Odds and ends and a couple of other big incidents. It’s easy enough to need stitches,” he told her. He talked so nonchalantly about it.

  Breck shook her head, completely amused by his attitude.

  “These won’t hurt much though,” he said, studying her cheek again. He took her chin in his hand and, frowning, looked at the wound more closely. “It ticks me off. I’ve been telling Mr. Wilson that Jamie was going to cause trouble. It makes me wonder what she has on him to make him keep her this long.”

  Breck nodded. “Me too,” she admitted.

  “Let her charge me with harassment,” he growled. “I’ll just insist she wears that shirt she wore today to court. Once the judge gets a load of that…I’ll be fine.”

  Breck began to giggle—the sort of nervous giggle a person gets when a situation is too ridiculous, horrible, or both to believe. “That was the most outrageous blouse I’ve ever seen.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Reese chuckled. Breck glanced at him. There was something more real about Reese Thatcher that day. All the things that made him attractive were still there—surreal good looks, charming personality—but there was more. As Breck watched him sitting next to her, she sensed there was a part of him that had been hidden—or asleep—before. What was it?

  “Do you have any brothers and sisters?” he asked, trying to make light conversation.

  “One brother is all,” Breck answered. “Jake. He’s a Marine and stationed overseas.”

  “Really?” Reese seemed impressed. “Wow. Are you guys close?”

  Breck shrugged. “As close as we can be now that he’s so far away.” She smiled at him. “You?”

  “Two brothers, one older, one younger…and an older sister,” he answered.

  “That’s great,” Breck said, smiling. She liked imagining Reese as a child—playing and fighting with siblings.

  “Mom and dad?” he asked.

  “Yeah. They’re in Europe for a few months.”

  Reese frowned. “So…you’re alone here?”

  “My uncles and cousins live a couple of hours away.” Breck shrugged. She did miss her family. It broke Breck’s heart the way families were separated by the necessity of earning a living or other intrusive elements of life. Modern times had wreaked havoc on the family unit. More often than not, Breck dreamed of living in the days when, in most cases, at least a few members of a person’s family settled in close.

  “Your mom and dad?” she asked, trying to change her lonely state of mind.

  “One of each,” Reese answered.

  An awkward silence followed, and Breck understood why. Reese and she had shared only a working relationship, but the events that unfolded at Marcelli’s a few nights before, coupled with today’s goings-on, had given them a more intimate association—sort of.

  “Why is it that you’re not settled down…married and expecting a baby or two, Miss McCall?” His question was completely unanticipated and completely stunning.

  “What?” was all Breck could muster.

  Reese shook his head. “I don’t know. You just seem…I mean, you’re really good at what you do,” he assured her. “It’s just that…somehow I envision you in a little yellow house, surrounded by a white picket fence…a couple of babies crawling around while you bake chocolate-chip cookies or something.”

  Breck felt a crimson blush rise to her cheeks—accompanied by a delighted smile. It was as if he’d seen her soul! For in truth, that was exactly her secret, unspoken dream. Ever since she was a child she’d wanted to grow up, get married, and raise a family. But people, especially other women, seemed to frown on that way of life these days. And finding a man who wanted the same things seemed almost impossible. But here, sitting next to her in the Urgent Care…

  “I’d love that!” she slipped. She hadn’t meant to confess it to him so honestly. When he looked at her with curiosity, she continued, “It’s just that…that’s a vanishing way of life. Don’t you think?”

  He seemed thoughtful for a moment. “I guess so. But I think people allowed it to vanish. They get caught up in technology, entertainment. Or they run away from it for some reason.” He looked at her again. “Had you pegged though. Didn’t I?” He smiled.

  Breck giggled. “That is what you do.” After all, he wasn’t a success in his field for no reason.

  “That is what I do,” he repeated. But as he looked at the pretty girl sitting next to him in the Urgent Care, he couldn’t help pushing the issue.

  “Why don’t you settle down, raise a family? Bake some cookies?” he asked. Reese knew he liked this girl way too much. He wasn’t even sure she needed stitches. He’d just wanted to find a way to whisk her away from that awful office. She didn’t belong there. He’d known it all along. He’d become far too protective of Breck McCall and her refreshing wholesomeness.

  He smiled as she squirmed, uncomfortable by either his gaze or his question. He couldn’t tell which.

  “I…well…the opportunity hasn’t presented itself,” came her canned answer. Reese was in far too teasing a mood to let her slip away that easily.

  “Which opportunity?” he asked. “To bake cookies or have babies?” He could’ve sworn she blushed to the very tips of her toes.

  “T-to settle down,” she stammered. “I bake cookies all the time.”

  “Breck McCall?” the nurse called from the front desk. Reese was disappointed that they’d called her in so quickly. He’d been hoping for at least two hours in her company.

  ❦

  “Here,” Reese said, taking Breck’s keys. “Let me get it.” Reese unlocked the door and stepped aside to allow Breck to enter her apartment first. Breck smiled, delighted with his manners. It had been a very long time since any man under the age of fifty had opened a door for her. And Reese had held doors for her all day.

  Breck stepped into the apartment and somehow felt nervous as Reese stepped in after her, closing the door behind him. She watched as he began to look around.

  Yep. Even the decor in her apartment—the atmosphere inside, the perfect feel of it—added to Reese’s knowledge that this girl was different from most. First of all, it smelled like apples and cinnamon, nutmeg and warm bread—aromas he hadn’t enjoyed for a long time.

  “Would you like some ice water? Root beer?” Breck asked. He smiled, delighted with her concern for him and further delighted by what she had offered him to drink. Most women he’d known lately would’ve started with, Can I get you a drink before I slip into something more comfortable?

  “Water,” he answered, smiling at her. It seemed odd, but she looked adorable with her two little cheek stitches. He was mad for a moment again then—mad that a woman like Jamie even existed to harm
such a sweet girl as this.

  As Breck left the room to retrieve his water, Reese wandered around slowly—taking in everything about it. There was a small entertainment unit on a nearby wall, a TV, stereo, and DVD player housed there. Along the top stood an ancient-looking clock, nine or ten old sepia-toned photographs of people from days gone by. Reese looked closely at all the photographs for a moment. One in particular caught his interest—a handsome-looking couple standing with a horse. The woman was dark-haired and quite beautiful—especially for the time period, which Reese guessed was the late 1800s. In the background was an arched entry typical of an old ranch that read, “El Costa Lotta—McCall Ranch.” Reese felt his eyebrows rise as he recognized the name of the ranch. McCall horses had been a valuable commodity in Colorado for the past century, and he figured that his own little Breck McCall must be a relative.

  He looked down then—having nearly stepped on a pile of CDs and DVDs that lay on the floor in front of the wall unit. He smiled as he recognized artists and titles of bygone eras—old movie musicals from the ’50s, jazz artists and crooners from the ’40s, counted among various Christmas music and romantic comedies.

  Looking around the room, he noted several antique lamp tables topped with hurricane lamps, old books on several wall bookshelves, three thriving Boston ferns. Artificial pumpkins and turkeys were strategically placed here and there, reflecting the woman’s adoration of autumn and the holidays.

  Indeed, it was a cozy, warm, beautiful room that left Reese in a fog of nostalgia, comfort, and further confirmation of Breck’s being unique from other young women of the day.

  “Here you go,” she said, returning and handing him a glass of water.

  “Thank you,” he said. Even the water from her faucet tasted better. Purer, colder, fresher.

  She bit her lip nervously and finally said, “Do you want to sit down for a moment?”

  “Sure,” Reese answered. He couldn’t help grinning at her because he knew he made her uncomfortable. It probably wasn’t easy to have her boss there in her apartment so unexpectedly. Especially when he’d kissed her just days before—and wanted to kiss her again—although she didn’t know that. Even so, he enjoyed watching her discomfort.

  “So,” he began, sighing as he took a seat on her sofa, “this is where you live and bake cookies.”

  “Yep,” was all she managed to say.

  “And pumpkin pies that are better than my mother’s,” he added. She smiled, obviously delighted by his compliment. “It’s nice,” he told her. “I like it. It’s very…you.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, seeming uncertain as to whether this remark were a compliment.

  “You know…comfortable, cozy…smells good,” he answered. He smiled as he saw her cheeks go crimson.

  “Thank you,” she said. Then she dropped her gaze for a moment, her hands fiddling in her lap as she nearly mumbled, “Thank you…for taking me to get stitches.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “But a girl shouldn’t have to leave an office job to go get sewn up.”

  “Maybe not,” she said. “But thank you anyway.”

  He smiled, feeling a little angry with the male members of the human race. Obviously, she wasn’t used to any sort of chivalry or manners in men. And he resented his own gender for that.

  Breck tried to breathe regularly—tried not to smile too much at the joy she was experiencing. He was there—right there with her in her own apartment—Reese Thatcher! That fact was definitely worth getting beaten and having to have stitches. She couldn’t believe he was there!

  “I’ll pick you up for work tomorrow, and you can just leave your car at the office tonight,” he told her.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed. She had forgotten all about her car. “Are you sure that will be all right? I can take the bus in and—” she began.

  “No way,” he said. “I’ll just pick you up in the morning.”

  “If you’re sure,” she agreed.

  “Of course I’m sure,” he said. “I noticed the pictures on your thing there,” he said, pointing to the wall unit. “Are you related to the people that run the McCall ranch out east of Colorado Springs?”

  Breck felt her heart swell. He knew about the McCall ranch? How could he know? Of course, Reese Thatcher did seem to know something about everything.

  “Yeah,” Breck admitted with obvious pride. “My uncle runs it now…but my great-grandfather, Jackson McCall, named it officially back in, like, 1889.”

  “El Costa Lotta,” Reese chuckled. “That’s funny. I didn’t get it at first.”

  “Yeah,” Breck giggled. “Jackson McCall and his brothers were known as quite the characters in their day.”

  “You ever spend much time out there as a kid?” he asked.

  Breck smiled, delighted by his interest. “I did,” she told him. “And I loved it out there. I always wished my dad had stayed in the ranching business. But…he didn’t.”

  Breck retrieved a drink coaster from the end table and handed it to Reese. He smiled at her and placed his glass on the coffee table in front of him.

  Dang, this girl was cute! Reese felt a slight anxiety rising within him as he lingered in Breck’s company. She was dangerous to a man’s stability. He could feel it. A rare and wonderful girl like this could distract a guy from his course in life. He knew he had better escape while he could. Too much time around Breck McCall could be risky.

  So, with a heavy sigh, Reese stood to leave. “I better get going,” he told her. Her forced smile told him that she didn’t want him to leave. No doubt the events of the day were still weighing heavily on her mind. Still, to linger would not be a good idea. She was too cute and vulnerable with her little stitches and windblown hair.

  “Thank you for everything, Mr. Thatcher,” she told him. And then he knew he had lingered too long. For the devil in him was at the door.

  “You mean for taking you to the Urgent Care?” he said, smiling at her as she stood to face him. “Or do you mean for dressing up like an idiot for your birthday?”

  She smiled and blushed. “Both,” she said.

  He watched her glance away shyly when he took her hand in his and said, “I’m sorry about this mess today, Breck.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she assured him.

  “It was. I know that,” he said. “You stuck up for me and ended up with stitches.” She shook her head and glanced down shyly again. “And the worst part of it is…she was right.”

  She looked up at him—frowning—puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  Stop it right now, Reese, he told himself. But it was too late. The wolf in him was already prowling. He raised her hand to his lips and placed a lingering kiss on the back of it.

  “Only…it wasn’t her that I planned on harassing.” He grinned, delighted at the way her eyes widened in astonishment at his inference. She was struck silent, of course, so the wolf continued to stalk its prey. “Still…does it count as harassment if it’s after hours and not in the office?”

  “What?” she gulped.

  Somewhere Reese found his steady mark then, and instead of stealing a kiss as he’d planned, he simply asked, “Can I take you to dinner Friday?”

  “What?” she repeated, obviously still rattled by his previous flirtations.

  “To help soothe the sting of what happened today…let me take you to dinner, Breck.” She paused, seeming uncertain, so he added, “I’d feel a little better if you let me make a sad attempt at repaying you for looking out for me today.”

  She smiled at him. “Sure,” she agreed.

  Reese smiled at her. He seemed genuinely pleased that she’d accepted his dinner invitation. Breck tried to remain calm—tried to still her excited trembling until she’d seen him all the way out the door and closed it.

  “Seven okay?” he asked.

  “Seven what?” she asked in return. Kisses? Sure! She’d take seven kisses from him any day!

  He chuckled. “Seven o’clock at night on Fri
day. I’ll pick you up at seven. Okay?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Breck breathed, blushing and horrified from being so brainless for a moment.

  “Okay,” he said. “Call me if you need anything tonight.”

  “Thank you,” Breck managed.

  Through her front window she watched him walk out to his pickup. He smiled and waved to her a moment before he drove off into the sunset.

  Breck sighed, content and delighted with the result of what had otherwise been a completely rotten day. Gently she touched the stitches that held the wound at her cheek. Yep! Well worth the pain to spend an afternoon with Reese Thatcher. How would she ever settle down, stay calm, and function normally until Friday night?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday seemed to drag by like months as Breck waited for Friday to arrive. Work seemed tedious at best, and working with Reese was all the more difficult now—for now she sensed she knew a part of him that had been dormant or hiding before. When she considered his willingness to play the Highwayman—thought of the way he had been dressed the day she’d been assaulted by Jamie Reynolds—even the type of vehicle he drove hinted at a hidden identity of some sort. For the most part, Reese perfectly fit the description of the up-and-coming, big-city businessman, but there was more to him than mere appearances. Breck was certain of it.

  From the time Reese dropped her off at her apartment Monday afternoon until the moment the clock on her wall unit chimed seven on Friday night, Breck was preoccupied with anticipating the evening. How should she dress? He hadn’t specified, nor had she thought to ask, what type of restaurant he was taking her to. So as she took a deep breath and readied to open the door to meet Reese, she smoothed the white angora sweater she’d chosen to wear with a jean skirt.

  “Hi,” Reese greeted her as she opened the door. He wore Levi’s and a black long-sleeved shirt—perfect as usual and handsome as a dream!

  “Hi,” she replied.