by Loree Lough
Summer shook her head and rested her chin on her chest. But she still seemed steady on her feet, so Zach showed the class how to block an attacker’s first attempt to initiate a chokehold.
“One arm across your waist, the other diagonally across your chest, chin tucked close to that hand. Remain patient—breathe in, breathe out—and don’t panic. In the loudest voice you can muster, tell him to back off. He might, thinking your loud mouth attracted attention. But if he keeps coming, put your forearms on the outside of his. He’s close now, off-balance, and he won’t be expecting you to slam his arms together, hard. The instant he hesitates, bolt left or right and run like your life depends on it. Because it does.
“If that doesn’t work, beat on his arms. Bite. Scratch. Do whatever it takes to keep that hand from wrapping around your neck. Never stop attacking. Because the instant you do, he wins.”
Now it was time to step back and watch as they practiced what he’d just preached. He and Alex leaned against the whiteboard, arms crossed and feet shoulder-width apart.
Using his chin as a pointer, the boy whispered, “What’s wrong with Summer?”
Zach took one look at her, darted between his other students, and caught her just as she was about to hit the mat.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SUMMER HADN’T SEEN it coming.
One minute Zach was at the head of the class. The next, his big arms wrapped around her, and saved her from hitting the mat, hard.
In the tangle of arms and legs, it took a few seconds to get her bearings. When she did, Summer gazed into his blue-green eyes and searched the oh-so-serious face that hovered inches from hers. Every instinct made her want to press her palms against his rugged cheeks, finger-comb the blond hair from his worry-creased forehead to assure him that she was fine, just fine.
Then, as her classmates’ voices broke through the fog, Summer remembered where she was and didn’t feel so fine anymore. She wriggled free of his grasp.
“If this was some sort of demonstration, you should have asked for volunteers. I don’t appreciate being your guinea pig.”
His left eyebrow rose high on his forehead, and his mouth slanted in a sly grin. If she lifted her head, just a little, she could kiss those perfectly shaped lips. Would she have done it if they weren’t surrounded by onlookers?
“Are you all right?” Alex asked.
“I’ll be fine,” she bit out, “when this big gorilla lets me up.”
She waited, but he didn’t move.
“Let me up,” she whispered.
“Make me,” he whispered back.
“Make you? What is this, fifth grade? Get off me before I—”
And then it hit her: this was a test, to see if she’d been paying attention, if she’d taken what Emma and Zach had said, dozens of times, to heart: “Expect the unexpected, then do the unexpected!”
Summer took stock. Her left arm was above her head, still pinned to the mat by Zach’s strong hand.
Stay calm. Breathe. Be patient…
She threw her right leg over his back, and eyes squinted tight, put everything she had into rolling over. In less than a second, she was on top of him.
Amid her classmates’ snickers and hoorays, she heard, “That’s gonna be a nice goose egg in the morning.”
She looked into Zach’s face, saw him wince as he pressed meaty fingertips to his left eye. The skin around the socket had already turned bright pink. And her elbow ached. Good thing you weren’t trying to hurt him!
Summer got up, and so did he.
“Better get some ice on that,” Alex told Zach. “Your eyebrow is all swollen.”
Zach faced his gawking students. “See, ladies, that is how you defend yourself against an attacker.”
He gave Summer a thumbs-up. “Way to go,” he said, and headed for the front of the room. With only five minutes left in the session, he dismissed the class early.
Ordinarily, she didn’t shower at Marshall Law, but tonight, Summer even washed her hair. Zach couldn’t lock up until everyone had left, and she intended to be the last student out the door. When she stepped out of the locker room, she saw him, back to her and feet propped on the credenza against the wall.
“Thought I was gonna have to come in there and fish you out of a drain,” he said without turning around.
She hadn’t made a sound, save the hard beating of her heart. So what alerted him to her presence?
“What’s your plan, stand there until your eyes bore holes into the back of my skull?”
His feet hit the floor—first the right, then the left—before he swiveled to face her.
He leaned forward, elbows on the arms of his chair and hands folded on the desktop.
She didn’t know what to react to first, the way his biceps strained against the fabric of his shirt, the almost sad expression on his weary face, or the golf-ball-sized lump above his eye. Why did she want to walk over there, kiss that darkening bump and apologize for hurting him?
Zach pointed at the empty chair beside his desk. “Looks like you have something to get off your chest. Might as well make yourself comfortable while you do it.”
She’d gathered her things before coming out here. Against her better judgment, Summer sat down and bunched her coat atop the purse in her lap.
He slid an unopened, frosty can of soda closer to her elbow.
So he’d been expecting a confrontation?
After popping the tab, she took a sip. Root beer. Her favorite. But how did he know that?
He sat back, fingers linked behind his neck, waiting.
“I realize you’re accustomed to giving orders,” she began, “both as a marine and as a business owner. But I am not one of your soldiers, nor am I one of your employees. I paid the full price for these classes. Maybe you should take ‘the customer is always right’ rule a little more seriously.”
“Sorry, I’m not following you.”
“What was that all about in there?” she demanded, sitting up straighter.
“You were weaving and bobbing like a drunk. What did you expect me to do? Let you faint, maybe hurt yourself or the students standing near you? I don’t carry enough insurance to survive a lawsuit.”
“Nice to know that money prompted your attempt at chivalry.”
“Attempt?”
In other words, his self-satisfied expression said, he’d saved her, so what else mattered?
Zach rolled his chair closer to hers. Real close. “If you think I’m gonna apologize for sparing you a sprain, or so much as a hangnail, think again.”
Do not back away, she told herself. Sit still and hold your ground.
“Kind of arrogant, don’t you think? To assume I hung around tonight just to thank you.”
He shrugged, then rolled back to his original spot behind the desk and opened a file. “Weatherman is calling for six-to-eight inches of snow,” he said, turning a page, “and that hill you live on gets pretty slick.”
She’d been completely unprepared for how much his brusque dismissal would sting.
Forcing a smile, Summer stood and put on her coat. Through the window, she saw millions of quarter-sized snowflakes glowing against the ink-black sky. “Wow. Looks like the weatherman is right.”
He didn’t respond.
“If this keeps up, we might just get those six inches,” she continued.
“Uh-huh.”
“Guess I’d better hit the road.”
“I guess,” he said without looking up from his paperwork.
She paused in the open doorway. “Have a nice weekend, and…” Now he met her eyes, his expression such a blend of hope and surprise that it pained her to finish her sentence. “…and Alex is right. You should put some ice on that lump.”
As the door hissed shut behind her, Summer couldn’t decide if it had been hurt or disappointment that dulled his beautiful eyes.
You’re giving yourself way too much credit, she thought, buckling her seat belt. He’s just glad to finally be rid of y
ou.
A good thing, Summer told herself. She wasn’t ready for a relationship. Especially not with a guy who, according to his gossipy sister, tended to fall hard and fast. Unfortunately, that had been her tendency, too, before that crazy, life-changing night. So yes, the gap she’d opened tonight was a good thing.
For both of them.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SUMMER FELT THE MAT press into her back. And felt Zach’s sweet, warm breath against her cheek.
Elbows locked, he raised his upper body and studied her face. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“Of course not.” She laughed. “I’m stronger than I look.”
He buried his face in the crook of her neck, then touched his lips to hers. “Duly noted,” he whispered.
In the distance, a telephone rang.
“Don’t answer it.” She sighed, combing fingertips through his thick, sandy-blond hair. “If it’s important, they’ll leave a message.”
But the ringing persisted.
Summer opened one eye and squinted into the sunbeam slanting down from the skylight above her bed.
The phone really was ringing, but the rest? The rest had been a dream. A realistic, full-color, heart-pounding dream. Groaning, she threw back the covers and all but growled into the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Honey? Are you all right?”
Summer cleared her throat and peeked at the caller ID screen. “Mom. Hi. Where are you? I don’t recognize that area code.”
Laughing, Susannah said, “Oh, Dad and I are still in LA, of course. We forgot our cell phones back at the hotel, so I borrowed Kevin’s.”
Kevin? Summer waited patiently, knowing her mom would eventually get around to providing the details. All of the details.
Kevin O’Neill was an actor, but he also wrote, directed and produced for Olive Ranch Road Productions. His work—and the actors who’d starred in his pictures—had earned numerous awards. Summer was impressed and said so.
“The movie is 50 Hours,” Susannah said. “It’s the story of a man sentenced to community service after he’s found guilty of a DUI. Your dad and I are counselors at the hospice where he works off his fifty hours…and where he meets the woman who changes his life forever.”
Summer laughed. “You sound like the voice-over of a movie trailer.”
“I guess I do, don’t I! But can you blame me?”
Her mother went on to describe the rest of the story, the cast and even the weather in LA. Her mom hadn’t been expecting to land a role, so she was doubly excited.
“Sounds like the perfect job,” Summer said. “I’m happy for you. For both of you.” Happy…and relieved to have something to distract her from that dream. “Everything about your trip to California sounds wonderful!”
“You might not think it’s so wonderful in a minute.”
“Don’t tell me…you’ll be away for Christmas?”
“How did you guess?”
Maybe because I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve been home for the holidays.
“We’ll try to make it. You know we will.”
She almost quoted Yoda: “Do…or do not. There is no try.” Half a dozen times in her childhood, schoolmates had brought her home for the holidays. But try as they might, not even the warmest, most welcoming families had made her feel like one of their own. As an adult, she mostly spent those major dates alone, eating frozen pizza and watching TV. Steering clear of movies such as Spirit of the Beehive and Miracle on 34th Street made the time pass more quickly, and teaching herself not to expect too much from her parents helped Summer feel less alone. If she could survive that at eight and ten and thirteen years of age, surely she could survive it at thirty!
Summer heard whispering in the background, and hoped it was her dad, waiting his turn to talk to her. Instead, her mother said, “Sorry, honey. Gotta run.”
“Okay, well, you guys take care, and call when—”
A quiet click gave way to silence.
“Love you, too, Mom,” she grumbled into the phone. “Yes, of course I’ll take care, and you do the same. Tell Dad I love him.”
She’d no sooner put the receiver back into its cradle when the phone rang again. This time, the caller ID showed Marshall, Dr. L.
“Hey, Libby,” she droned.
“Such enthusiasm. Should I be insulted?”
“Sorry.” Summer forced a laugh. “I just woke up and haven’t had my coffee yet.”
“Haven’t heard from you since Early-Thanksgiving. How goes it?”
“It goes.” Summer gave her a one-sentence rundown of her mother’s call, and although the tantalizing dream remained front and center in her mind, she didn’t dare mention it.
“That’s pretty cool. Except…does that mean they’ll be away for Christmas?”
“Probably. But it’s no biggie.”
“What do you mean, it’s no biggie? Of course it’s a biggie. One of the biggest biggies, ever. You’ll spend Christmas with us, and I won’t hear another word about it.”
Summer could say thanks, but no, thanks in any number of cliché ways. Or she could tell Libby the truth…that she didn’t trust herself under the same roof with Zach. He’d hurt her feelings that night at the studio. In time, she’d get over it. But she’d allowed herself to care about his opinion, about him, and dealing with that wouldn’t be nearly as easy.
“Can I give you an answer later?” After you’ve convinced me he won’t be there…
“You don’t strike me as a ‘let’s see if a better offer materializes’ kinda gal. So let’s just assume you’re coming. How do you expect me to enjoy myself, thinking about you, home all alone?”
She could almost see Libby’s teasing smile. “I need to find out if my folks will be in town or not.”
“What difference does that make? Bring them!”
While that would make for interesting dinner conversation, Summer didn’t dare say yes. No, she needed to come up with a firm yet courteous way to decline Libby’s offer.
“Okay, enough polite chitchat. The real reason I called wasn’t to invite you to Christmas dinner. I need a favor.”
As long as it doesn’t involve your brother…
“My car is in the shop, and wouldn’t you know, they have to order parts. Could take a week or more before I get it back. That’s what I get for buying one of those little foreign jobs, I guess.” She sighed. “Anyway, I can walk to and from work for a few days, but I promised my mom I’d help out with a fund-raiser she’s hosting on Saturday night. Which means I need to get to the ranch on Friday.”
“Isn’t Zach going?”
“He has meetings with some of the resort people.”
Was that a yes or a no? Summer told herself that if Zach planned to attend, Libby would have hitched a ride with him, right? The Marshalls were lovely people, but even without Zach there, was she ready for two nights at someone else’s house?
“What’s the fund-raiser for?”
“An organization called Firefly Autism. They do some amazing stuff for kids on the spectrum, like helping parents find doctors and putting them in touch with learning programs that fit their kids’ needs. My mother’s best friend, Trish, has a grandson with Asperger’s Syndrome, and the woman has a knack for roping friends and family into helping out every year. This time, it’s a hoedown theme, and she talked Mom into volunteering our party barn.”
“A hoedown.”
“Yes’m, complete with cowboy hats and boots, big belt buckles and bandannas. They’re expecting three or four hundred people, and rumor has it, Trish hired The Bandoliers.”
Summer stifled a gasp. Three or four dozen people would have terrified her.
“I can’t believe the pull that woman has,” Libby was saying.
“I thought they were on a European tour.”
“Oh. And listen to this! She rented a mechanical bull and plans to sell tickets. The rider who stays on longest wins a trip to LA.”
“
I’m almost tempted to try,” Summer joked. “Wouldn’t that be a Christmas surprise for my folks?”
“Sorry. No can do. You’re spending the holiday with us, remember? If you buy a ticket—and last more than a few seconds on the machine—you can visit Tinsel Town some other time. Besides, Trish assigned me to the kissing booth, and I need some moral support.”
“A kissing booth. You’re kidding, right?”
She giggled. “Last year, I dressed up like Wonder Woman and raised five hundred bucks for Trish’s very worthy cause. So can you drive me to the ranch and back to Vail? Think of it as a getaway-from-it-all weekend at the Double M.”
Summer’s stomach lurched, and every muscle tensed at the thought of spending two nights and three days with virtual strangers—hundreds of them. Before the attack, she would have jumped at the chance to attend a party of this size. Of any size. But now? What if she saw someone who resembled Samuels?
You’re acting like a baby clinging to its security blanket, she thought. She’d holed up in the town house to protect herself from ugly reminders of her attack. Common sense told her that if she could survive the weekend, she’d be that much closer to the old Summer.
“What time should I pick you up?” Summer hoped Libby hadn’t heard the tremor in her voice.
“I’ll pack tomorrow night and bring my suitcase to the office on Friday. With any luck, we can roll into the Double M in time for movie-and-pizza night.” A quiet buzz sounded in the background. “My next patient is here. Call you later to firm things up.”
What were the chances that two people would hang up on her in the span of five minutes? Laughing to herself, Summer headed for her closet. She could wear jeans and boots to the hoedown, but what about Friday? And if they stayed to help clean up on Sunday morning, she’d need sneakers and sweats.