“He’s doing much better. If he keeps making progress, I’ll probably send him home on Monday.”
“Have his cotinine results come back yet?”
“No, but I’m hoping to have the numbers before I discharge him. If not, I’ll come up with plan B.”
“It’s going to be hard to catch the father,” he warned. “And he’s the one you need to talk to.”
“It would be easier if I could force the issue while Joey is still in the hospital, but if not, I’ll think of another way.” She slipped into the passenger seat before he gallantly closed the door behind her.
As soon as he slid into the driver’s seat, she asked, “Is the bowling alley next?”
“Can your knee handle all that bending?”
“It’s felt a lot better since you took out the stitches so, unless you’re planning a marathon, I think I can manage a frame or two,” she said dryly.
“OK, but if you have any problems…”
“I’ll let you know,” she promised.
“You’re in for a treat,” he said as he drove across town. “Friday night is Cosmic Bowling.”
“Cosmic Bowling?”
“They shut off the house lights and use a lot of disco-type strobe lighting, along with black lights and, of course, plenty of loud music. The kids love it.” He grinned. “Most of the time you can’t see your mark on the floor, but that’s what’s fun.”
“As long as you don’t care if your partner gutters the ball,” she said. “I haven’t bowled in years.”
“Don’t worry. It’s like riding a bike. It’ll come back. And I’m not a great bowler either, so don’t worry.”
When he guided her toward the locker containing his personal bowling ball, she said, “I think I’ve been hustled.”
“I used to play on a league team, but I dropped out last fall. Not enough time and it was hell trying to find a sub at the last minute. Now I just play for fun. Which is what we’re going to have,” he assured her as he steered her to their assigned lane. “Trust me.”
She had more than fun, she had the time of her life. It took her half a game to fall back into the familiar step-and-glide stroll down the approach, although she modified her delivery to minimize how much she bent her knee. Eventually she developed a rhythm, stopped throwing gutter balls and started taking down a respectable number of pins.
Her opening score of seventy-five was quite disappointing and she vowed to do better. To her disappointment, the second game seemed destined to be a repeat of the first because her ball consistently veered away from the remaining pins so that she never could pick up her spares.
Mark, on the other hand, had no such problems. His ball curved in whichever direction he wanted.
“How do you do that?” she complained good-naturedly.
His lopsided smile made him seem years younger. “A little bit of practice and a lot of luck.”
“Somehow, I think it’s the opposite. This time I’m going to watch your every move.”
Her plan was a good one. As he stepped onto the approach, Dixie watched his stance, observing the easy way he held the ball. Then, as he moved forward, swinging his arm, her interest veered away from his bowling form to his bodily form.
He was a picture of harnessed power as he strode down the approach. His swing appeared relaxed, but his biceps and triceps bulged with effort. She’d noticed his broad shoulders and the play of muscles under his shirt before, but she hadn’t taken the liberty of feasting her eyes on him as she was doing now.
His hair curled ever so slightly at his nape and she remembered how soft it felt, just as she remembered how it felt to have his arms around her.
Vaguely, she heard the ball crash into the pins and knew from the sound that none would have dared to remain standing. Instead of seeing for herself, she watched him turn toward her with a wide grin on his face. Under the brilliance of his smile, nothing else mattered.
“Did you see that?” he crowed. “A turkey. Three strikes in a row.”
“Wow,” she said, although she wasn’t speaking about his score.
“Your turn.”
“Why don’t you finish my frames and I’ll just watch?”
A worried wrinkle spread across his brow. “Did you overdo it?”
“Not at all. My knee feels great. I’m having plenty of fun.”
His eyes took on a feral gleam. “In that case, you watched me. Now it’s my turn.”
Oh, dear.
“You’ll tell me what I’m doing wrong?” she asked, rising.
“Absolutely.”
Aware of his gaze following her every move, she tried her best to handle the ball with the same finesse that he did. While her ball did roll over the third arrow, it took a strange curve in front of the pins and only knocked down a couple.
She turned back to face him. “Well?” she demanded.
“Perfect,” he murmured, his expression hungry enough to make her suspect he wasn’t referring to her bowling prowess.
“Hardly,” she said as she stood by the ball return.
“You just need to work on your follow-through.”
Relieved that he had been watching her technique, she asked, “How do I do that?”
“I’ll show you.” He pulled her away from the equipment and stood behind her, spoon fashion. With him so close, she could hardly breathe, much less pay attention to her lesson, but she forced herself to concentrate on his instructions. The inherent noise of the alley faded into the background as he spoke in her ear and grabbed her right wrist in his hand.
“Pull back,” he said as he swung her arm like a pendulum. “Then, when it passes your body to the front…” again he demonstrated “…release the ball. Let your hand continue swinging, but hold it straight, like you’re going to grab the center pin by the throat.”
She gulped. Her own throat felt as dry as the Sahara.
“Try again.”
Dixie didn’t question her instructor. By the time he deemed her ready to try his technique on her own with an actual ball, his scent and rock-hard body were indelibly etched on her brain.
This time the ball didn’t curve as much and she picked up her spare. Giddy with success, she hurried back to Mark. “I got ’em,” she yelled, then reached up and impulsively kissed him.
Mark knew she’d done so without thinking, but after watching the sweet curve of her bottom as she threw her ball down the alley, he was primed and ready for more than a mere high-five for a job well done.
Just as quickly, he grabbed her by the waist and held her. “Remember that lesson for the next time.”
Remember? What was he talking about? Even if she didn’t, he’d never forget the feel of her nestled against him as he’d guided her arm through the proper motions.
For the next several frames, each time she made a spare or he made a strike he kissed her. Oh, he’d made it seem lighthearted and quite innocent, but by the end of the game he wasn’t interested in bowling and it was obvious that she wasn’t either.
“I’m thirsty,” he said. “How about you?”
She glanced at the row of empty soda cans on their table. “You surely don’t want more soda.”
“I have something else in mind.”
“Iced tea? Water?”
He shook his head and flashed the pleading look that his mother claimed she never could resist. “Hot chocolate.”
She laughed. “OK. Let’s go. Your place or mine?”
“I don’t have the ingredients in my cupboard,” he reminded her. “Whatever they are.”
“Mine it is.”
Once they arrived at her place, he helped her take off her coat, wishing he wouldn’t have to stop there. Her sweater was soft, fuzzy, and extremely touchable. More importantly, he wanted to explore what lay underneath more than he wanted hot chocolate.
“I should leave,” he murmured, torn between going after what he wanted and being noble.
She simply nodded. “That’s probably a wise choice.”
>
“I don’t want to.”
Her voice grew soft. “I don’t want you to either.”
“What a dilemma. How are we going to resolve it?” he asked as he fingered the few buttons at the neckline of her sweater and slipped them free of their closures.
Cool air caressed her bare skin before his hands did.
“Flip a coin?” she asked.
“Too risky.”
Mark’s mouth traveled a path down her neck and between her breasts, until she sagged against him.
“I thought you wanted hot chocolate,” she whispered, sounding as if her resolve was slipping out of her grasp.
“I do.”
“When?” The one word came out on a squeak as he pulled her hips against his.
“For breakfast.”
“Should I ask what we’ll do until then?”
He raised his head to stare into heavy-lidded eyes dark with passion. “I’m sure we’ll dream up something to occupy ourselves.”
Dixie smiled. “Like what?”
He undid another button. “Opening packages comes to mind.”
She shivered as he caressed her collar-bone. “Packages? What’s the occasion?”
“A late Christmas present?”
She leaned against him. “Works for me, but we have a lot of hours to fill.”
“True, but some people rip off the wrapping to get inside, while others carefully untie the bows and cut through the tape on each end.” He raised the hem of her sweater to bare her midriff before he stroked the skin he’d revealed. “This particular package requires a great deal of care and attention.”
“Oh, my,” she breathed. “Then this could take a while?”
“Definitely.”
She tugged his shirt out of his waistband. “Then I vote for going somewhere a little more private.”
Before he could agree, she took his hand and led him into her bedroom. She clicked on the bedside lamp and he turned down the bedspread, noting that although the room hadn’t changed much from the night he’d brought in her suitcase, her familiar scent made up for the lack of personal touches.
It didn’t matter that the colors were too dark for her—she probably preferred a virginal white eyelet bedspread and curtains to match her sunny personality—because he addressed his attention solely to the woman he took in his arms.
“Where were we?” he asked, before he peeled off her sweater and released the catch on her bra.
“No fair,” she murmured. “I have to catch up.”
“Be my guest.”
His shirt soon joined hers on the floor, but he hardly noticed. He was too busy giving equal attention to her breasts and enjoying the strokes she lavished across his chest.
Her shudder as he teased her nipples with his thumbs sent a fresh surge of blood rushing through him. His control started to slip and the notion of taking his time flew out of the window.
He stood still for a few moments, his muscles rigid as he tried to harness the raging need that was overtaking him. He’d never felt so utterly consumed by desire and so totally out of control for a woman before. He was old enough and experienced enough to know that this wasn’t just a physical response to a beautiful woman. This was something different.
He couldn’t adequately describe what it was. How could he express something he hadn’t felt before? He only knew that he wanted to hold it with a death-like grip and never let it go.
“How about we speed things up a bit?” he asked before his mouth replaced his hands.
“Please.”
The one, breathy word was enough. Slow and easy became fast and furious. Zippers rasped and clothing disappeared until he finally lowered her onto the sheets and continued his gentle assault of her senses until she was moaning beneath him.
“What’s…next?”
Her breathiness made him struggle to hold onto the final remnants of his control. And when she moved her hips against his hand, he could no longer deny the temptation of her body.
“This,” he said, before he sank inside her and began to move.
“Oh, yes,” she murmured, raking her nails down his back. “Oh…Mark.”
After they’d both reached their climaxes and he held her in his arms, he realized lazily that he’d never felt this contented before in his life. Although the plan was for her to only be in Hope for a short time, he hated the idea of her leaving. Her life was in Chicago, not in Hope, but knowing that didn’t stop him from wishing it could be otherwise, at least for a few more months. Now that he’d found someone who’d touched both his body and his soul, he wasn’t ready to let her walk out of his life as easily as she’d strolled into it.
For all his rhetoric about how their relationship wouldn’t be affected by anyone else because it was between the two of them, he finally admitted that Ned also played a role in the outcome. With luck, though, Ned’s part would only be minor.
She stirred in his arms. “Talk to me.”
He smiled, wondering how she could feel so boneless in his arms and sound so demanding at the same time.
“About what?” he hedged.
“About what’s on your mind.”
“Who said I had anything on my mind?”
She raised herself on one elbow. “Are you thinking about what happens when Ned comes back?”
Once again, he evaded her question. “Are you?”
“A little.”
It was bad enough having Ned’s ghost hanging over their heads all day long. He refused to have the specter interfere with his intimate life as well. What happened in the days ahead would happen. In the meantime, he intended to live each moment to the fullest.
“Don’t.” He pulled her on top of him. “That’s an order. This bed, this room, is only big enough for the two of us.”
She trailed kisses down his neck. “My sentiments exactly.”
For the next five days, Dixie lived what she considered the most idyllic life. On Saturday, the weather had warmed considerably, and while the ice melted off the eaves they took a brisk walk through the park. On Saturday night he took her to the bimonthly bingo game where she managed to win a whopping ten dollars.
On Sunday they spent a relaxing day watching old movies on television.
Monday was back to work as usual, although there was nothing usual about passing him in the hallway. She’d been careful not to do anything that might cause Jane or Miranda to speculate on how they’d spent their weekend, but she couldn’t stop the heat-filled glances when they were alone.
She should have been thinking about Ned and trying to locate Larissa Grayson, but she was leaning more and more toward letting Ned’s chips fall where they may. She was due back at her own job in two weeks and her only concern was how Mark would manage if he didn’t have anyone to help him.
As for the idea of falling in love with Mark, these past few days told her that she’d actually done it. She’d passed the point of no return on Friday when they’d spent all night in each other’s arms. Just thinking of that special time brought a smile to her lips and sent her heart soaring.
He obviously felt something for her, too, if his attention was any indication. Where their mutual attraction might take them remained to be seen, but she hoped and prayed that her childhood dream of having a family to call her own would come to pass. Maybe it was wishful thinking on her part, but perhaps Ned’s situation wouldn’t become an insurmountable obstacle.
On Tuesday, she made her morning rounds quite early. To her relief, the cotinine results she’d been waiting for were now on Joey’s chart.
She strode into his room and was even more pleased to see both parents with him.
“Good morning,” she said cheerily as she wiggled her fingers at Joey who smiled his toothless smile and hid his face in his father’s neck.
“He’s doing so much better,” his mother said.
“He’s certainly acting happier,” Dixie commented. “Can I listen to your chest, big guy?”
Tom Jamison set Joey on
his bed and stood nearby while Dixie pressed her stethoscope against the baby’s chest. “All clear,” she said.
“Then he can go home?” he asked.
“Yes,” Dixie said slowly as she raised the bar on Joey’s crib, then she tucked her stethoscope back into the pocket of her lab coat. “But I have some conditions.”
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Conditions? What kind of conditions?”
Dixie opened the chart and flipped to the tab marked LAB. “When your son first arrived, I ordered a cotinine test. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the name or not, but cotinine is a breakdown product of nicotine. Its presence indicates a person’s exposure to cigarette smoke.”
“I don’t smoke around Joey.”
“The test results show that you do, Mr Jamison.”
“They’re wrong,” he blustered.
She kept her voice even. “I don’t think so. I know you can make your own choices about smoking, but Joey can’t.”
“He’s not around that much smoke,” he insisted.
“Your idea of ‘not that much’ differs from mine,” she told him.
“A cigarette or two isn’t that much.”
“One or two cigarettes don’t produce the results I found in Joey’s urine.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Tom’s face turned red and he raised his voice.
In one part of her brain she wondered if Tom was prone to violence. Yet she refused to back down. Joey needed her to fight for him.
“I’m not calling you anything, Tom. I’m simply stating the facts.”
“You’re supposed to be treating my son,” he said belligerently, “not worrying about the pack or two I go through a day.”
“In order to make Joey well, I have to look at everything that contributes to his well-being. He has a history of lung infections and the more often he’s exposed to secondhand smoke, the more you place him at risk for suffering what he just went through.”
“He isn’t the only kid who got this respiratory virus. I don’t know why you’re picking on me.”
“I’m not picking on you,” she told him. “I’d give the same lecture to every parent who smoked.”
“Yeah, right.”
His attitude was starting to grate on her nerves. “I agree that Joey isn’t the only baby who caught this virus. But he’s one of the few whose lungs were already weak and so he had a much harder time fighting his infection.
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