by Lucy Gilmore
“There,” Cole said as he pressed the parking level button and the doors closed in on them. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it? Now we’re well on our way to becoming friends.”
Not only was the elevator old, but it had been constructed at a time when it was de rigueur to panel every wall in mirrors. There was nowhere Hailey could look—nowhere she could turn—that didn’t contain hundreds of tiny images of the three of them. One man, godlike and laughing. One dog, panting quietly. And one woman, red from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. She wouldn’t have gone so far as to call this the worst day of her life, but it was definitely in the top ten.
When the elevator gave a shudder and lurched to a sudden stop somewhere between the third and fourth sublevels, she hastily amended that ranking.
This was top-five territory; she was sure of it. Especially when Bess whimpered and turned around three times before her water broke.
Chapter 2
“I can’t get cell phone reception.” Cole held his phone up to the corner of the elevator and shook it a few times. The concrete block that supported them prevented any signals from getting through. “No internet, either. You weren’t kidding when you said this elevator is old.”
“I told you not to bother,” Hailey said. “We just have to wait for help to arrive. With any luck, Bess will be able to hold on long enough.”
Cole glanced down at the dog panting laboriously on the aged linoleum of the elevator floor and found himself sharing that wish. As he was also of a practical turn of mind, he shrugged himself out of his blazer and dangled it from one finger. The bespoke wool would never get clean again, but it would make a semicomfortable bed. He was no veterinary expert, but that animal didn’t look like she was going to hold on to anything.
“Are you kidding?” Hailey blinked at the offering. “I can’t take that. It must have cost hundreds of dollars.”
Thousands of dollars, actually, but it didn’t seem like a good time to point that out. He shook it at her. “It’s comfortable. You can’t leave the dog on the floor like that.”
Hailey bit her lower lip in consternation, her every feeling flitting across delicate features. Cole had always heard that expression about wearing your heart on your sleeve, but he’d never seen it put into action before. Although this woman’s heart might not be in literal view, he could still count each beat of her pulse. It was in the pink flush behind her multitudes of freckles and the gently throbbing vein on her temple. It was in the short breaths she took and the small moan at the back of her throat.
She didn’t like him. She didn’t like him, and she definitely didn’t like being trapped in an elevator with him.
“The only other options are my shirt or my pants,” he said. “You choose.”
To his complete lack of surprise, this remark caused the blush of pink across her cheeks to deepen into vibrant red.
“I’m not ruining your jacket,” she said.
“You’ll forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but you’re in a dress. Unless you’ve got another one on under there, I don’t see what other choice we have.”
She glanced down at her gray sweater dress and gave another of those back-of-the-throat moans. He wanted to point out that it was a nice gray sweater dress and that he liked that she’d paired it with a pair of bright-red Converse shoes, but he didn’t dare. She didn’t seem as though she’d appreciate his sentiments—that she looked exactly like what she was. A woman who ran other people’s errands and took care of other people’s dogs.
She was also his best chance of breaking the stupid curse that had held his team back from making it into the Kickoff Cup for the past two decades, but she didn’t know that yet. Asking that particular favor from a woman who was as impressed by him as she would be a piece of burned toast was proving more difficult than he’d anticipated.
“You’d better get my bag,” she said, sighing.
“You do have another dress.”
“Not exactly.”
Cole handed her the oversized black purse and watched as she began rummaging around, his mind running over the possible articles of clothing that might be contained within it. Something had to be turning her that particular shade of red. He’d just decided that it must be a piece of scandalous lingerie when the dog gave a whimper.
“I know, Bess girl.” Hailey clucked sympathetically. “It’s not how I’d have chosen to do this either, but nature has her own way of deciding things. Don’t say anything.”
It took Cole a moment to realize that the second half of that was for him. “Why would I?” he asked. “I think it’s nice that you’re talking to her. Your voice is calming her down. See? She likes it.”
“Not about that,” Hailey muttered as she drew her hands out from her bag. It took much less than a moment for Cole to make the connection this time around. He tried to fight his laugh—he really did—but one look at that teal jersey, and he was done for.
“Is that…number eight?” he asked, his voice wobbling as he caught sight of the back of the jersey. Hailey did her best to hide it from his view, but she wasn’t fast enough.
“I told you not to say anything.”
“And is that…my name above it?”
“This is an emergency situation. You could show more tact.”
He could have shown more tact. He should have shown more tact. But it was too much. This woman—a complete stranger who was able to sum up everything that was wrong with his game in two painfully succinct sentences—carried his jersey in her purse. Not only that, but she was mortified about it.
“I could sign it for you,” he said, unable to help himself. “After Bess is done with it, I mean.”
“No, thank you,” she said. Her words were prim, but the red flush was starting to creep down her neck, and she was careful not to look at him. “I wouldn’t want to put you to the bother.”
“Oh, it’s no bother. I’m always happy to meet a fan.”
Her gaze snapped up, her eyes blazing. In the office, they had seemed a sort of murky, indeterminate gray, but in the bright lights and mirrored walls of the elevator, they flashed with sparks of silver. “I’m not a fan.”
“Obviously.”
“Your name and game play come up in my regular line of work, that’s all. It’s my job to know who’s going to be in the Kickoff Cup so we can leverage that information for our puppy version. Advertisers like the tie-ins.”
“Oh, I believe you.” He paused and watched as she arranged the jersey in a neat pile around the golden retriever. He had no idea how many puppy births she’d presided over, but there was an efficiency to her movements he couldn’t help but admire. “But does that mean you think the Lumberjacks are going to break the curse and make it to the final game this year? Even with my terrible arm?”
She didn’t answer him. At first, he thought it was because he’d finally gotten the better of her. A pleasant—if shameful—feeling of triumph flooded through him, and he allowed a grin to form. But then the dog gave a heave and a whine, and his grin dropped.
So did he. He fell into a crouch next to Hailey and Bess, suddenly feeling as anxious as he had the day his niece was born. At least he’d been semiprepared for that event. He’d read dozens of books on pregnancy and childbirth ahead of time and even attended a few of the Lamaze classes that his sister, Regina, had insisted on until she decided it was a waste of her time.
Somehow, he didn’t think that slow, careful breaths and soothing Chopin in the background were going to do the dog any good.
“Uh-oh,” he said as what looked like the hind end of a tiny, glistening golden puppy started to emerge inside its iridescent sac. “Doesn’t that mean the puppies are breech?”
Hailey knelt next to him and adjusted the jersey to clear her view of the puppy being born. She was careful to ensure that no part of her body touched his, even though he could feel
the warm pulse of her skin next to his. It was such a rare thing in his world—this innate respect for his personal space—that it took him aback. People normally did whatever they could to find a reason to touch him. A hug, a pat on the back, a clandestine foot sneaking up his leg under the table… In most social situations, he was considered fair game. Some days, he felt more like a llama at a petting zoo than a man.
“A lot of puppies are born this way,” she said, her voice dropped to a low whisper. “So I don’t think we need to worry. Bess knows what to do.”
“That makes one of us,” Cole whispered back. “Are we supposed to…catch or something?”
“Sorry, but I don’t think catching is your strong suit.”
“More notes on my technique?”
She ignored him, but the stiff way she held herself indicated that his barb hadn’t missed its mark. “Oh, look. It’s out. It’s so tiny.”
She wasn’t wrong. The puppy was tiny. It was also incapable of breathing while inside that sac. Acting more on instinct than reason, Cole reached out to try to clear it away, but Hailey smacked his hand. Hard.
“Don’t,” she hissed. “Bess will do that.”
She wasn’t wrong in that regard, either. Now that the first of her six puppies had been born, the dog took a moment to relax and gently lick her baby. Within seconds, the puppy was free and breathing. It looked more like a mole rat than a dog, but Cole wasn’t going to mention it. He didn’t dare.
“The last time I witnessed the miracle of birth, it was in the same room as a six-foot midwife who told me that she wouldn’t hesitate to kick me out if I got in the way.” Cole shifted his position so the dog had more space to do her thing. He also used Hailey’s distracted state to slip his jacket into the goo-covered fray. Long experience had taught him that those jerseys weren’t made of the most absorbent material in the world. The whole doggy family would be much more comfortable on Italian wool.
“Your beautiful jacket!” Hailey cried. “What’s the matter with you? It’s ruined.”
“I repeat…a six-foot midwife,” Cole said with painstaking deliberation. “She was a grandmother thirteen times over, had buried two husbands, and told me point-blank that she considers football to be the most barbaric physical display in the history of humankind.”
“Shh. The second baby is coming.”
“And she was still a much less strict birthing-room attendant than you are.”
Once again, he got no response, but it was difficult to care as they both watched the second puppy being born. It came with such ease and fluidity that Cole was able to relax. He might not know what he was doing, but Hailey had obviously read up on the subject, and Bess had Mother Nature on her side. His Italian wool came in handy as the two shivering pups crowded around their mom for warmth, but he wished he had more to offer them. The stick of gum in his pocket wasn’t going to do them much good, and it wasn’t so cold in the elevator that he needed to resort to burning the cash in his wallet. Yet.
“Is there a reason it’s taking them so long to get to us?” he asked as he stood and began pushing elevator buttons at random. He pressed the alarm button longer than the others, but the jangling seemed to distress the dog, so he gave it up. “They do know we’re trapped in here, right?”
Hailey didn’t answer him. He was already growing so used to her lack of interest in him that he didn’t think anything of it. Instead, he started searching for a ceiling panel or some other kind of emergency access point. There always seemed to be one in the movies, but it was difficult to see where they’d put one among all these stupid mirrors.
“I’ve always thought elevators should stock emergency kits,” he mused, more to entertain himself than because he expected a reply. “Just the basics—granola bars and water and Xanax. I bet people get easily panicked in these types of situations.”
Normal people would get panicked, anyway. This particular woman was so caught up in the dog that he doubted she’d notice if he stripped himself naked and started doing the Charleston. The internet would think it the greatest thing in the history of viral videos, but he suspected Hailey would probably point out that he wasn’t doing it correctly.
She’d be right, too. Dancing had never been his strong suit. He’d spent so much of his childhood throwing a football through a tire that he’d somehow missed out on that chapter of his life.
He’d missed most of the important chapters, actually. He could throw a ball and smile for a camera, but that was about the extent of his worldly knowledge.
“Something’s wrong.” Hailey reached out and tugged at Cole’s pant leg. Her hand left some kind of slimy residue behind, but he barely noticed. The fact that she’d touched him—voluntarily, no less—was more alarming than the fact that she was struggling to keep her voice level. “I don’t know what’s happening. The third puppy isn’t coming as quickly as it should. I think it might be stuck.”
Physiologically speaking, Cole had no idea what he was looking at. He’d already maxed out on his knowledge of the birthing process after the first puppy made its appearance, and he wasn’t likely to expand on it anytime soon. However, one glance in the dog’s fretful, pleading eyes, and he realized he didn’t need a veterinary degree to understand what was happening.
She’s in pain.
It was a feeling he knew far too well—not just the bone-searing, soul-deep agony of physical pain but the equally bone-searing and soul-deep determination not to let it show.
“That’s it,” he announced.
“What is?” Hailey asked. She angled her body over the dog, forming a protective curl around Bess’s panting form. “Don’t come any closer. You can’t just reach in there and start yanking puppies out. It’s not a clogged drain.”
He grinned. It wasn’t the most appropriate response, but he couldn’t help it now any more than he could when Hailey had criticized his football technique. No one, with the exception of his sister, talked to him with such a complete absence of flattery.
“Thank you for that visual. I’ll carry it with me to the grave.” He tilted his head toward the elevator doors. “What am I going to find if I pry those open?”
Hailey followed the line of his gaze with knit brows. They were a few shades darker than her hair and just as expressive as the rest of her.
“An elevator shaft?” she ventured.
“Thank you. I gathered as much. But it says we’re between subfloors, so I’m assuming this is all parking?”
“Yes, but I don’t think you should—”
“Stay down there with Bess,” he said. Hailey made a motion to get to her feet, but he stopped her. “Talk to her like you were before. Keep her calm. If my knowledge of parking garages is any good, there’s not much surrounding us but the occasional concrete pillar. If I can get the doors open, there should be a way to shimmy out.”
“But you can’t,” she protested again. “It’s not safe.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I know, but if anything should happen to you…” She trailed off and glanced at him, concern flooding her eyes. To both his surprise and his amusement, it wasn’t concern for his well-being that made them sparkle like that. “They’ll never forgive me. Not if I break you this close to the Kickoff Cup. Not when you guys are almost there.”
He strove to keep from laughing out loud. Hailey obviously subscribed to the same ridiculous superstitions that everyone else did. If you asked him, the Kickoff Cup Curse was more of a personal torment than a supernatural one. He couldn’t go anywhere these days without people crossing their fingers or throwing salt at him or doing God-knew-what-else they thought would help him get a ball into the end zone and the Lumberjacks into the final game.
He had a much better answer for them. It took hard work, lots of practice, enough painkillers to take down a horse, and the total subjugation of every nonfootball desire he’d had in his lifetime.
Unfortunately, none of that made for a good story. People wanted mysticism and pizzazz. People wanted a token good-luck charm.
Behold. He was doing his best to deliver one. Unfortunately, she was too busy delivering puppies for him to broach the subject.
“And who, if you don’t mind my asking, are ‘they’?”
“Your fans. Your sponsors. The world.” As if just realizing that the world was only the start of her problems, Hailey groaned. “Jasmine.”
“As touching as it is to find that you’re more worried about your boss than the possibility of irreparable harm to my health, you don’t have a choice. I’m doing it anyway.”
He didn’t wait for her to argue further. For one thing, he wanted to get them out of the elevator before the dog’s situation became any more dangerous than it already was. For another, he honestly didn’t know if he could get the doors open anyway. Like the escape panels that didn’t exist anywhere inside this elevator, he’d only seen this next bit done in the movies.
“I just need something to pry it open,” he said, mostly to himself. A quick survey of his surroundings revealed nothing that might work…unless he counted the items currently on his person. “I hate to do this to you, Hailey Lincoln, but you might want to avert your eyes for this next part.”
“For what next part?”
He began unbuckling his belt with an efficiency that would have done a gigolo proud. “I’m about to damage another article of clothing, and there’s nothing you can say to stop me.”
“I’m not even going to ask how much that cost,” she said, moaning slightly. “Actually, I am… Was it more or less than the jacket?”
“Less,” he said. Unable to help himself, he added, “But not by much. I’ll have my manager send you the bill.”
She moaned again, but he ignored it. He was too busy trying to figure out how to shimmy the buckle into the small space between the doors. To his relief and—he was ashamed to admit—his pride, it turned out to be a much easier task than he’d reckoned on. The metal bent a little, but he managed to create a big enough space to slip his fingers in. From there, nothing was needed but brute force.