Unbelievable: The Port Fare Series Book Two

by Sherry Gammon

  “You thought you were having a heart attack, so you drove yourself to the hospital?” Surely he could see the absurdity in that.

  “She’s safer there than out here unprotected.” He looked at me incredulously.

  “Booker, I think what’s happening to you is a panic attack. When was the last time you slept through the night?” He practically jumped off my desk, as if on fire.

  “Panic attack? How do you know? You haven’t run any tests yet,” he spit out.

  To appease him, and just to be sure, we ran several tests. They were all negative with the exception of his racing heart. I set him up with a counselor and she gave him some techniques to use whenever it started happening. So far, he’d been doing better. The counselor suggested Maggie move out. Book fought her big time on it, until I stepped in. I took Maggie and we both moved in with Seth.

  “Doc? Earth to Doc.”

  “Sorry, have a lot on my mind tonight.”

  “Probably thinking up a new way to perform a heart transplant,” Booker teased. “I asked how Tess was working out.”

  “Tess Bennett? She’s doing well, though she’s still quite shy.”

  “Always has been,” Booker said. “I’ve stopped by records at least a dozen times for different assignments, and no matter how many times I tried to strike up a conversation, she’s barely said a word. I don’t think she’s even looked me in the face. I can’t even tell you what color her eyes are. Didn’t she start working at the hospital around the time of the Dreser disaster?”

  “About six months later, I believe. She does her work and leaves. I think she lives in Lilah’s apartment complex. I’ll talk to Lilah about her,” I offered. “Maybe she could use a friend.”

  “Oh, yeah, Lilah.” His Cheshire cat grin lit up his face. “So, tell me about your new girlfriend.” Booker hunkered down on the bottom step. Obviously he didn’t plan on moving until I’d been thoroughly harassed.

  “First of all, she’s not my girlfriend.” I stepped closer to the window for a breath of humid, non-stinky air. “I think she’s only nineteen,” I added.

  “Well, Magpie was only seventeen when Seth went gaga for her. What did I used to call her? Jailbait, right?” he teased. A burgundy couch pillow went flying across the room and nailed Booker in the face.

  “She was eighteen, and yes, you still called her jailbait even though she wasn’t,” Seth corrected.

  “Are you sure?” Booker narrowed his eyes.

  Seth ignored him and turned to me. “What was it Lilah said about you while helping Maggie with her hair? I believe the word was hot,” Seth teased. I planted my face in my hands.

  “Hot?” Booker questioned. “I guess she likes a man in uniform, or should I say scrubs. Has she ever seen you in anything else? In fact, has anyone seen you in anything aside from scrubs?”

  “Booker, you’re just jealous because no one finds you ‘hot’,” Seth said, making quote marks in the air.

  “I could have a harem if I wanted, but I’m saving myself for marriage.” Seth and I laughed at Booker’s comment. He’d been married—a complete disaster. And he’d been engaged twice. He might’ve had the Midas touch when it came to making money, but he was an utter disaster in the love department.

  Booker lobbed the pillow back at Seth. He grimaced, holding it out at arm’s length while spraying it generously with Febreze.

  “I’d better get going.” Booker stood and snagged another apple on his way to the door. “Cole, if you find yourself in trouble with your jailbait girlfriend, give me a call. I am a full-fledge lawyer now.” He grinned widely.

  “Wait. You passed?” Seth walked over, stopping short when Booker’s scent hit him again.

  “Yup. Got the results this afternoon.”

  “Congrats! We need to celebrate. When do you want to get together?” Seth took a pad of paper and pen from the desk in the kitchen.

  “Let me finish up on this case first. It’s a big one. We’re almost there, I can feel it. Maybe we can have a barbeque or something.”

  “Deal.” Seth took a deep breath, held it, stepped up to Booker, and gave him a quick hug, slapping on the back.

  I stepped forward to do the same, but the smell was too much. “What he said,” I laughed, as Booker made his way to the door. Seth set the alarm system behind him.

  “Does Lilah’s age really bother you that much?” Seth asked heading for the stairs. He stopped and turned. “Or maybe it’s your mother’s little voice rattling off statistics again.”

  “Maybe,” I admitted. “Seth, if you knew the odds of a relationship between someone her age and someone my age being successful, you’d be concerned also. If she’s twenty-seven, even twenty-six, it’d improve our chances of survival significantly. I don’t want to fail.”

  “Cole, I love your mother, and I know that before she retired she was a highly regarded statistician, but love isn’t about numbers, my friend, it’s about the heart. If you figured the odds of Maggie and I staying happily married, I’m sure it’d depress me. But you can’t calculate intangibles like determination and hard work. Mags and I will live happily ever after, and as cheesy as that sounds, it’s the truth. We simply refuse to give up on each other.”

  He walked over next to me and put his hand on my shoulder. “Remember what a mess Maggie was that first year after her mother died?”

  I nodded. Calling her a mess was being kind. She was a disaster. Laughing one minute, crying the next. Her emotions went from disgust and anger, bordering on hate, to love and empathy within seconds, and it was all aimed at her mother. She had a year of intense, one-on-one therapy that Seth credited for getting her emotionally back on her feet again. I thought he deserved at least half the credit. He was her rock.

  “Never once did I consider throwing in the towel on her. It wasn’t an option. I love her, all of her.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Cole, I’m not saying Lilah’s the one, I’m just saying whoever it is, only you two will determine if you will succeed or fail. So bag the stats, stop rationalizing your love life to death already, and think with your heart.” He smacked me playfully on the head the back of my head and went upstairs.

  “Statistics are statistics for a reason, Seth,” I called after him.

  He waved a hand. “Love trumps statistics,” he said without looking back.

  I rinsed off the few dishes in the sink before loading them in the dishwasher, all the while thinking about Lilah. I bored her. I guess my worry about the whole age difference was a waste of time if that’s what she thought about me.

  I certainly couldn’t call her boring. She made me laugh, and her energy and excitement over the smallest things was infectious. Nothing like boring old Opie. I slammed the dishwasher shut and pressed start.

  “I’m not boring. Seth’s right, I just need a hobby. The only reason I’m injury prone is because I’m concentrating on my work. If I put that same concentration into a hobby, I probably won’t get hurt,” I reasoned. My mind rummaged through a few scenarios, trying to think of something fun to do that didn’t require a lot of concentration since I’d have to train my brain to stay in the moment. I slipped out of my clogs and started for the stairs, stopping dead.

  “Bike riding. I can bike ride.”

  “Who you talking you to?” I looked up to see Seth standing on the top stair looking down on me.

  “Myself,” I said, embarrassed.

  “Well, whisper to yourself then. You know how Maggie gets when she doesn’t get enough sleep.”

  “Sorry. ’Night.”

  “’Night.”

  I went straight to my room to lay out my clothes for the next day, stopping halfway to the closet. “Why are you doing this, Mr. Boring?” I whispered to myself. “You wear the same thing every day. Why do you need to lay it out?” I didn’t. I shut the closet door.

  Biking could work. Riding is pretty simple, I assured myself a few minutes later as I lay in bed. A few disastrous situations played out in my head, one being me flying head
long into a tree. I decided I’d better find a place without a lot of trees.

  “Good luck with that one, Mr. Boring. You live in upstate New York. Trees are abundant.” I rolled over and shut my eyes to all the possible injuries I could suffer ramming into a tree.

  Chapter 12

  Lilah

  “Go left,” I explained as we drove down Main Street. “There on the right. Spokes.” We turned into the bike shop’s small parking lot. Cole surprised me when he called this morning, announcing he decided to take up a hobby. I wanted to ask if it were stamp collecting, but sensing the whole hobby thing was brought on by my mistaking his car for that of a senior citizen, I kept my mouth shut.

  “I’ve never noticed this shop before,” Cole said as he opened the door for me. The store seemed small from the outside. The inside, however, was another story. To the left sat a showroom of shiny and expensive bikes. On the opposite side lay a repair area.

  “Hello, Molly Harper’s the name.” A tall blonde woman with a large bust line greeted us. She sported pink spandex biking shorts along with a pink and purple tube top. “What can I do you for today?”

  “We’d like to rent a couple bikes for the afternoon,” Cole explained as the bodacious woman pumped his arm in a handshake. “We’re not sure what kind of bikes, though.”

  “Which trail do you want to try?” She twisted around to a map on the wall. Cole and I stepped beside her. The smell of sweat poured off the woman’s body, and I moved back a few inches. The map showed several trails outlined in red marker. Some were in the local hills; some were simple, easy trails around the city. Each had a rating between one and five, with one being the easiest.

  Cole pointed to a small, wimpy trail. “I say we go here.” He singled out a paved trail along the Erie Canal with a one rating.

  “No way. That’s a girl hill.” Apologies to my sex, but seriously. I pointed to my preference. “Let’s do the Big Kahuna.” I had the pleasure of watching Cole’s face go green.

  “No.” An all-out refusal. I’m not going to lie, it was kind of sexy hearing him stand up to me. I grinned. He shook his head, confirming his decision.

  “All right, how about we compromise with this one?” I pointed to the trail called the Black Widow, rated two point five. “It’s in the middle, not too easy, not too difficult. I doubt you’ll get hurt.”

  “I’m not afraid of getting hurt, Lilah. I’m afraid of you getting hurt. I’m the klutz, remember? Pain and I are constant companions. I say we try the Lazy Z. It’s a one point seven five.”

  “You’re worried about me?” I stretched up and kissed his cheek. “Okay, Opie,” I conceded. “The Lazy Z it is.” How could I argue with sweet?

  We strapped the bikes to a bike carrier Cole rented and drove over to the trail. Cole placed the red and green heavy-duty helmet on my head, and laughed while buckling my chin strap in place. Cole’s bulky, bright orange helmet could be seen for miles. I climbed onto my black and yellow Fuji Outland 29er and made my way over to the trail head. The afternoon air had cooled, making the heat more tolerable than the last week. Cole pulled up alongside me with his matching, albeit taller, bike. I tipped my head back to see his luscious blue eyes.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  He looked at me, swallowed hard, and nodded. “Let’s go.”

  I took off like a bolt of lightning. The trail was amazing, even if it was a sissy trail. It had some great switch backs and it narrowed playfully in some areas, making navigating more challenging. Cole did a pretty good job keeping up with me. More than once he reached out to support me when he thought I was going to take a tumble. Such an Opie.

  As we came over a rise, side by side, I didn’t see the turn until it was too late. I flew off the bike, landing in a soft pile of greenery. Cole landed next to me less than a second later.

  “Are you okay?” In a fluid movement that contradicted his clumsiness, Cole quickly rid himself of his helmet, popped open the buckle on mine, and tugged it off carefully. His free hand ran over my head and along my spinal column, inspecting me for injuries the same way he did to patients in the ER. His other arm was tucked under me, cradling me against him.

  “I’m fine. I didn’t even get hurt, thanks to all these leaves. And you. I can’t believe you jumped off your bike, practically catching me in your arms, yet you can’t toss a piece of paper into a garbage bin to save your life?”

  “Tossing paper into a garbage bin hardly compares to protecting you,” he assured me while brushing something off my forehead.

  “You are an incredible man, Cole Colter.” I smiled tenderly.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his face to mine, touching my lips in the softest, most timid kiss I’d ever received. I was instantly transported back in time to junior high, behind the football bleachers. Little Donnie Roberts, with his mouth full of braces, kissed me after a football game. My first kiss. It was sweet, innocent, and a kiss I still cherished.

  The kiss ended before it began. He jumped to his feet as if the leaves were attacking him, pulling me up also. “Is this what I think it is?” He pointed to the ground, his eyes wide.

  We’d landed in a thick bed of poison ivy. Luckily, poison ivy had no effect on me whatsoever. I fell into the twenty-ish percentile of people that didn’t react to it. However, judging by the look of horror on Cole’s face, he did not.

  “Let me guess, you and poison ivy have a long, uncomfortable history.” He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

  He was an itching machine by the time we got back to his car. “Cole, don’t scratch, it’ll spread.”

  “I am well aware of that,” he assured me calmly. Does anything ever upset this guy? We quickly loaded the bikes onto the bike rack and left.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” I asked back at my apartment.

  “Yes. Sorry to ruin your day.” He shook his head, clearly embarrassed. I slipped my arms around his shoulders and gave him a great big kiss . . . on the cheek, only because he turned away at the last second.

  “See you tomorrow.” I kissed my finger and placed it squarely on his lips. He shook his head, biting back a smile.

  On the way to his office the next morning, I stopped by the natural food store and picked up a bottle of tea tree and lavender oil, Birdie’s natural remedy for all things itchy.

  “Good morning, Opie. How’s the rash?” I arrived at the office to find Cole sitting at his tarp covered desk, scratching away at his arms.

  “Miserable. I don’t think this stuff works.” He held up a bottle of pink liquid that supposedly tamed itching.

  “Try this.” I held out the homeopathic oil remedy, along with some cotton balls.

  “And why should I try this?” He frowned at my little brown bottle, but didn’t take it, probably because he had his hands full, literally, scratching.

  I opened the bottle, tipped it over, and covered a cotton ball with the oil. A minty smell rose up to my nose. It brought back memories of summer, mosquito bites, and Birdie. I dabbed the blisters that covered his forearms.

  “Why do you think this voodoo will work?” he teased, sniffing the bottle with a scrunched nose.

  “Trust me. Besides, it has to be better than this chemical-filled garbage.” I carried the pink bottle across the room with my thumb and finger, and pinching my nose for dramatic effect, dropped it into the wastepaper basket.

  “I do like the smell,” he admitted, sniffing the bottle again. “It feels soothing on my skin.”

  “And you’ve stopped itching, your arms anyway.” I watched as he twisted his arms, pretzel like, around to his back and scratched.

  “Turn around and lift your shirt.” I picked up the oil and drenched a cotton swab, only Cole didn’t move.

  “I don’t think it’ll work effectively through your scrubs, Cole. You’re going to have to lift your shirt.”

  He still hesitated.

  “Cole?”

  “There’s no lock on the door. What if someone comes
barging in and my shirt’s off? I’ll look like a child-molesting creepo.”

  “Opie!” I laughed. “I’m over 18, remember?”

  “Barely,” he grumbled, lifting his shirt and turning around.

  Oh yeah, the guy was built. He might be lean, but he had some serious muscle action going on. The scrubs hid that little fact. He looked over his shoulder, caught me drooling, and snapped his shirt back down.

  “Okay! That's the kind of look that will get me labeled as a predator.” The look of horror on his face had me in tears … of laughter.

  “Sorry,” I spurted out between giggles. “I’ll be professional.” I cleared my throat. “Dr. Colter, please remove your clothing so I can apply copious amounts of oil to your hot body.”

  “Funny. That’s so much better,” he said, shaking his head. “Give me the bottle, I’ll do it myself.” He held out his hand, wiggling his fingers.

  “No, I’ll do it. I promise I’ll be good.” I pulled the bottle out of his reach.

  Grudgingly, he turned around and lifted his shirt again, keeping a grip on the front so it didn’t ride up too high. Bummer. I dabbed the oil on the blisters, which were not as numerous as his poor arms.

  Unfortunately, for Cole anyway, his worst case scenario happened. The door burst open, with ease for once, and in walked Tweedledee and Tweedledum, the student nurses who each had serious crushes on Cole. He about hit the ceiling, he jumped so high. He jerked down his scrub top, hard, and tore a small hole along the shoulder seam.

  “Julie, Karen, what do I can for you?” Unaware he’d jumbled his words, he picked up some forms from atop the book boxes and began shuffling through them. His ears were bright pink.

  “What?” pressed a Tweedle.

  I decided to rescue him, not because I cared what the Tweedles thought, but because I cared that it bothered him.

  “Cole had a run-in with some very aggressive poison ivy. I brought him some essential oil to sooth the itching.” I held out my brown bottle and the Tweedles actually sighed in relief. Dweebs.

  “Oh my, you poor thing. Are you all right? Would you like me to pick up some real medicine from the pharmacy? Surely it would be better than that silly homeopathic stuff,” TweedleDum said with distain, grimacing at my bottle.