Читать книгу Just One Kiss - Carla Cassidy - Страница 9

Sinful.

Decadent.

These words fluttered through Marissa Criswell’s mind as she stretched languidly against the sun-warmed towel. Mason Bridge Beach, Florida, in late June. Three glorious weeks of sun and sand. Three glorious weeks of no work and all play.

She cracked open one eye and raised her head to check on her son. He sat at her feet, shoveling sand across her toes. His blond hair glistened in the sunlight, and his little features were somber with concentration.

Love swelled in her heart and she sent a small prayer heavenward, a prayer of thanks that her grandmother had gifted her with this vacation. Three

weeks of quality time with her son—that was the best thing of all. No hospital for her, no day care for him.

In the distance she could see the ocean waves, see the growing crowd setting up umbrellas and blankets between the water and her and Nathaniel’s spot. It was still early, but before long the beach would be filled with people seeking relief from the heat with a day at the waterfront.

She rested her head back down and sighed with pleasure. This was the first vacation she’d had in years. Even when she’d been pregnant, she’d worked until the day before delivery, then had gone back to work two weeks after Nathaniel was born.

Her grandmother had made all the arrangements. She’d arranged for Marissa to have the time off from the hospital, gotten the plane tickets and the motel room, then had presented Marissa with a fait accompli. It was the absolute best present Marissa had ever received in her entire life.

Realizing she no longer felt Nathaniel spooning sand across her feet, she once again opened her eyes and lifted her head. “Nathaniel,” she called to the little boy, who now sat about fifty feet away from her. “Come back here, sweetie,” she said.

Nathaniel didn’t acknowledge her, but rather stood and walked several more feet away, then plopped down in the sand once again.

“Nathaniel!” Reluctantly Marissa pulled herself up and off the blanket, pausing a moment to swipe sand from her body.

When she looked back at her son, a cry choked in her throat. In a single instant she saw the runner, a man clad only in a pair of jogging pants, racing hell-bent for leather and apparently not seeing the fair-haired child in his path.

Marissa’s scream ripped from her throat, piercing the calm of the morning. At the same moment the jogger apparently saw Nathaniel. He attempted to veer, but the maneuver went awry when Nathaniel stood and appeared to grab at the man’s legs.

As if in slow motion, the man fell and Marissa heard the sickening snap of a bone breaking, then the hard whack of his hand connecting with a piece of driftwood. He yelled, the hoarse roar of agonizing pain.

Nathaniel pointed to the prone man and grinned.

“Oh, dear God.” Marissa raced to where the man lay, his right leg at an awkward angle that could only mean a break. “Somebody call 911,” she cried to the crowd, then crouched next to the man, who was attempting to sit up. “Lie still,” she said. “Help is on the way.”

His eyes were a startling blue against his dark tan. Ebony whiskers covered his cheeks and chin and, coupled with his wild, thick hair, gave him the fierce look of a man on the edge. She couldn’t be sure if it was pain or anger that glittered in his eyes, made the blue look icy cold and hard as nails.

“That kid tried to kill me,” he said between clenched teeth.

Anger, Marissa decided. Definitely anger. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As she looked at the hand that had hit the driftwood, she suspected he had a couple of broken fingers as well as the broken leg.

Guilt tore through her. It was her fault. All her fault. She should have been watching Nathaniel more closely. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” she exclaimed.

“What are you sorry for?” he asked, his forehead wrinkled into a grimace of pain.

“It was my kid…my son.”

“What do you call him? The terminator?” he growled.

Marissa flushed, and knelt down. He roared again and she realized her knee was planted on his good hand. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She moved her knee off his hand and accidentally hit him in the ribs.

“Jeez, lady, just move back before you kill me,” he snarled.

Any further conversation was cut short as paramedics arrived on the scene. They loaded the man onto a stretcher and headed back toward the waiting ambulance.

Marissa grabbed her things, picked up Nathaniel and hurried after them. Moments later, in her rental car, she followed the ambulance to the local hospital.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she muttered to herself as she tailed the big white vehicle. How had the morning that had started off so wonderful suddenly gone so wrong? At least they weren’t using a siren, which meant his injuries weren’t life threatening.

Nathaniel seemed completely unconcerned about the chaos he’d created. He jabbered to himself, smiling as if amused by the entire scene.

Marissa wasn’t amused. She was scared. What if it was worse than a broken leg? Although a broken leg was certainly bad enough! What if he decided to sue her? If push came to shove, he could probably take her for everything she was worth.

She smiled ruefully at this thought. Everything she owned wouldn’t add up to a hill of beans. She had a little over two hundred dollars in a Christmas fund account and maybe a hundred dollars in coins in Nathaniel’s piggy bank. She didn’t own a house and would be lucky if her old clunker car lasted another thousand miles.

Her rueful smile faded as she thought of his injuries. What if the man was a marathon runner training for the Olympics? It would be impossible for him to continue his training with a cast on his leg.

Or maybe he was a bouncer at one of the many local nightclubs in the area, she speculated as she thought of his broad shoulders. How would he tell people that he’d been annihilated by a two-year-old?

With a broken leg and broken fingers, no matter what he did for a living, he’d be more than inconvenienced by his injuries. He’d be incapacitated.

Guilt once again ripped through her. If only she’d been watching Nathaniel more carefully. If only she hadn’t closed her eyes, even for a brief moment.

The ambulance pulled into the emergency entrance of the hospital and Marissa quickly parked in the visitors’ lot. She paused only long enough to put on her bathing suit cover-up, then she grabbed Nathaniel and hurried into the hospital.

She was just in time to see the man being wheeled through the double doors and into what she assumed was an examination room.

Surprisingly, the waiting room was empty. She held Nathaniel in her lap and sank onto one of the plastic chairs. She wasn’t sure what she intended to do, but she had to make sure the man was okay, had to extend her apologies once again for the freak accident that had occurred.

She knew she should offer to pay his medical bills, and her heart sank at the very thought. She knew how expensive the bill would probably be. Emergency-room treatment never came cheap.

She’d have to somehow borrow the money. She hated to have to go to her grandmother, who had already been more than generous in giving her this vacation.

Rubbing a hand across her forehead, she tried not to think of what another bill would do to her financial status. As a single parent, she found finances were always a source of mild panic.

Sighing, she hugged Nathaniel and reminded herself that somehow she’d figure out some way to make things right with the man her son had mangled.

Jack Coffey grimaced as Dr. Edmund Hall splinted and wrapped the four broken fingers of his right hand. His leg was already encased in a plaster cast up to midthigh. He couldn’t believe this was happening. As usual, fate had given him a swift kick in the butt. He should be getting used to it by now.

“So, are you going to tell me how this happened?” Edmund asked as he finished up with Jack’s fingers.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jack said dryly.

Edmund smiled. “You’d be surprised what I’d believe when it comes to you.” The two men had been friends for years. “Let me guess,” Edmund continued. “You were tailing some wicked wife for a client and she spied you and beat the heck out of you with her purse.”

Jack scowled. “Not even close.”

“Okay, you were drunk and didn’t remember that there’s a set of steps outside your house.”

“I don’t get drunk,” Jack countered.

Edmund snorted with disbelief. “You rarely stay sober.”

“A lot you know,” Jack returned irritably. “I’ve been clean and sober for the past year. And if you must know, I was jogging on the beach when this kid grabbed my legs. I fell and there was this piece of driftwood and here I am.”

“How old was the kid?”

Jack shrugged, then grimaced, realizing there wasn’t a place on his body that didn’t ache from the jarring fall. “He was a big kid…maybe five or six.” He felt heat rise to his cheeks.

He couldn’t very well tell Edmund that the kid had been no bigger than a peanut. “Are we done here?”

Edmund nodded. “You want a prescription for some pain pills?”

“No.”

“Jack, there’s no need to be a tough guy. You’re going to hurt.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jack replied, although his leg and fingers throbbed and every muscle he possessed ached, as well.

“You’re a stubborn cuss, Jack Coffey.” Edmund sighed. “I put on a walking cast, but you’re going to need crutches for the first few days. Let me get you a set, then you can be on your way.” Edmund left the small examining room.

Jack stared down at the cast on his leg. Terrific. This was just terrific. He had more cases to work now than ever in the history of his private investigative service. How could he stay inconspicuous with this enormous white elephant on his leg?

The entire accident had been weird. He would swear that the kid had actually grabbed his leg, as if meaning to intentionally trip him up.

A vision of the kid’s mother filled his head. Horrified green eyes, a cloud of blond curls and a trim little body in a blue bikini, she’d looked like an angel. And had a demon seed for a son, he thought irritably.

“Here we are.” Edmund returned with a set of crutches and handed them to Jack. “Want me to show you how to use those?”

“I think I can figure them out,” Jack replied with a touch of sarcasm. How hard could it be to use crutches?

“You know, you might want to get somebody to help you out, for a few days at least. Mobility is difficult with a broken leg. And you’re going to find that being one-handed is fairly difficult, as well. Is Maria still cleaning house for you?”

“Yeah, why?” The two men left the examining room, Jack stumbling slightly as he tried to get the hang of walking on two wooden sticks instead of two legs.

“Maybe you could get her to stay for a couple of days, make sure you’re surviving all right.”

“No way,” Jack replied. “Maria thinks I’m the devil incarnate. She only cleans for me because I pay her an obscene amount and she only does what she feels like doing. Besides, I don’t like her.”

Edmund laughed. “You don’t like anyone.” He grabbed his pager from his coat pocket. “I’ve got a call.” He clapped Jack on the back. “Make an appointment at my office in a couple of days and let me check you out.” Without waiting for a reply, Edmund turned and hurried down the hall back to the examining rooms.

Jack watched him go, then leaned for a moment against the wall. With every minute that passed, the pain in his leg and hand was increasing. He drew a deep breath, placed the pads of the crutches beneath his arms, then attempted to shove through the double doors that led to the exit.

He swallowed a mouthful of curses as it took him three tries to open the door and slide through.

He stopped short as he spied the woman and her kid. She rose at the sight of him and the little boy clapped his hands. Her eyes widened as she saw the cast on his leg, his bandaged hand and the areas of his shoulders where the sand had scraped him raw.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. As if she and her child hadn’t already done enough damage. The kid had downed him, then she’d moved in for the kill.

“I came to see what I can do to help. I’m so sorry about all this. Surely there’s something I can do…maybe pay your medical bills?” She winced, as if afraid he might agree to her offer.

“I’ve got insurance,” he said gruffly. Besides, she didn’t look as if she could afford to buy him a cup of water. Her sandals were old and worn, and the bathing suit cover-up she wore was faded from a multitude of washings.

She didn’t appear to be the typical tourist who occasionally stumbled upon the charm of the small town, strutting the beach in the latest finery, flashing diamonds that would feed a family of four for months.

Part of him assessed her as a private investigator would. The other part of him assessed her as a man. Her hair looked soft as silk and framed her delicate features. The cover-up did little to hide her lush curves. She was pretty, and looking at her made a strange ball of heat fire up in the pit of his stomach. That irritated him. At the moment, everything irritated him.

“Please…there must be something I can do to make this right, Mr. Coffey.”

He frowned. “How do you know my name?”

“One of the nurses told me.” She shifted the boy from one hip to the other. “I feel one hundred percent responsible for your injuries. You must let me do something to make this right.”

Anger welled up inside Jack. “Lady, you can’t make this right. If you’d been watching your kid, this would have never happened.” He took several awkward steps toward the outer door, aggravated as she hurriedly grabbed the door handle and yanked it open for him. He yelped as the door hit his good leg.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She gasped in horror.

Jack shook his head, momentarily afraid to speak, and stepped out into the bright sunshine, the woman and her kid right next to him. “I’ve got a dozen reports to type up, which will be fun since I only have one working hand. I’m in the middle of cases that require me to be mobile. There’s nothing you can do to make this right unless you can lay hands on me and heal me instantly.” Each word shot out of him like a bullet into a bull’s-eye.

“I can type.”

He turned to glare at her and, unwavering, she held his gaze. “Good for you.” He hobbled down the sidewalk away from her.

“I could type up your reports.” Once again she fell into step beside him. She smelled pretty, like a sun-drenched flower, and again he felt a flutter of heat in the pit of his stomach.

“I don’t want you typing up my reports. You’d probably crash my computer.”

“How are you getting home?”

The question made him stop in his tracks. He’d been walking to get away from her, but now he contemplated her words. He’d jogged to the beach from his house, but there was no way he could now jog back. “I’ll call for a cab.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she replied. “I’ve got a car right here. I can take you home. Please.” She placed a hand on his arm, her eyes luminous with need. “Let me at least do that much for you.”

Suddenly Jack was too tired, too much in pain to argue. All he wanted to do was get home and put his aching body to bed. “Okay,” he agreed, then frowned at the boy in her arms. “As long as you keep that monster away from me for the duration of the drive.”

Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink and her arms tightened around the child. “He’s not a monster. He’s really a very good little boy.”

“Yeah, I hear that’s what they used to say about the Unabomber,” Jack retorted dryly.

Her blush deepened, and this time he thought it might be anger that colored her cheeks. She drew an audible breath, then pointed to the parking lot. “My car is over there. I’ll just go get it.”

Jack nodded and leaned wearily against the building, wondering if she could manage to get him home without any major catastrophes. He couldn’t help but feel a horrifying sense of impending doom.