Hmm…much better.
“THE GOOD NEWS IS YOU’LL certainly walk again.” The tall, bubbly redhead discarded her gloves and smiled.
“And the bad?”
“I’m afraid you won’t be taking midnight rides for quite some time.”
I sunk back against the reclined hospital bed and sighed. I should be happy just to be alive, but all I could think about was how I would explain all of this to Gruff. I’d lose my job for sure and rightly so, but would he forgive me? Would I forgive me?
I was mindlessly flipping through channels after the doctor promised to return with my discharge papers when the door opened, and Rosalyn rushed to my bedside.
“I thought I’d never see you again!” she said with a sob.
Confusion and guilt kept me from responding. Had it been unfair to think she might be happy if I died? She definitely would have been better off. I looked away before her tears undid me, and that was when the large hands holding Rosalyn’s petite shoulders and the man they belonged to captured my attention.
He wasn’t dressed in a lab coat or nurse’s scrubs. Even if he had, his touch was too familiar to be that of a polite stranger. He wore a white dress shirt that would have stretched tight over his broad chest if it weren’t slightly gaped and wrinkled. I could see a light splattering of tawny-colored hair that matched his full head. The charcoal slacks he wore were also wrinkled, but the matching dress shoes were still perfectly polished and scuff free. Even with the neatly lined scruff on his lower face, this man looked expensive and exactly the kind of man Rosalyn usually courted. My eyes rolled, which didn’t go unnoticed if the amused smile toying at the man’s lips was any clue.
“How did you—” I paused to clear my throat, but it only made my throat burn.
Rosalyn’s latest flame guessed what I needed and quickly poured a glass of water from a pink pitcher. Cobalt eyes assessed me as he handed over the glass.
“Thanks,” I said after I emptied the cup. “How did you find out?”
“I’m your mother,” Rosalyn reminded as she plumped my pillow. “Of course, they called me.” I hid my shock at hearing her admit her motherhood. Without a doubt, she was pretending for the handsome man offering her comfort.
Never for me.
Rosalyn laid a trembling hand on her chest as her eyes welled up again. “Oh, Four, I was so worried.”
Not as good of an actress, I said, “I’m sorry I ruined your weekend.” She had left yesterday morning for yet another getaway with the man scrutinizing me over her shoulder.
“Don’t trouble yourself with that. We’re just so happy you’re okay.”
I stole another glance at the other half of her ‘we.’ Rosalyn Archer was the love ’em and lose ’em type. She was never without male companionship, but they never lasted long, either. Maybe that was why she’d stopped bringing them around and stayed away instead. I’d lost my desire for a father long before she’d lost the hope of providing me with one. It wasn’t as if I were completely without. Gruff filled the role as only a loner who’d earned his name could.
“You must be Thomas.” Even though I no longer met Rosalyn’s lovers, she still talked about them. Thomas McNamara was the name she often spoke with a sigh and the man who currently fed her notions of happily-ever-after.
“Silly me,” Rosalyn chirped. “Where is my head?”
“You’re emotional,” he murmured. “It’s to be expected.”
She leaned into him, and it seemed too natural. As if she’d done it a thousand times before. Panic speared my chest. The average lifespan of Rosalyn’s relationships was three months. My own father had disappeared before she even knew of my conception.
I quickly counted the months to when I first heard this man’s name.
Eight months.
I’d been too busy with the shop and racing and the consuming fear that I wouldn’t be good enough to go legit once I graduated to realize she had sunken her claws deep this time.
Oh, God. Maybe I had died, and this was hell.
Rosalyn worked full-time as a maid at NaMara, an international five-star hotel chain inherited by Thomas McNamara himself. His business trip had turned into pleasure when he’d laid eyes on Rosalyn Archer. Her beauty had been something that skipped a generation. Most women, including her own daughter, paled in comparison. Dark blonde hair that I inherited flowed in waves almost reaching her tiny waist. Slim hips seemed to dance when she moved on legs that went on and on. Wide brown eyes flecked with gold—also inherited by me—captivated men everywhere. Skin deep, she was the perfect woman. Beyond it, however, lurked something that sent men fleeing as fast as they’d appear.
But Thomas had done what no other man could, and with the realization came another—he was either a fool or trouble. As he stared back, unperturbed, I had a sinking feeling it was the latter.
“Rose.” His deep voice commanded attention without needing to raise a single octave. I tore my gaze away to search for this Rose, but there was no one else in the room. When Rosalyn looked over her shoulder at him, I realized she was his Rose.
“Yes, Thomas?”
“Why don’t you see what’s keeping the good doctor?” Without waiting for her agreement, Thomas gently steered her toward the door.
Rosalyn paused to look me over, and her lips, without their usual vibrant red, trembled as she nodded. “Yes, of course.” And then she was gone, leaving Thomas and me alone.
“It’s nice to finally meet you. Your mother has been quite adamant about keeping you a mystery.”
I wanted to tell him that he was just another one of many, but flaunting her reputation to fend off her latest beau would only hurt her. I’ve caused her enough grief.
“Your mother’s a chatterbox,” he said when the awkward silence stretched. “I guess it skipped a generation.”
“Among other things.”
He studied me for a long moment. “Interesting…I see much of her in you.”
A little embarrassed that he’d known what I meant, I shrugged off the compliment, and then awkwardness filled the silence once again until he sighed.
“I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.”
I was sorry we met at all. It would only make their inevitable breakup harder on Rosalyn. Thankfully, I was saved from replying when she returned with Dr. Day. They got the same run down that I had. The bruises would fade, and my leg would heal, but I couldn’t erase the last twelve hours. One sleepless summer later, I learned just how true that was.
BLACKWOOD KEEP SOUNDED LIKE A place where the sun never shined, life couldn’t grow, and hope didn’t exist. That morning, Gruff found me straddling his red 1975 Honda CB400F Cafe Racer, crying a river with a pocket full of cash because I couldn’t work up the courage to run. I ran into his arms, begged him to tell me what I should do, and as always, Gruff had been a man of few words.
“You mind your mother, and don’t go chasin’ trouble, kid. Hear?”
Even though Gruff couldn’t hide his own sadness, he sent me on my way, and just as the sun was setting, I arrived in Blackwood Keep, Connecticut.
My hope that this new start would end soon died at each peek of the beautiful homes beyond the curtain of green.