Marriage On His Mind. Susan Crosby

“The ploy usually works, you know.” He opened his eyes to a squint and enjoyed the sight of her, so close he could touch her if he chose.

      “Give it your best shot, Ponytail. I grew up with three exceptionally tricky brothers. I’m prepared for anything.”

      “Did they teach you to play baseball?”

      “Nope.”

      “You said you were out of practice. Does that mean you used to play a lot?”

      “Yep.”

      One corner of his mouth twitched. Oh, yes, she was tough. And smart, and quick. She’d turned the tables on him very nicely.

      Mickey grinned his direction, trying not to gloat. She’d managed to outmaneuver him, but he was being a good sport about it. “Jack—”

      “Look out!” he yelled.

      She hit the brakes, barely avoiding crashing into the car that had come to a quick stop in front of them. “Are you all right?” she asked hurriedly as he moaned and shifted. She knew he’d hit a phantom brake pedal instinctively, ramming his injured foot against the floorboard.

      “Yeah.”

      No, she decided, hearing the grittiness of the single word. “Real men can say ‘ow,’ you know.”

      He rubbed his chest. “I think you inflicted more pain throwing your arm across me than I did myself with my foot. Are you used to a child sitting next to you or something?”

      “No,” she said abruptly, not realizing she’d put an arm protectively, automatically, in front of him. Not anymore, she added in silence. “Once again, I apologize for causing you pain.”

      “Want to kiss it and make it better?”

      She smiled at the windshield, grateful there wasn’t time to relive the past. “You wish,” she said, tossing a grin his way.

      The hospital came into view.

      “Coach—”

      “I’m going to stop at the emergency entrance and find someone with a wheelchair,” she said, swinging into the well-marked driveway.

      “Before you go—”

      “Don’t.” She shifted into neutral, and pulled up the emergency brake, then turned to look at him. “It can’t go any further than this. I’m sorry. More sorry than you can imagine.”

      “Just tell me why.”

      “It’s too complicated.”

      “Are you married?”

      “Of course not.”

      “Significant other?”

      “None. I meant it when I said I’m in transition. There’s just me. There can only be me. I’ve really enjoyed the time we’ve shared, though. I hope I wasn’t too hard on you.”

      “On the contrary, I’m grateful for your prodding.” He touched her shoulder lightly and trailed his fingers down her arm, crossing from fabric to skin on his journey, then locked his fingers over hers as she clenched the gearshift. “A favor?”

      Her body reacted to his touch in ways she had thought dead and forgotten. Breath became hard to control; her pulse went from zero to sixty in less than five seconds; even her breasts swelled. She watched him take note of her response, one visible reaction at a time, which served only to make her breathing more shallow, her pulse speed uninhibited down an empty freeway and the tips of her breasts harden painfully.

      His voice turned to velvet. “Could we share one kiss in private?”

      She didn’t want to give him permission, but to relinquish responsibility to him and not be able to blame herself later. She wanted him just to take. He waited patiently for her to answer.

      Jack heard the whisper of a yes only because he was watching her mouth. Not in any hurry, he pushed the bill of her cap around and pulled off her sunglasses. The pupils of her eyes constricted in the sunlight as he watched; her lips parted. Slowing his need, he pressed his mouth to the tender skin below her ear and felt her quivering response. Sliding his mouth along her jaw, he heard her whispered encouragement.

      “Yes. Oh, God. Yes,” she breathed, exciting him beyond his dreams with her need.

      First came the arousing feel of her lips against his, soft and fiery, then a sudden stillness as she held her breath, then a slow exhale accompanied by the slightest taste of an inquisitive tongue. She glided a shaking hand up his arm to his shoulder; her fingers dug into him. Oh, yes, this was heaven, he thought, curiosity somersaulting into desire as he slanted their mouths differently to deepen the kiss. We fit perfectly. The revelation meandered through his mind as they pulled each other closer across the center console. He slid his palm to her throat, felt the hammering pulse, then glided down—

      Someone knocked on the windshield.

      “You the one Doc Lansing called about?” a uniformed attendant asked through the glass.

      Murder came to mind. Jack nodded in the affirmative, but his gaze stayed on Coach, who seemed to be taking a long time drifting down from her own clouds. “Who are you?” he asked her as the attendant pushed a wheelchair around to the passenger side of the car.

      Her hands shaking, she fitted her sunglasses back in place and lifted her cap to turn it around and resettle it. “I’ll park your car and leave your keys with the ER receptionist.”

      He couldn’t say goodbye, so he brushed a hand down her cheek and turned from her to shift himself into the wheelchair. He never looked back.

      Mickey watched him disappear through the electric doors, then leaned her forehead against the steering wheel for a minute to get her bearings.

      His kiss should be labeled by the government as hazardous to one’s health, for surely her temperature had elevated to a life-threatening degree. She leaned back and blew out a breath, her arms stiff, her hands locked on the steering wheel. He would be a significant roadblock in her need for independence. Too significant. She shoved the car into first gear.

      After finding a parking place nearby, she sat on a bench under a tree for more than half an hour, giving him a chance to be taken into a room, then she climbed the ramp and entered the hospital. She glanced furtively around her but the waiting room yawned empty. She swept off her hat as she approached the reception window. “Excuse me,” she said to the woman working at a computer behind the counter.

      “Yes? May I help you?”

      “I, ah, I wanted to know about a patient who was just brought in with an ankle injury.”

      “Are you a relative?”

      “No. Just a...friend. Is he all right?”

      “Let me check. Have a seat, okay?”

      Mickey sank onto a bench. Dropping her cap on the table beside her, she picked up a magazine and flipped through it, seeing only a blur of words and pictures. Stark images of her last visit to a hospital emergency room flashed before her eyes. I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do. Sorry... Nothing... Sorry...

      Nothing.

      The door from the ER parking lot whooshed open, startling her. She brushed a weary hand down her face and stood as Scott Lansing approached.

      “How’s he doing?” he asked, his eyes asking questions he must have sensed she wouldn’t answer.

      “I don’t know. He’s inside. Did you win?”

      “Amazingly, we did. I’ll go check on him.”

      “Wait.” Mickey caught his arm. From her pocket she dug out a set of keys. “Give these to him, please. I’ll be on my way.”

      He hefted the keys lightly. “Hang tight. I’ll see how he is.”

      After a few minutes, he returned.