Just One Kiss. Carla Cassidy

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