Cindy Kirk – The Christmas Proposition (страница 2)
Rachel’s jaw dropped. “Impressed?”
“Your kid has one mean throw.” He shifted his attention to the child. “How long have you been playing ball?”
Mickie blinked. “Never. I just came here today to help Rachel.”
“You call your mom Rachel?” Living in California, Derek knew lots of kids who called their parents by their first names. In fact, most of those moms and dads insisted on it. He just hadn’t expected that to be the case in Jackson Hole.
“Rachel is my foster mom.” The girl ducked her head and stared at her feet. “I’m just staying with her temporarily.”
An armful of bats hit the hardwood and Derek jumped. A knifelike pain sliced his head open. He inhaled sharply.
“You’re hurting.” Ron stepped closer, his eyes filled with concern. “I think we should get you to a doctor—”
“I’m fine.” Derek pressed the ice pack more firmly against his head and gestured to Rachel. “I have my own personal emergency room nurse.”
“They don’t come better than Rachel. She was on duty last year when they brought my son in.” For a second the older man’s eyes darkened, then he placed a fatherly hand on Derek’s shoulders. “If you’re still in pain next weekend, we can cancel your appointments.”
“No way.” Derek had made a commitment to do private lessons next Saturday and he honored his promises. Not to mention the proceeds were essential to Jackson Hole’s fledgling Big Brothers Big Sisters program.
“At least promise you’ll take care of yourself this week,” Ron pressed.
Derek knew some guys might have been irritated by Ron’s hovering. But the event coordinator had a big heart. Derek had seen that heart in the considerate way the gray-haired man had treated the kids and parents today.
“You got it,” Derek said.
“Good.” A look of relief crossed Ron’s face. He removed his hand from Derek’s shoulder and glanced at his watch.
“Go ahead and leave, Ron,” Rachel urged. “I’ll lock the doors.”
“Closing up is my responsibility, not yours,” Ron protested.
“Yes, but Amy Sue is expecting you at her piano recital. Your granddaughter will be disappointed if you don’t show.” Rachel’s tone turned persuasive. “Besides, it will give me more time to observe Mr. Rossi before I clear him to drive home.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Derek interrupted, annoyed at being discussed as if he wasn’t in the room. “A couple hours and I guarantee I’ll be good as new.”
“See, Ron?” Rachel said. “Derek thinks you should go to the recital, too.”
It wasn’t exactly what he’d said, but Derek wasn’t about to argue. Ron didn’t need to hang around because of him.
The older man thought for a moment, then nodded. “You’ve convinced me.”
Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. For a second she’d thought the older man might insist on staying. But family was important to Ron. After losing his son in a motorcycle accident last year, he’d made his loved ones even more of a priority. Still, instead of immediately hightailing it for the exit, the event coordinator turned back to Derek.
While the two men talked, Rachel stayed silent, listening, amazed at Derek’s commitment to youth mentoring. It was a far cry from what she’d read and heard in the media recently. In fact, the tabloids had her believing the only thing Derek Rossi cared about was himself.
“Rachel, I’m hungry,” Mickie whined when Ron finally strolled off. “When are we going to eat?”
“I’m a little hungry myself,” Derek said.
Rachel turned. His eyes were blue, like hers. But while hers were just average run-of-the-mill blue, Derek’s reminded her of the color of the ocean off a Caribbean island.
They were the eyes of a man who’d left a trail of broken hearts in his wake. Clean-shaven, with dark hair cut stylishly short, the former professional baseball player had a lean muscular build and a classic handsomeness that most women would find appealing.
She, on the other hand, preferred her men bigger, more rugged and bulky.
Like Tom.
Her heart gave a little ping.
“How about we all get something to eat?” Rachel said without thinking.
Derek’s gaze turned speculative. “What about your husband? Will he join us?”
“I’m not married. Not anymore.” Rachel spoke in the even tone she’d perfected the past three years. “My husband died.”
Confusion clouded his eyes. “But you’re wearing a wedding ring.”
Rachel glanced at her left hand. Should she try to explain? He wouldn’t get it. Even her friends didn’t understand. How could they? They’d never had a husband murdered. Never kissed their spouse goodbye and had a sheriff show up less than an hour later with devastating news. They hadn’t gone into early labor from the shock and been consumed by guilt because the baby, their long-awaited first child, had been too small to survive.
“Wearing it makes me feel like Tom is still with me, close by,” she said unapologetically. “It probably sounds crazy to you—”
“Not at all,” he said with such conviction that she almost believed him. “My father passed away from cancer when I was a little younger than Mickie. My mother wore her wedding ring until I was out of high school.”
The empathy in his voice took her by surprise. And oddly, it made Rachel feel better to know another young widow had also sought comfort in the familiar….
“I
Rachel pulled her thoughts back to the present, wondering when the conversation had made the jump from rings to food. “Pizza is good.”
“Great. Let’s meet at Perfect Pizza.” Derek turned and headed toward the door.
“Wait.” Rachel hurried across the shiny hardwood after him, Mickie trailing behind her. “You shouldn’t drive. Not yet.”
He paused and turned. The hand holding the ice pack dropped to his side. “I told you, I’m fine. Once the Tylenol kicks in, I’ll be ready to pitch a no-hitter.”
Rachel couldn’t keep her eyes off the large hematoma on the side of his head. This was her fault. She should have watched Mickie more closely, made sure the child didn’t throw a ball to someone who wasn’t looking.
“It’s not your fault,” he said softly as if he could read her mind. “Or anyone’s fault. That’s why they call ‘em accidents.”
He seemed quite sincere. Gracious as well as handsome. It was a potent combination. Rachel could see why women liked him.
“Seriously,” he said. “I’m more than capable of driving myself.”
The easy thing would be for her to agree. After all, he’d
“How about you humor me and ride with us over to the restaurant,” she said. “Depending on how you’re doing after we eat, you can either drive yourself home or I can drop you off.”
Derek’s quicksilver grin flashed. “You are bound and determined to get me in your car.”
Although her heart skipped a beat, Rachel ignored the charm this guy seemed to have in abundance.
“I’m not going to let this drop.” She resisted an unexpected urge to banter. “I don’t want anything to happen to you on my watch.”
His lips twitched. “Your watch?”
“Say yes,” Mickie said, finally speaking up. “I want to eat.”
Derek thought for a moment, then nodded, shifting his gaze to Rachel. “Ms. Milligan, you’ve got yourself a date.”
Rachel opened her mouth, then shut it. There was no point in getting hung up on semantics. They both knew it wasn’t a date. After all, if the guy once voted “The Sexiest Player in the Major Leagues” was going to jump back into the dating game after his engagement scandal, it wouldn’t be with her.
Even though it was only five o’clock, Perfect Pizza was surprisingly busy. But Derek quickly located an empty table in the center of the small dining area.
He pulled out chairs for Mickie and Rachel, then took a seat opposite the two. After he was sure they were settled in, he snagged menus from the holder on the table and handed them each one. “What kind of pizza do you like?”
Mickie didn’t even look at the menu in her hand. “Whatever you want is okay with me.”
He’d noticed the child had done that a lot on the drive from the gym, refusing to offer an opinion, waiting to answer as if wanting to make sure her response was right. She was an odd bundle of energy and insecurity.
Derek fought the impulse to tease and lost. He’d grown up with a younger sister and Mickie reminded him of Sarah.
“How about anchovies, cream cheese and pineapple?” It was all Derek could do to keep a straight face at the look of horror that stole over the young girl’s face.
“I think we’ll pass on that combination.” A tiny smile lifted the corners of Rachel’s lips. She glanced at the menu and scooted closer to Mickie. “We can negotiate on the pineapple and cream cheese, but anchovies are definitely out. Right, Mickie?”