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“I bet King will let you.” Mitch ruffled Michael’s hair.
Ellie eased her son out of Mitch’s reach, squeezing his shoulders possessively before she nudged him back to his toys.
“It’s not a circus trapeze, Michael. It’s for...”
“Exercise,” Mitch offered.
“Right.” Ellie braced herself, not trusting where Mitch was headed with this information. “I’m sure we can find something in the store to rig one up.” Even if she couldn’t imagine a man wearing a cast and exercising on a trapeze. “We can double up the mattresses and put Michael and Rafe in King’s room.”
“The kids won’t have to sleep together.” Mitch hesitated. “I rented a bed.”
“You rented—?”
“It’ll be delivered this afternoon. We just have to make room for it.”
A bed. To help her and the kids care for King by themselves. Mitch was arranging things so he could go back to Colorado. Suddenly all the wind went out of her defensiveness.
“A bed. Right. There’ll be plenty of room in the dormitory for another bed. We’ll get the toys out...and move the TV in. You can do that, Mitch.” She should be saying thank you instead of sounding like the job foreman. She wanted Mitch to go back to Colorado. So why wasn’t she feeling grateful?
“I don’t think you’ll have to isolate King from the toys.”
With each of Mitch’s announcements, her uneasiness grew. “Were you planning to tell us why anytime soon?”
“He won’t be on crutches for a while.”
“Why?”
Mitch inhaled slowly, as if what he had to say came hard.
“They’ve got him kind of wired together. His right ankle has a pin, and his left shin... Let’s just say he’d never make it through a metal detector. Both legs have to be elevated—for circulation. He can’t put weight on either leg.”
“You mean he won’t be able to get out of bed?”
Mitch winced. Then he nodded.
Ellie’s hopes plunged—because she could imagine King lying in a bed surrounded with railings, both legs encased in plaster casts suspended from the ceiling by ropes, his body swathed in miles and miles of white bandages. Like an accident victim in a cartoon.
But the cartoons never showed the jillion things about which she didn’t have a clue. Like shaving a patient... and getting him dressed. And undressed? Like bedsores...and bedpans? And baths? How did a person care for a very large, very active, very bedridden...male?
How could she and four little kids possibly do it?
Mitch watched worry spread across Ellie’s face. He was doing this to her. The shadows under her eyes seemed to darken each time he spoke.
“King won’t have to stay in bed.” He hoped what the doctor told him would reassure Ellie better than it had him. “He can use a wheelchair. They’ll deliver that this afternoon, too.”
“A wheelchair!” Michael popped back up from the floor. “Wow, do you think King will let us ride in it? Mom, can we have races with our skateboards?”
Mitch shoved his fingers into his jeans pockets to keep from tousling Michael’s hair again. Ellie made it pretty clear she didn’t want him warming up to her kids. Good sense told him he shouldn’t be wondering if her hair felt as soft as Michael’s. Unfortunately good sense had never been his long suit.
Ellie rested her hands on her bouncing son’s shoulders and shook her head.
“Aw, Mom, why not? I want—”
“A wheelchair isn’t for racing, Michael.” Mitch regretted the words the minute they were out of his mouth. He sounded positively parental.
Gabe frowned at him over the edge of his book. “They race them in the Special Olympics,” he challenged.
“Hey, you’re right.” Since when had Mitch started acting like his old man? Since when did he think Ellie needed help with her own kids?
Ellie sighed. “Points for you, Gabe.” She marked the air with two fingers, then kissed the end of one and touched it to Michael’s nose. “But no rides for you, young man.”
“Aw, Mom.” Michael slumped to the floor.
Mitch shrugged off the thought of renting a second wheelchair just for the kids. A crazy attempt to win points for himself? A kiss from Ellie’s fingertip? Damn, he was letting himself get way too involved here. And he hadn’t told them the worst yet.
“King won’t be running any races. You’ll have to move him real slow—” he took a deep breath “—’cause his legs’ll be sticking straight out in front of the chair.”
“He’ll run into the walls,” Gabe announced tersely.
Mitch groaned as he watched Ellie’s eyes widen in alarm. Out of the mouths of preadolescents—was that the saying?
“Things will go just fine, Gabe.” Mitch doubted Gabe believed that any better than he did. “Your mom will be in charge of wheeling him around, and you guys will be in charge of keeping your toys out of the way. You can all help swing him in and out of bed while he pulls himself up on the trapeze. I’ll put one in the bathroom, too, so—”
Gabe sat up and squinted at Mitch. “Who’ll do all that stuff while we’re in school?”
“School?” School wasn’t out yet—Mitch knew that. Skiing vacations had long since passed, and families hadn’t started showing up at Winterhaven for summer vacations. Jack always claimed this was Mitch’s favorite time of the year—no kids, no lessons, no avalanches, no rescues.
“Mommy and I go to school, too,” Seri piped up. “She’s going to be a dentist.”
“Seri...” Ellie shook her head at her daughter.
“You go to school?”
She nodded. “But my finals are done in two weeks. I’ll be here after that.”
“And she helps King in the store,” Gabe added defiantly. “Are you going to help in the store now, too?”
Mitch couldn’t believe it. “You go to school and you work in the store and you’re trying to raise four kids? Just how, exactly, were you planning to take care of King? Or maybe I should be asking when?”
His anger flared—at this too slender, too tired, too enticing little woman—for taking on more than any sane person could possibly handle; and at her defensive, protective son—for challenging Mitch’s intentions. Most of all, he was angry at himself. For caring.
This wasn’t like him. He never let himself get involved. Any more than it was like his father to get involved. The father he remembered never would have taken people into his home. And not just any people—a woman with four kids. And a dog. What had happened to his father?
What was happening to him?
He glared at Ellie, saw her pull herself up the way she did, like a little bird puffing her feathers to look bigger. But her blue, blue eyes didn’t snap with electricity. She looked worried and tired. And he knew if she were in his arms, the top of her head would barely brush his chin.
Thoughts like that would get him into a whole lot of trouble. He fought to keep from reaching out to brush wisps of hair from her forehead. Undaunted, she turned her face up to him—and wiped out his resistance.
“I didn’t know King would be so...restricted, but I’m sure he’ll want to wheel himself around as soon as he can. When classes start again, I’ll fix his lunch before I leave. The kids will be here after school.”
She smiled up at Mitch, a tired, unwavering little smile that never made it to her eyes. “You don’t need to worry about King. We’ll manage, won’t we, guys?”
Mitch wanted to yell at her. He wanted to believe her. Damn it, what he really wanted to do was kiss her. But he couldn’t do any of those things.
“Ellie, you can’t even lift the TV with the help of your ragtag kids. How do you think you can take care of King?”
Ellie’s determined voice never faltered. “I always take care of my responsibilities.”
In her eyes, he read the challenge, What about you?
Michael hopped from one foot to the other in front of the living-room windows. “When will they get here, Mom?”
“I don’t know, hon. Why don’t you go do something? Time will go by faster.”
Following her own advice, Ellie moved from the windows that looked out on the tree-lined side street of KirkKnoll. Shoving hands deep into the pockets of her overalls, she circled the small living room for the fifth time, nudging Gabe’s feet from the sofa where he’d stretched out to read a book. Feeling confined, she pulled her hands free, straightened magazines on the coffee table, picked up a stray crayon, combed fingers back through Rafe’s hair. Bubba Sue looked up at her from her place next to him on the floor.
“How many more minutes?” Rafe never took his eyes from the cartoons on the reinstalled TV. Bubba Sue’s tail thumped.
“I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”
But not soon enough. Ellie wanted to see King with her own eyes. She wanted to know for certain he was recovering from the terrible car crash. She wanted to evaluate for herself how difficult it would be to care for him.
“Mommy, how many minutes is soon?” Seri still perched on the windowsill, her nose pressed against the glass, a tissue-paper flower clutched in her hand.
Ellie glanced at her watch. “Maybe fifteen.”
Fifteen minutes and Mitch and his father would be here. Half a day and Mitch would be gone. Just as she had hoped.
Be careful what you wish for. She could still hear her father’s voice issuing his favorite warning. At eighteen, she’d wished for an exciting life, and look what Peter had given her. She glanced at her four beautiful children—all of whom Peter had abandoned.
When she and Peter had eloped, her father had disowned her. But he couldn’t fault her wish this time. Mitch Kole was just another variation on her flamboyant ex-husband—full of charm and persuasion. But when responsibilities became too demanding, ready to head for the hills. In Mitch’s case, the mountains. Hardly a fairy-tale kind of guy.
Ellie sighed. Mitch was far too attractive, but maybe she was finally beginning to learn that princes and rescues and the power of love only showed up in stories. Maybe she could start to trust her judgment again.
“They’re here! I see Mitch’s car! The King and The Prince are here!” Seri shouted. Bubba Sue started barking.
Michael grabbed a tissue flower from the sofa and thundered down the front stairs.
Seri tugged Ellie’s hand. “Let’s go, Mommy.”
“We’ll all go, but wait for me at the bottom.”
That was all they needed. Flowers in hand, Rafe and Seri raced after Michael, the little black dog close behind. Only Gabe stalled at the top landing.
Ellie followed his gaze to the strange contraption in the ceiling of the stairwell that Mitch had rigged before breakfast. With a man like Mitch, there was always something new like this, something intriguing.
She waited as Gabe shuffled down the stairs behind her. At the bottom, he slouched against the door frame and dug his hands deep into his pockets.
“Okay, remember what I told you.” Ellie directed her words especially to Michael. “Mitch is responsible for getting King upstairs. We’ll help when it’s needed. Otherwise, we’ll stay out of the way.”
That was what she’d decided last night. She would make sure Mitch got King safely settled in. She would have him show them how to take care of his father. Then they would all wave as he drove off to the airport.
She and her kids would manage. They had to. Somehow.
“They’re here, they’re here, can we go out now?” Michael pranced in the narrow entryway like a colt ready to run.
“Okay, but be care—” Before she could finish, they were out the door. All except Gabe. Just as well. The three younger ones were as excited and noisy as a circus parade—just the kind of welcome King needed to lift his spirits.
“Come on, sweetheart, let’s go help.” She put her arm around Gabe’s shoulder and nudged him outside. “King will want to hear what you’ve been doing at the store.”
She followed her children to the curb where King sat in the back seat of Mitch’s rental car. They crowded around the older man delivering their paper flowers, but Ellie still managed to get a good look.
King looked better than she’d expected. For some reason, she’d imagined he would lose his salt-and-pepper hair. She’d worried that his broad shoulders would stoop and the mellow lines of his face would be tight with pain. It struck her again how much he looked like Mitch. How much Mitch would someday look like him. But appearance was where the similarities ended, she thought with regret.
She moved nearer, and King smiled at her through the open car door, a warm, accepting smile, the kind her father had so rarely given her.
Abruptly his face knotted into an exaggerated scowl. “Rafe, come get this plastic bag out of here. It’s got my toothbrush in it. And my bedpan.” He winked broadly. “Gabe, Michael, get these sweet smellin’ flowers away from me and give them to your mom before the dam things die. Here, Seri, you’ll have to take care of this for me. Those nurses accused me of just keepin’ on going.” He handed her a giant pink rabbit with sunglasses, flip-flops and a big bass drum.
Seri squealed with delight. The stuffed animal was almost as big as she was.
“Where’s that son of mine? Let’s get this show on the road.”
A muffled grunt rose from the rear of the car—the sound of a man about to lose his temper. Ellie resisted the urge to go to his rescue. Brief though the activity was, bringing King home was the one responsibility Mitch had accepted. She’d vowed to leave this much to him.
Another grunt followed, this one suspiciously like a word she didn’t allow her children to hear. Good sense told her to keep her distance. Habit sent her hurrying to the car.
Mitch leaned almost double into the small trunk, tugging on a wheelchair. Reaching in, she straightened one of the smaller wheels. The chair pulled free. Mitch jerked backward.
“Ouch!” He dumped the chair on the pavement and reached up to rub his head. “Son of a—”
Ellie raised her eyebrows.
“...sea lion,” he added lamely. “Dam small trunk,” he muttered, working his fingers on his scalp.
Ellie shoved her hands into her pockets, which didn’t help at all. She still had the urge to run her own fingers into his dark hair.
“Thanks,” he grumbled. “I can take it from here.” He opened the chair and wheeled it to the sidewalk.
She could see him measuring the distance to the front door, weighing the problem of getting King upstairs. As far as she could see, there was only one solution. King would just have to live in the car till he got his casts off.
But this wasn’t her problem. This much Mitch had claimed as his own. She stepped back to watch.
“Okay, King, I have to lift you out.”
Just as quickly, she rushed back across the sidewalk. “Mitch, you can’t do that. He’s too—” But he’d already reached inside the car.
Omigod. He hadn’t set the wheelchair brakes.
