Kitabı oku: «A Weaver Holiday Homecoming», sayfa 3

She blinked a little, obviously surprised. “Thank you. I was going to run to the store before they closed, but—”

“Now you won’t need to.” He jerked his chin toward the house. “I’ll put it on if you want.”

“That’s really not necessary,” she demurred.

But he saw the hopefulness behind the words. “Might as well.” He wasn’t opposed to offering the assistance. He just would have preferred to offer it to an absolute and utter stranger, instead of this woman with her impossibly sexy mouth and her claims about him and her daughter. “I’m here.”

And they were evidently just one big, happy family.

Mallory wasn’t ungrateful for the offer of assistance, but as she led the way up the sidewalk that she hadn’t had time yet to shovel, she found herself wishing the assistance weren’t coming from him.

She hadn’t expected him to do cartwheels of joy when she’d told him about Chloe. She couldn’t think of many men who would appreciate such news coming right out of the woodwork. And while she was trying to be fair—to see the situation from all sides—she didn’t have a hope of really succeeding there, because she was firmly rooted on Chloe’s side.

A child deserved to know their father. Period.

To this day, she still couldn’t understand Cassie’s decision not to tell Ryan about the baby at the time. Growing up, her older sister’s life had been just as devoid of a father as Mallory’s. Maybe Cassie would have changed her mind after Chloe was born if she’d lived to have the chance.

Unfortunately, that was something that Mallory simply would never know.

She preceded Ryan into the house and without a word, he practically bolted up the stairs the minute she’d pushed the door shut after them.

The sensible part of her told her to follow him and watch what he did with those clamp things so that she could do it herself the next time if she had to. But the rest of her mutinied and, instead, she dropped her coat on the hard-backed chair sitting in the front entry next to the narrow console table, and went into the kitchen where Chloe and Kathleen were.

Both were wearing Kathleen’s hand-sewn aprons tied around their neck and waists and both of them were in flour up to their elbows as they kneaded bread dough on the counter. The only difference between them was that Kathleen was sitting on a bar stool while she worked, and Chloe was standing on a chair. Beyond that, their concentrated expressions were almost identical.

And neither seemed to have noticed the sound of Ryan in the house. She decided to leave it that way for now and stood silently in the doorway.

Just watching them eased nerves that were feeling slightly singed.

Are you seeing this, Cassie? Chloe’s making rolls with Gram just the same way you and I used to.

“Get yourself an apron, Mallory,” Kathleen said without looking. “There’s another dough ball for you, too, if you want.”

Mallory just smiled. She walked over behind the only people in the world that she would do anything for, and kissed first the top of Chloe’s head, then Kathleen’s papery-thin cheek. “I need to call the hospital and check on a patient.” She also needed to deal with the very disturbing man upstairs repairing her plumbing.

“Work, work, work,” Kathleen tsked, but without any real heat. “Just remember, there is more to life than work.”

“Yes, Gram,” she agreed dutifully, and just as dutifully admired Chloe’s handiwork with the bread dough before escaping to her office at the back of the house.

She made her phone call to the hospital, talking briefly with the nurse on duty, but that didn’t take long. Her new mom was recovering as nicely as expected.

Which left Mallory with nothing to do but go up the stairs.

She didn’t find Ryan still in the bathroom, though. That small room was quite empty. She looked behind the cabinet door to see the pipe and its new clamp. There was no sign of water leaking, and the bucket she’d used was empty and sitting on the edge of the tub.

He’d even emptied the box containing the shampoos and soaps and whatnot that she’d pulled from the cabinet, replacing everything neatly inside it once more.

His thoroughness—his thoughtfulness—was disconcerting.

Was it possible that he could have left without her hearing his exit?

She slowly closed the cabinet and went out into the hall. Her bedroom was closest to the stairs. Chloe’s was farthest. She turned in that direction and found Ryan there.

He was sitting on the foot of the twin-size bed looking very large and very masculine amid the lilac-hued, childish décor, and her footsteps faltered at the visceral tug the sight of him gave her deep inside.

“I’m getting the hint that she likes purple,” he said after a moment.

She swallowed and managed a faint smile that hopefully masked the strange breathlessness she felt and stepped inside the room, leaning her shoulder back against the doorjamb. “It’s been her favorite color since she discovered the Purple Princess games a few years ago from a school friend.”

“What grade is she in?”

She discreetly hauled in a breath. Let it out. “Third.”

His gaze finally slanted to hers. “Isn’t she a little young for third?”

“She skipped second grade.” She tugged at her ear. “I know that not everyone thinks that’s a good idea, but she’s so bright and I started her in second at the beginning of the school year when we were still in New York, but she was—”

“Bored,” he inserted.

She looked at him a little more closely. It was hard, considering that doing so made her stomach flip around even more in those jittering circles.

But there wasn’t judgment in his deeply blue eyes.

She wasn’t sure exactly what was there, but at least she could tell that. “Yes. She was bored. She was bored through a good portion of the first grade, too.” And bored schoolchildren tended to find more interesting things to keep them busy. Particularly mischievous things.

“I skipped third,” he said.

“Oh.” She moistened her lips.

“And ninth,” he added without expression. “And most of my senior year of high school.”

“That’s…impressive.”

His lips twisted a little. “You registered her over at the elementary school?”

“Yes.” There wasn’t an alternative, anyway. Weaver had one elementary school. One junior high. One high school. And unless it would have been on scholarship, she couldn’t have afforded the tuition for private school even if there’d been one for Chloe to attend. Mallory’s medical school hadn’t come cheaply.

She would be paying off her student loans for some time to come.

“That’s when the school and I decided to start her off here in third grade,” she finished. “So far, she’s keeping up with no problem at all.”

“Sarah Scalise her teacher?”

Was Weaver so small that a single man with no children would know that? Her mind veered off much too easily. Maybe he’d even dated the attractive teacher. “Yes.”

“She’s my cousin.”

She was appalled at the relief that flooded through her. Her interest in the man was supposed to be only because of Chloe. Not…not—

“What are your plans tomorrow?”

Her runaway thoughts screeched to a halt. “Um, nothing much. More unpacking. And Chloe is becoming anxious that we won’t ever get around to getting a Christmas tree, so I imagine I’ll have to find a tree lot somewhere.”

“Folks around here cut their own trees,” he said.

Her lips parted, dismayed. “Like with a saw?”

His blue eyes suddenly lit with amusement, and years seemed to fall away from his face. “That’s the usual method,” he said, only slightly tongue-in-cheek.

Safely hidden behind her back, Mallory’s hands curled. She smiled weakly.

The corner of his lips lifted a little more. The flash of white teeth was brief, but it was still there, when he actually smiled. “Never cut a Christmas tree yourself?”

“Right up there with fixing plumbing leaks, I’m afraid.”

He pushed off the bed and walked toward her. Her spine pressed hard against the doorjamb as she looked up at him when he stopped next to her.

There was plenty of space between them, but her heart rate nevertheless took off like an award-winning marathoner. The only time she’d felt anything remotely similar was the first time she’d delivered a baby. Not even with Brent, her one foray into romance while she’d been a resident, had she been so affected.

His gaze roved over her face and she swallowed hard, afraid he’d hear the pulse roaring in her ears.

“I’ll pick you and Chloe up at noon,” he said, and the amusement was gone from his face as if it had never been there. “That oughta give us plenty of time.”

“Time,” she repeated faintly.

“To find you a tree,” he said flatly, and walked out into the hall. He didn’t look back.

For so long, Mallory had been certain that finding Chloe’s father was the right thing to do.

But just then, watching Ryan head down the stairs as if the devil were at his heels, she realized she wasn’t certain of anything.

Chapter Four

He was twenty minutes late.

So far.

Twenty minutes during which Chloe paced between the windows at the front of the house, pressing her nose against the glass, as she watched and waited. “Are you sure he’s coming?”

Mallory’s gaze snagged in Kathleen’s, who was sitting opposite her, before she looked back down at the medical journal lying open in her lap. Reading it was just a pretense, because Mallory could have easily emulated Chloe’s anxious pacing, waiting for Ryan’s arrival.

“If he doesn’t,” she assured smoothly, “we’ll just get a Christmas tree ourselves.” Maybe there was a tree lot in Braden. The neighboring town was about thirty miles away. Certainly there’d be one in Gillette—though she really didn’t relish the idea of driving quite that far.

The solution, of course, would be an artificial tree, purchased from the discount store on the outskirts of town.

Only Mallory knew that both Chloe and Kathleen would be disappointed. They’d been talking about having a real tree ever since they’d arrived in Weaver. Even when they’d left New York in October, the Christmas decorations had begun appearing in stores. There was barely a fraction of the stores in Weaver, but they, too, had already been getting ready for the holidays.

“Can we get a puppy, too?” Chloe asked, without looking away from the window.

Mallory met Kathleen’s eyes. “No,” she answered. “We’re not getting a puppy.”

Chloe heaved a sigh. “Do you think we’ll find a really, really big tree?”

If he gets here, Mallory thought.

“He’ll be here,” Kathleen said comfortably over the soft clack of her knitting needles. “And I’m sure you’ll find a very fine tree.”

Mallory had the sense that her grandmother was assuring her just as much as Chloe.

She realized she was chewing the inside of her lip and made herself stop. Folding the journal with a snap, she tossed it aside and pushed off the couch, taking her half-empty coffee mug with her. Another ten minutes, and she’d bundle Chloe in the car and they’d drive to Braden. Kathleen had already expressed her intention to enjoy the tree once it was in the living room. Hunting one down whether in the snow or from a tree lot was not something she particularly wanted to do.

“He’s here!” Chloe suddenly darted past Mallory, her boots skidding on the floor as she raced out of the living room to the front door.

Mallory ignored both the jolt that leaped inside her belly and the sideways glance that Kathleen gave her—as if her grandmother knew exactly what Mallory was feeling—and followed her daughter much more sedately to the door.

When she got there, Chloe had already thrown it wide and Ryan stood there on the porch, looking almost unrecognizable with his clean-shaven square jaw. Even his hair looked different. Not cut, necessarily, but brushed away from his face, showing that there was a liberal amount of silver strands among the dark brown.

The severe style made his eyes seem an even deeper, more penetrating blue, and when their focus shifted upward from Chloe to Mallory, every single coherent thought she possessed disappeared in a puff of smoke.

She felt as though he had the ability to look straight down inside her. And was using the ability very well.

It felt…invasive.

Intimate.

She realized belatedly that Chloe was tugging at the hem of her sweater, and she finally yanked her captured gaze away from him. She looked at Chloe, but her brain cells were sluggish. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Chloe’s eyebrows were crinkled. “You’re spilling,” she whispered.

Mallory jerked a little, flushing hard. Along with coherent thought, her hands had gone as lax as her knees had felt, the coffee mug sliding sideways in her fingers. “Silly me,” she murmured, excessively bright.

She grabbed the closest cloth—her red knitted scarf that was hanging over the coat tree—and dashed it over the small spill on the floor. “I’ll be right back.” She couldn’t prevent herself from flicking a glance toward Ryan, then wished she hadn’t, because he was still watching her.

The day before, he’d been a handsome—albeit very scruffy-looking—man.

With his strong features no longer hidden behind too-long, unkempt hair, and a bristled jaw that had been somewhere between a beard and a thirteen-o’clock shadow, he seemed positively devastating.

She felt so rattled that instead of putting the mug in the kitchen where it belonged—and where she’d intended to take it in the first place—she carried it and the red scarf with her upstairs and closed herself in her bedroom.

The mug bobbled sideways when she dumped it on her dresser and she steadied it with a very unsteady hand. The wide mirror hanging on the wall above the dresser reflected most of the bedroom behind her. But she didn’t see the stack of packing cartons in the corner next to the sleigh bed that she’d found years ago in a junk store and refinished with Kathleen’s help.

What she did see were her own eyes staring back at her. Pupils wide, irises a thin brown. So very different from those deeply penetrating blue ones that consumed her mind’s eye.

What had he seen when he’d looked at her?

Who had he seen? Mallory, or Cassie?

Mallory closed her eyes, turning away from the mirror and the thought. She wasn’t in competition with her beloved sister. She was only trying to make sure that Chloe’s life had what hers and Cassie’s had lacked.

A father.

She yanked off the ivory sweater that she’d taken far too long to choose that morning in the first place and replaced it with a gray one, yanking it down over the waist of her blue jeans. In the connecting bathroom, she filled the sink and submerged the coffee-stained scarf in it. Mentally collecting herself seemed fine in theory, but sad to say, she still felt shaky when she went back downstairs.

Kathleen was standing alone in the foyer.

“Where’s Chloe?”

“Outside with Ryan.” Her grandmother’s expression was frank. “Are you certain you know what you’re getting into, Mallory?”

She crossed her arms. Fighting her own uncertainty was hard enough without adding her grandmother’s into the mix. “In life, can anyone ever really know what they’re getting into?”

Kathleen’s lips thinned. “Pretending to wax philosophical won’t wash with me, child.” She pointed at the closed front door. “You’re messing in a lot of lives because of this fixation you’ve got about Chloe and her father.”

“It’s not a fixation.”

Kathleen’s white eyebrows climbed. Ire filled her eyes. “Really, now. It’s been your obsession since Chloe was born. When you should have been finding a man of your own, you were focused only on him.”

“I’m a working single mother,” Mallory returned. “I’ve never had time for a man.” Ergo, the exit of Brent. The fact that she hadn’t been left brokenhearted at the time had seemed to prove that it had been for the best. She’d never been tempted to put a man before her career. “And we’ve talked about this many times.” She’d never made a secret with her grandmother about the reason behind their temporary transplant to Weaver.

“Aye. We have. Yet you’re still determined to do it your way.”

“If I had my way, Cassie would still be here,” Mallory pointed out, struck with pain that was only slightly dulled by the passage of time. “Raising the child she loved enough to die having.” But, of course, Cassie—adventurous, go-with-the-moment Cassie—hadn’t believed she’d ever face that most final result despite Mallory’s warnings. “And choosing what to do about Chloe’s father would have been her decision.”

“She made the decision,” Kathleen reminded. Her face had softened, but her voice was still firm. “She had nearly the entire duration of her pregnancy to contact him. She chose not to.”

“I believe she would have changed her mind.” And arguing the point with her grandmother was as fruitless as the internal debate that had gone on for years inside Mallory about that very point.

She grabbed her coat off the coat tree and shoved her arms into the sleeves. “You seemed to like Ryan just fine, yesterday when he was here. So what’s bothering you about him now, anyway?”

“It’s not me that he’s bothering,” Kathleen said pointedly.

Mallory focused on working her hands into the gloves she pulled out of her coat pockets and tried not to blush. “All I care about is Chloe. Once I’m certain she’s ready for it, I’ll tell her about him and we’ll take it from there.”

“Right. And then it’ll be time for us to go back to New York. And how do you think Chloe’s going to handle being taken away from the father she’s just met, then?”

It wasn’t a new concern, nor was it one that Mallory hadn’t already given plenty of thought to. “She’ll still be able to talk to him. To see him during school breaks.” She pushed her pager and her cell phone into the breast pocket of the wool coat. “I knew before we got here that if…everything worked out…it would ultimately mean coming up with some sort of visitation agreement.” She reached for the door.

“What if you’re the one who ends up on the visiting side?”

“That’s not going to happen,” she said surely, and pulled open the door.

Ryan and Chloe were bent over an enormous snowball, pushing it together across the yard. The expressions of concentration on their faces were nearly identical.

Mallory swallowed the unease that whispered through her and stepped outside. Chloe had on her coat, her mittens, a scarf and a cap that Kathleen had knitted for her. Usually, she managed to forget the scarf or the hat. “Gram’s going to be popping the corn soon for garland,” she called out to them, “so we’d better come back with a worthy tree.”

Ryan looked over his shoulder. His head was bare. He wore no scarf tucked around his neck. His only concessions to the cold were the gloves on his hands and the scarred-up leather jacket zipped halfway up his chest. “Popcorn garland?”

Chloe straightened away from the snowball that was easily as tall as her knees and held her hands wide as she bounced around, full of energy. “We use Grammy’s needles on long string. It’s fun.”

Ryan continued pushing the snowball toward the house. “If you say so. Where do you want your snowman, Chloe?”

“Right here.” Chloe dashed over to a spot near the steps. “I asked him if he’d ever made one and he said he did, and so we’re getting one now,” she provided needlessly. “I never had a snowman before.” She beamed at Ryan when he nudged the ball to a stop. “Can I have a carrot for his nose?”

The delight in Chloe’s expression would have been impossible to resist, even had Mallory wanted to. “I imagine we have a carrot to spare,” she assured. “But your snowman still needs a little more body before he needs a nose, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Ryan scooped up a large handful of snow before straightening, and packed it between his gloved palms until it was the size of a healthy grapefruit. “Might as well finish it now, kiddo.” He cast an eye toward the sky. “It’s going to be snowing by the end of today—tomorrow at the latest—judging by the sky and then it might be a while before the snow is wet enough again to pack well.”

“What about the tree?”

His gaze skated over Mallory, leaving heat in its wake. “We’ll get to it. Here.” He tossed the snowball toward her and she didn’t react quickly enough to catch it.

It landed harmlessly against her chest and burst into a spray of clumps.

“Mo-om,” Chloe groaned. “You were s’posed to catch it.”

“Sorry.” Mallory went down the steps and scooped up her own snowball. She eyed Ryan, speculatively. He was a perfect target, leaning over, gathering up another handful of snow.

“Wouldn’t try it, Doc,” he warned, without looking at her.

She tossed the snowball from one hand to the other. “Try what?”

He straightened and gave her a glance that succeeded in making her mouth feel parched. It also made a mockery of her innocent claim. “Here.” He handed his latest snowball off to Chloe. “You can do this one on your own. It’s going to be the head, so it doesn’t have to be as large as the base.”

Chloe knelt down and began scooping snow around her assignment. The tip of her tongue peeked out from between the corner of her lips.

Before Mallory even knew he’d moved, Ryan plucked the snowball from her hands. “I’ll take that,” he said, and began adding to it.

Within minutes, both he and Chloe were rolling their snowballs across the yard and right into the neighbor’s property, picking up snow as they went. Mallory smoothed her coat beneath her and sat down on the porch steps, watching.

But Chloe wasn’t having any of that. “Mom, you gotta help!”

So Mallory dutifully rose again and walked over to her daughter.

“Not me,” Chloe said. “Him.” She waved toward Ryan, who, in Mallory’s estimation, needed no assistance whatsoever with maneuvering his snowman-middle even if it were already twice the size of Chloe’s somewhat sausage-shaped head.

It was only the flash of amusement she caught on Ryan’s face—as if he fully expected her to refuse—that made Mallory move over beside him and plant her hands next to his on the snowball. “For someone who didn’t seem very enthusiastic about today,” she said under her breath, “you seem to be ending up quite entertained.”

“And we haven’t even left your neighborhood, yet.” His hands steered the snowball toward the left, circling back in the direction of her house and the snowman’s base.

“Are we really going to find a Christmas tree today?”

“I said we would.” His shoulder brushed against hers. “When I say I’ll do something, I’ll do it.”

“Even if you didn’t want to,” she concluded, her voice just as low.

His jaw tightened. He stopped pushing the snowball, which was easily the size of three watermelons. “What do you want from me?”

She looked at him. The answer should have been so easy. A father for Chloe. Better yet, an…interested and caring father for Chloe.

So why wasn’t it easy?

“Mom. Mr. Ryan. Look at my head!” Chloe stood over her lopsided snowball with pride. “Is it big enough?”

“Looks great,” Ryan answered. He rolled the snowball he and Mallory had formed the last few yards, then picked it up and settled it on the base before adding Chloe’s to the top. “There you go, kiddo. Your first snowman,” he told Chloe.

“I wanna get his face now,” Chloe said, dashing up the stairs and disappearing through the front door that she threw open.

“If I hadn’t wanted to take you out to find a tree, I wouldn’t have offered in the first place,” he told Mallory the second Chloe was out of earshot.

She shoved her hands inside the side pockets of her coat, hiding the fists they had curled into. “Then why did you tear out of here yesterday the way that you did after offering?” Her voice had risen, and she swallowed, looking around.

But Chloe hadn’t come back outside, and the houses flanking hers were as still and silent as they’d been since Mallory had come outside.

The only one around listening to them was the faceless, limbless snowman.

She sighed and pulled her hands out of her pockets again. “Look. I know I dropped a bombshell on you yesterday. Of course it’s going to take some time for you—for all of us—to adjust to that. But—”

“It’s not Chloe that bothers me.” He grimaced. “Well, yeah, but not in the way that you probably mean,” he amended.

“I don’t understand.”

“I know.” He looked at her, only this time his focus was turned inward. “And it’s not something I’m going to explain.”

His choice of words caught her. He wouldn’t explain. Not couldn’t. Not shouldn’t.

“I got his face stuff.” Chloe reappeared and the door slammed behind her, sounding as loud as a gunshot. She was clutching a handful of items against her coat. “Grammy said we could use these cookies for his eyes.” She dropped the rest of her collection onto the snow next to the snowman, and held up two round, chocolate-flavored cookies. “I guess I want him to have eyes more ’n I want to eat them,” she admitted with a giggle. “Here. Put ’em on.”

Ryan nearly winced. Chloe was holding the cookies toward him with such trusting faith in her face that it was painful.

Mallory didn’t say anything. Just continued watching him with an expression that seemed to ride the rails between caution and expectation, hope and compassion.

He wanted to tell her not to expect anything. Not from him. It would be safer all the way around.

But he couldn’t make himself do it.

And he was damned if he knew whether that was because he didn’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes the same way he saw disappointment in the eyes of his family, or if it was because he, himself, didn’t want to feel the loss when that disappointment inevitably occurred.

Instead of taking the cookies from Chloe, he simply went over behind her and lifted her up by the waist so she could reach the snowman’s head. “Give the poor guy some eyes,” he told her.

She giggled again and worked the cookies into the snow. “What’s his name?”

“He’s your snowman,” Ryan reminded. “Think that gives you naming rights.”

“I don’t know no snowman names, though, except Frosty.” She craned her head around to look up at Ryan. “Everyone names their snowman Frosty.”

Mallory picked up the carrot and handed it to Chloe. “You don’t know any snowman names,” she corrected. “And yes, you do. Use your imagination.” She shrugged. “Besides. Maybe your snowman is actually a woman. Have you thought about that?”

Chloe screwed the root end of the carrot into the snow. “Nope,” she said surely. “He’s a snowman.”

Ryan wondered how she made the determination, but figured he was better off not knowing the finer points of how a six-year-old came to such a conclusion. He tipped her almost upside down so she could reach her pile on the ground and she squealed with laughter that didn’t stop even when he turned her upright, again.

“Didja see that, Mom?” Chloe’s feet swung freely, nearly knocking him in the knees and he swung her to his side, holding her against his hip.

“I saw,” Mallory assured. “Are those candy canes for his mouth?”

“Yup.” Chloe reached forward and methodically placed the two red-and-white candies. In Ryan’s opinion, the resulting smile was maniacally cheerful, but Chloe was satisfied. And Mallory was watching her daughter with an indulgent smile.

“Okay, put me down.” Chloe wriggled and he set her on her feet, only to nearly jump out of his skin when she slid her small hand, mitten and all, into his. “Come here, Mom,” she beckoned. “I know his name.”

Mallory joined them, taking Chloe’s other hand as they faced the snowman.

“His name is George,” Chloe announced with great seriousness. “George the Great.”

George the fat, Ryan renamed silently, for the snowman was seriously rotund.

“Look this way and smile.” Kathleen’s voice sounded from behind them and he looked over his shoulder.

She was holding a camera to her face.

“Gram,” Mallory protested.

“What? The best way to enjoy a snowman is in pictures,” the woman said as the shutter busily clicked several times. Then she lowered the camera. “Seeing as how they tend to melt,” she added, winking at Chloe.

“You’re welcome to come with us,” Ryan found himself offering. “There’s room in the truck and we’ll be back before dark.”

“No, no. You go on.”

“Are you sure?” Mallory added.

“As sure as I am old,” Kathleen said wryly, and tucked the camera in the front pocket of the apron that wasn’t completely covered by the shawl tossed around her shoulders.

“But you’re making the popcorn, right?” Chloe let go of their hands and darted up the stairs to wrap her arms around her great-grandmother’s waist. “Lots and lots so we’ll have garland to string everywhere?”

“Absolutely.” Kathleen squeezed Chloe’s chin and backed up through the door again into the house. “But only if you get yourselves going.”

“Call if you need anything,” Mallory reminded. “If the cell doesn’t go through, page me.”

Kathleen just waved and closed the door, a smile on her face.

Now that the snowman was faced and named, Chloe wasted no time in switching her interest to the original goal of the day. “How long will it take to get a tree?”

“Longer, the more we stand around talking about it.” He gestured toward his truck, parked at the curb. “It’s unlocked.”

She needed no other encouragement and her green boots flashed as she ran toward the truck. With a little finagling, she managed to get her foot up onto the running board and tugged open the door. A second later, she disappeared inside.

Ryan looked at Mallory and extended his arm. “After you.”

She took a few, halting steps toward the truck. “Not to sound like Chloe, but how long is this likely to take? I have a patient at the hospital I need to see by this evening, so if the tree farm is really out of the way—”