All That You Are (17 page)

Taking a few minutes, he replayed the conversation with Suni in his head. Before he could counter his decision, he climbed out of the truck and made his way to Jewels of the Nile.

Laid out in a tight rectangular shape, the store was small and cramped with lit cases of sparkling jewelry. Five clerks manned the counter, three of which were busy with customers from the cruise ships. A fourth rang an order at the register. The fifth was the man Mark wanted to see.

Cardelle lit up like one of the cases, bright faced and with eyes that were glittering black jewels. “So, hey, mon. You come for de pearls.”

“No, Card, not today.”

“De tanzanite?”

“Nope.”

Cardelle's dark face waited expectantly. “Okay den, we have de jade earrings, gold necklaces, ruby rings and de sterling silver to not make your skin turn tarnish.”

“Sorry—none of that.” Mark moved in toward the semiprecious stones display where the Jamaican stood reed thin and proud of the goods within.

“What den?”

“I've got a proposition for you.”

 

T
HERE WAS NO DOUBT
about it—Dana had been avoiding Mark. She came to this conclusion by Thursday after not talking with him for the past five days. At first, she reconciled that she'd been busy in her office and she hadn't run into him. Then she recognized that she had made sure she wasn't around when he came in at night for conversation at the bar. She had places to be, things to do.

But the truth came to her this afternoon as she'd watched him work in the bar. He hadn't been able to see her as her gaze followed his every move. She'd held back in the hallway leading to her office. In that moment of hiding, she knew she'd done whatever she could to avoid a confrontation with him.

More important—she knew why.

He'd been right on target about her. She'd been hurt in love, and she ran from feelings about anyone else. Since Cooper broke her heart, she hadn't gotten close to another man. Saturday at Burger Queen when Mark accused her of not wanting to deal with things, she'd been in denial and thought for sure he was wrong.

But he'd been right.

Dread filled her soul. She couldn't let one man alter her life or its direction. Especially not Mark Moretti. She knew better than to get involved with a lower-forty-eighter on vacation. Even though Mark was charming and different, the end result would be the same. Here today, gone tomorrow.

The fact that she'd felt herself growing emotionally entangled had been a wake-up call and she'd probably used Tori as the excuse to get out of that situation quickly.

So what to do about it now?

Mark came to the bar every day for hours and worked so hard. She had begun to feel guilty, as if she were not only taking advantage of his money but his physical time and energy. The least she could do was be cordial, grateful. Express her thanks and gratitude.

Instead, she'd holed herself off in various corners of the Blue Note, avoiding him at all costs. This wasn't her method of dealing with men. She'd never run before. Most definitely never hid.

So today she decided to confront the situation head-on and she searched for Mark midday to ask him a question. However, it was difficult for her to form a plan of action, or just how she'd ask him. After running several scenarios in her head, she opted to wing it.

She found Mark outside with steel pieces that had been on a delivery truck that morning to the Blue Note. She had no idea what they were for, but assumed Mark knew.

The day was gray and overcast; a light drizzle had been in the air since sunrise. Without bothering with her coat or hat, she went through the front door and headed directly toward him.

“Mark, I need to talk to you,” she said, almost too loudly.

He raised his chin, his eyes friendly and warm as soon as he saw her approaching. She never tired of the way his whole facial expression could smile without his mouth even moving.

“Look who decided to pay a call,” he drawled, rising from the stacks of steel.

His denim jeans fit him in an indecently sexy way in the butt, and a long-sleeved T-shirt draped his chest in white with a logo for some electrical company. A short tear at the elbow revealed his skin and a barely discernible cut where he must have bumped into something sharp. Even in work clothes, she found him more than appealing.

“I've been busy this week.”

“Busy lurking,” he replied, infuriating her that he could be so intuitive.

“I don't lurk.”

“What do you call peeking at me from the edge of your office door? Hiding behind the bar when I'm at the front of the building? Or conveniently heading for the kitchen when I'm coming down the hallway?”

She had no response that would satisfy him because the truth was the truth and she had done all of those things. Frustration gave her pause, and she wondered if it had been a bad idea to make an attempt to communicate with Mark.

Rather than try to substantiate any of her actions, she simply plunged in with the question she'd silently dared herself to ask. It would prove once and for all that she was afraid of no one, that she ran from nothing. “Terran
has hockey practice tonight—would you like to come and watch him?”

Mark cocked his head, rain dampening his hair and causing it to curl slightly at his collar. “What was that?”

She could tell he'd heard her the first time, but he was making her repeat it. Making her be uncomfortable all over again inviting him to do something with her. And that the event involved her son. An aspect of her life she kept mostly private.

Private. It didn't really mean much around here. Ketchikan was a small town. She ran into people she knew all the time. She really had no secrets, no privacy to speak of. Everyone knew most everyone's business. Daily tidbits were a given fact to be traded at the various local hangouts.

So why not just put Mark in the loop, right out in the open in her everyday events? He was working around the bar for her. The natural course was that he had become her friend.

“Tonight my son has hockey practice and I wondered if you'd like to come.”

Without hesitation, Mark easily replied, “Sure, what time?”

Dana's heart sank, a mixture of dismay and confusion. In the early hours of morning when she'd lain in bed trying to fall asleep, the scene she'd repeatedly played out in her head had Mark declining her invite. She hadn't really thought Mark would want to watch a bunch of five-year-olds scramble and splatter on the ice.

The whole point had been to prove to him she wasn't afraid of anything between them. Or of being seen in public with Mark as if she were romantically interested in him.

Damn, she should have known he'd respond with the opposite of what she'd anticipated.

In a tone that held no preamble, she replied, “Practice starts at seven.”

“Sounds good. I'll pick you up and drive you over to the rink.”

“I can drive myself,” she sputtered. She'd wanted to be in control and she found herself being led by Mark, not guiding him.

“I know where you live, so I'll be by at six-thirty.”

Curiosity melted her resolve to stay unaffected by him. “How do you know where I live?”

“I'm resourceful.” He gave her a charming half grin, raking damp hair from his brows. “Hell, sweetart, don't look so shook-up about it. A while back, I asked the right people—just in case.”

Mouth half-open, she blurted, “Just in case, what?”

“Just in case I had a reason to come pick you up.”

 

R
INK
T
IME HAD BEEN FORMED
on a giant level sand bed, then a massive layer of concrete had been poured on top. Mark had never built an ice rink, but he knew enough about them to know that pipes underneath carried an antifreeze to keep the surface chilled.

The indoor rink seemed fairly new. The entry had a pro shop for equipment, and there'd been a rental desk, as well as a snack bar and arcade. Mark couldn't remember the last time he'd been at an ice-skating rink. Boise had only gotten its rink some ten or so years ago, long after he'd been young enough to want to hang out there.

Sitting on a bleacher, Mark stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. Dana sat a body-width distance between
them, having barely said a few sentences on the way over. She wore a pale cream down vest, black turtleneck sweater, a pink scarf and mittens.

“What number am I looking for again?” Mark questioned while staring at a sea of black-and-gold uniforms and helmets. It was hard to discern which boy was hers among those on the ice.

“Four.”

“How long's Terran been playing?” Mark asked, making small talk.

“Since he was three.”

“They start that young?”

“His dad's into it and got him on the ice at a young age.”

Mark chewed on that information, realizing that co-parenting a child with a former partner must be challenging. He knew these situations were pretty commonplace, but he didn't have firsthand experience himself, nor did he know of anyone going through the same thing.

The thought had crossed Mark's mind to check out the GCI Cellular store in town just to see who worked there. He didn't have the guy's name, other than knowing his last name started with a
B
. But he'd opted out of going. It didn't matter to him who Dana's ex-love was. She'd moved on, or so she led him to believe. And he did believe her.

You didn't kiss a man the way she'd kissed him if your heart was elsewhere. Mark had known many women in his past and he knew which ones were jerking him, and which ones had another guy on their mind. Then there were the ones who just wanted to feel good in bed.

There'd been plenty who'd simply wanted him. And he'd hung around for a while enjoying that.

“Hi, Dana,” said a woman on the bleacher bench in front of them.

“Hey, Laura,” Dana replied in a friendly tone. But then said nothing further, and made no introductions.

Apparently the woman was another enthusiastic hockey mom. Mark noticed he'd become surrounded by parents encouraging their kids, who skated and took headers chasing pucks sliding over the ice.

Mark felt somewhat out of place within the group.

Times like these, he wondered what it would have been like to have a kid. He could go either way about it—there had been no bio-clock-burning desire to father a child before he'd reached a certain age. He'd always figured if it happened, it happened.

As a Catholic—even though it had been a long time since he'd attended a Mass, he believed in the sanctity of marriage, and would never have let the woman who bore his child go it alone. No matter what, he'd promise to make their relationship work. In a perfect world, he'd find the right woman to love, marry, then have a family if that's what they both desired.

He didn't judge Dana. Everyone was different. God knew he was no saint.

Leaning back on her elbows on the bench behind her, Laura addressed Dana. “Coach is having them practice their cut-across drill. They need work on it, but Terran's already got it down.”

“Thanks. He's pretty good.”

“Must be in the genes.” Laura's smile was complimentary, but her curious gaze fell on Mark when she spoke. He semi-smiled at her, then his attention returned to the ice.

Terran's ability was better than pretty good. For a little dude, he skated seamlessly, fighting the pack with an easy command of his angled hockey stick. His short legs worked hard, so when he took a tumble, he didn't have far to fall to the ice. He clambered right to his feet and off he went again.

The coach stood on the sidelines instructing the kids to get moving, and telling them where to push the puck over the blue line and who should pass a drop shot. He seemed pretty competent. Not too bad-looking, either. Dirty-blond hair, built fairly well. Tall, but not stocky. He skated without effort, going forward and backward.

Mark wondered how many of the women here had a thing for the guy—if they ever wanted some private coach time.

“You like the coach?” Mark asked, making sideways talk.

Dana's brows furrowed slightly, then she shrugged. He loved the play of her hair around her face, the long length that had been flattened into a silky curtain. “He's okay.”

“Seems like he knows what he's doing.”

“He does.”

When the practice was finished, Dana wanted to go down to the locker room and say hi to her son. Mark learned it wasn't her week to have him.

Once in the small room where boys sat on benches and stuffed skates and socks in practice duffels, Dana found Terran.

“Hey, baby!” she called, then scooped him into a hug as she bent over him.

“Hi, Momma.” He squeezed her back, then almost sheepishly slipped away from her as if, even at a young
age, being hugged by your mom with your buddies around was embarrassing.