Love Songs for the Road (7 page)

Chapter Eight

The Ferris Wheel

It was six fifteen a.m. Ryan was out for a run in Portland, on a dirt path that was rocky and rambling, the crowns of twisted tree roots sticking up everywhere, so that she had to look down at her feet to avoid tripping. She ran by a beautiful, fast-flowing river she did not know the name of. A mountain range loomed in the distance; Ryan had no idea what it was called. After a lifetime in a small Montana town, she realized she liked not knowing the names of things, and the excitement of exploring what was, for her, uncharted territory.

She was on her sixth mile, and feeling proud of herself, not just for the fact that it looked like she was going to put in a full ten before she had to pick up Charlotte and Miles, but because she’d been so disciplined in the last couple days, with both the kids and herself. Not that she’d been hard on them, but Ryan was a firm believer in the need for schedules and routines when working with children. And Charlotte and Miles were just like every other kid, every other human, she’d known: as much as they protested new rules, they secretly loved structure.

She tried to imagine what brilliant kernels of wisdom her parents might offer her after she had foolishly run her mouth off with Marcus. Obviously, the rigors of a 24/7 nanny job had already begun to tire her out, because who in her right mind would have the gall to tell a huge rock star how to make his song better? It made her blush just to think of how nosy she’d been. But there was something about Marcus, some energy around him, that made her feel like anything was permissible. Was it her imagination, or had he actually been super-excited as she’d talked about that idiotic “glimmer of light?” And had she really noticed a relaxation in his shoulders, an overall calming of his mood, as they’d continued talking? Ryan wasn’t stupid; she wouldn’t go around spouting ideas about topics she knew nothing about unless the person she was talking to wanted to hear them. The question was
why
. Why did Marcus care about what she had to say? She was just the nanny, and yet he seemed genuinely interested in her. Yesterday, he’d leaned in, and she’d felt a shiver run through her entire body. Being that close to him, so close that she could smell the sweetness of his skin, did something to her, there was no use denying it.

Ryan reached into her armband and checked the app on her phone. She had just over three miles to go, and didn’t need to report for duty with the kids until seven, more than an hour from now, which despite how early it was, felt like absolute luxury. She still had tons of energy, and told herself she was going to beat her previous time of eighty-three minutes for a ten-miler. She knew she could do it.

Ryan put her phone back in her armband, then looked up for one last view of the sun glinting off the water before the path veered off the river and back into the Portland streets. But she never got a real look. She snagged her toe on a tree root, and her ankle twisted badly. Bracing her fall with her hands, she fell hard on her right elbow and hip. Stupidly thinking,
I just fell
, she lay in the dirt and bled from her elbow and knee.

As she rose and dusted herself off, the rush of adrenaline tricked her into thinking she’d escaped any real injury. But when she moved toward an inlet in the river shore to wash herself off, pain shot through her foot and up her calf. Instantly, she knew her ankle was going to be a problem. It wasn’t broken, and it would probably be fine in a few days, but three miles lay between the river path where she was limping around and the hotel, where she was due to pick up the kids in about an hour. Unless she hitchhiked, which she’d never done in her life, she was going to be late. She needed to tell Marcus. Or Serena. Somebody.

Ryan pulled her phone out again, and when it wouldn’t turn on—obviously it had taken a pounding along with her ankle—she felt real fear for the first time. Not for her physical well-being, but for her job. The phone’s face hadn’t cracked, and there was nothing else obviously wrong with it, but no matter how long she pressed the power button, or how hard she prayed that the
goddamn piece of crap
would miraculously power up, it did not. She was going to be very, very late. So late, she might be unemployed before getting the chance to shower.

…

Marcus was up and about at six forty-five, although he wasn’t as spry and bushy-tailed as he would have liked. For some reason, Ryan hadn’t appeared at seven, as they’d agreed—she’d probably overslept, which was fine, she’d make up for it soon enough with the crazy hours her job entailed—but he hadn’t let that stop him. He’d gotten the kids up and ready for breakfast so quickly it had to be an all-time record. It was necessary, though. He had a full day of junket-style interviews to look forward to, one after the other, starting at nine. These couple of hours he had with Charlotte and Miles might prove to be the only quality time he’d get with them until dinner, so he had to make the most of them.

He and the kids had fun horsing around at the buffet, though Marcus probably shouldn’t have let Miles pile up the bacon so high. He loved having the kids all to himself like this, and could entertain them for hours. Maybe he’d give Ryan mornings off a few times a week, and this would become the new routine. Still, he was sleepy, and needed a couple strong cups of coffee to keep his edge.

Before he’d hit thirty, Marcus had been able to thrive on less than a full night of sleep. Way less. In fact, he often preferred the mild delirium and strange bursts of energy that came upon him when he wasn’t properly rested to the even-keeled sense of well-being he had when he’d gotten a full eight hours. But now, he actually wanted to change. He didn’t want his grogginess to compromise his parenting time.

“Daddy, where’s Ryan?” Charlotte asked.

“I’m not sure,” Marcus said. “What’s wrong? You miss her?”

“Sure, a little.” Charlotte smiled, while Miles looked away shyly. Marcus knew they both liked her better than any nanny they’d ever had.

“Maybe
you
miss her, Daddy,” Miles said.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, son,” was his only response. Miles took him at face value, cutely covering his mouth while he chewed.

Marcus would have to be more careful; he couldn’t let the kids see this crush, or whatever it was, that he was developing. Still, the fact couldn’t be avoided: he was wishing the nanny were here with them. Wouldn’t it be more fun? He imagined them all laughing at Miles’s eating habits, and at Marcus’s permissiveness. He scratched that last idea about giving Ryan mornings off. Instead, he vowed to get in bed by eleven every night so all four of them could enjoy these mornings.

Silently, he said the words to himself:
I miss her
. Could it actually be true? He had just met Ryan. Could he miss her after such a short time, when she wasn’t within arm’s reach for a few short minutes?

It felt silly, but as he gazed proudly at his children—his daughter a little sleepy still, his son strangely intent on that too-high pile of bacon—he wondered what it might feel like if Ryan were with them every day, not just on tour, but afterward, too. And then he realized that the chances of that happening, of Ryan still being in their life after summer turned into fall, were slim to none. They were starting to feel like a foursome, but soon he, the kids, and their nanny, too, would go their separate ways.
Don’t get too attached,
he thought.

…

According to the digital clock in the Subaru station wagon of the extremely nice old lady with whom she’d eventually thumbed a ride, it was 7:48. At last, Ryan was back at the hotel. She’d been off the grid for nearly an hour after she was supposed to have picked up the kids. It had taken her less than four days to completely screw up this job.

Halfway through the lobby, she heard Miles’s voice. She followed the sound and found the boy, along with his sister, eating a buffet breakfast in the dining room. At first they appeared to be alone, but she noticed a third place setting and a half-eaten omelet in front of it.

“Are you okay?” asked Charlotte, seeming genuinely concerned as Ryan limped toward them. Still seated, the girl reached out toward Ryan. It was a sweet, awkward gesture, especially because Ryan was still about eight feet away from her.

“Well, I was running, and I fell,” said Ryan, smiling at the obviousness of the statement. “Where’s your dad?”

They ignored the question, as Miles threw down his spoon and ran to her. “You’re all bloody!” he said, in complete awe. A couple of other diners looked in her direction with alarmed expressions, and Ryan wished Miles didn’t have the habit of screaming out declarations about the state of her body every other time he saw her.

She heard a voice behind her. “Oh my God,” said Marcus, who’d apparently come from the buffet. “What happened? Are you all right?” He put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder and turned her toward him, examining her minor wounds with the intensity of a surgeon. Despite her discomfort with such up-close scrutiny, she couldn’t help thinking of George Clooney, from the ER reruns she’d watched as a kid, before he’d gone gray.

“I’ll be fine. I just need to clean myself up, and get a brace on this ankle. I’m so, so sorry I was late.”

“What? No way.” Marcus pulled out a chair for her and offered her support, though she didn’t need it, as she took the seat. “Here, sit down. Don’t put any weight on it.”

“Listen, I’m fine, really. It’s just a sprain.” So that was it? She was an hour late, not a week into the job, and her employer had barely even noticed?

Marcus knelt down, held her foot gently in his hand, and took off her shoe and sock with great care. She could smell his freshly shampooed hair, and the delicious sweetness of his skin that she’d noticed on the bus, and hoped her feet didn’t stink too much after her workout. She was thankful her running shoes were less than two weeks old.

“Please, don’t,” Ryan said. “It’s really nothing.” She was mortified as she noticed other diners looking on, not even pretending to mind their own business.

“Let’s just make sure,” Marcus said. His hands were big and strong, but he held her foot with such care, his touch so soft and gentle, that it quickly became ticklish. Ryan struggled not to crack up laughing.

Another voice. “Is everything all right, Mr. Troy?” Somebody from the front desk, maybe the concierge. “Should I call a doctor?”

“Yes,” Marcus said.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Ryan said, half laughing. Marcus was, perhaps unconsciously, stroking the bottom of her foot, and it had become too much to bear.

“What’s funny?” Miles asked.

“Yeah, what’s funny?” asked Marcus.

“I’ll call someone in,” the concierge said. “Just to be safe.”

“I’m fine, really.” The laughter came out in a torrent, the tickling combined with the absurdity of the situation, all this fuss over a sprained ankle, and Ryan lost it.

Charlotte and Miles began laughing, too, and soon all three of them were cracking up.

“Maybe you could just bring a first-aid kit to my room,” Marcus told the concierge, and the man sprinted away.

“Come on,” Marcus said. “Let’s get you cleaned up and bandaged. You’ll be all better in no time.” He wouldn’t let her foot touch the ground, so there was no choice but to put her arm around him as the four of them made their way to the elevator.

“This is exciting!” Miles said.
You can say that again,
Ryan thought. Injury or not, she hadn’t been this close to a man, not to mention a dead-sexy man, for months, and her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might explode.

“Miles, don’t say that,” Marcus said. “Ryan’s in pain.”

“I’m
fine
,” Ryan said. “Really.”

She could feel the muscles in his shoulders flexing and unflexing as he supported her at the waist, steadfastly refusing to let her walk on the injured ankle. Marcus’s back was strong and sinewy. He had to spend a lot of hours in the gym to maintain a physique like this. She let herself relax into him. If her boss was demanding to tend to her insignificant injury, there was nothing she could do about it. She would have to go along for the ride.

Chapter Nine

Foot Massage

“So what happened, exactly?” Marcus asked. He was kneeling at her feet again, examining the contents of the first aid kit that the concierge had sent up as promised. “What do you mean, a little fall?”

He could hear Charlotte lecturing Miles in the next room, and was glad the kids were occupying themselves and not gawking over Ryan. He wanted her to himself for the moment.

“It was stupid of me,” Ryan said. “I looked up for a second and missed a giant root growing out of the path. A total klutz move.”

She brushed the hair from her face. He could tell she was a little embarrassed—maybe a
lot
embarrassed—to be under his care, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. She was his nanny, the most important person on his staff, so he needed to make sure she was up and running again as quickly as possible. And he had more than enough training to tend to a sprain. Mostly, though, he liked having a good excuse to touch her this way, to be this close to her…close enough to kiss.

“Why didn’t you call? We could have picked you up.”

“My phone died.”

Eventually, Marcus coaxed the whole story out of her, and by the end of the tale, Ryan’s voice, though she was obviously trying to hide it, had a slight shake to it. Marcus realized that, though she was putting up a good front, it must have been scary for her to take a fall on a route she didn’t know, in a town she’d never set foot in before. And it must have worried the hell out of her to be miles from the hotel without a working phone. He wanted to comfort her without being inappropriate, but then he realized that with the slightest touch, it would be impossible to resist going further. And going further could end in disaster. For now, he’d have to stay gentlemanly and professional. How hard could that be?

Marcus gently rotated her bare ankle, saying, “Does that hurt?” until Ryan felt a twinge of pain, at which point he stopped and nodded.

“It’s not a sprain, actually. Looks like you just twisted it. We’ll have you up and running again in no time.”

“Who are you now, Marcus Troy, MD?” Ryan asked. “Sounds like an old TV show.”

“Actually, it
was
an old TV show. Close, anyway.” He loved that she could joke around after clearly having had a bit of a scare. Bianca would never have handled an injury as well, although she’d never been very interested in exercise, so she probably wouldn’t have gone running in the first place.

Next, Marcus sprayed some disinfectant on Ryan’s foot, and began to wash it with a clean bath towel.

“What are you doing?” Ryan said. “I didn’t break the skin.”

“Actually, you did.”

Gently, he held her ankle up for her to see. “See that little cut right there?” She nodded. “Well, it could have gotten some dirt in it. And we don’t want you getting an infection.”

“There was no dirt in it. I had a sock on.”

“Yeah, but it could have been a
little
dirty. I’m just talking about a speck or two.”

“Invisible dirt, maybe.”

Marcus smiled. He didn’t know Ryan had a funny side. “Well, those of us in the medical profession call that invisible dirt ‘bacteria,’ and it’s actually pretty powerful stuff.”

“Very funny,” Ryan said. “What do you mean, ‘those of us in the medical profession?’”

Marcus didn’t answer just yet. He dried her foot thoroughly, then started blowing on it.

“Hey, stop,” Ryan cried. “That tickles.”

Soon enough, he quit tickling. All business again, he pulled a pair of medical scissors from the kit and tailored a padded bandage for her. Then he put it on her ankle and expertly wrapped the gauze around it and clipped it, a very professional piece of work all around.

“Seriously, where’d you learn to do that?” she asked.

“On the job.” He let out a deliberately pretentious sigh. “Before I was a famous rock star—”

“You’re famous? I didn’t realize that. I thought you just liked traveling around in a bus and sleeping in hotels.”

Marcus chuckled. “Before I started spending each night in a different hotel just for the hell of it, I was a paramedic.”

“You were?”

“That’s where Smitty and I met. Riding around in an ambulance together.”

“I can imagine you guys in the back, after some late-night shenanigans,” Ryan said. “But in the front? Driving? Taking care of people? No way.”

“Yes way. It was a great year, too. Smitty and I co-wrote all the songs from the first record while driving around in that damn ambulance.”

“Smitty seems like a great guy. He’s so good with the kids.”

“He is. He’s good with me, too, keeps me grounded. If he lost both his hands in a freak accident, I’d still bring him on tour with me.”

“He could play his guitar with his feet.”

Marcus laughed at the joke, and as Ryan laughed along with him, he took advantage of the distraction to pick up her
other
foot, remove her shoe and sock, and begin massaging it tenderly.

“What are you doing?” Ryan asked.

“You’ve been through a minor trauma, and I’m giving you a little stress relief.” He was looking right at her, for the first time all day, just to see if the eye contact sent that same thrill right through him. It did. It was becoming like a drug to him.

“When you’re calm and relaxed, you actually heal faster. It’s been scientifically proven.”

“Is that so?”

“Like I said, I’m a trained medical professional.”

Ryan didn’t respond to that. She seemed to give in to Marcus, closing her eyes and letting him caress the arch of her foot. She breathed deeply, and he thought he heard a light moan escape her lips.

“The job is good,” Ryan sighed. “But the benefits are phenomenal.”

At that, they both laughed, for real this time, big belly laughs. He hadn’t had this much fun with a woman in years.

Marcus couldn’t help himself. He let go of her foot. Slowly, looking into her eyes, he held her waist and drew her toward him until she was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” Ryan whispered. “What are you doing?”

But she wasn’t protesting, and she wasn’t pushing him away—she seemed to want him as much as he wanted her. He leaned toward her, so close that her hair grazed his cheek. He could almost taste her lips.

But suddenly Ryan jerked her head back, looking past Marcus to the kids’ bedroom.

Marcus heard footsteps behind him. “Daddy!” Miles sprinted in his direction, nearly body-slamming into him. Quickly but, he hoped, subtly, he moved away from Ryan. Miles, beaming and filled with energy, seemed to be clueless.

“Careful, buddy,” Marcus said. “For the next few days, we need to be really gentle around Ryan. Until she heals.”

“Sorry,” Miles said, a little sheepish.

Charlotte walked in—thank God she’d lagged behind her brother—and gave Ryan’s ankle a thoughtful look. “Nice work, Daddy.”

Marcus looked for any trace of recognition on his daughter’s face, but there was nothing. Still, he’d have to be more careful. His attraction to Ryan was screwing up his judgment.

Ryan stood up and tested the ankle. The bandage seemed strong, and she was doing a great job of recovering from the moment they’d just had. If he hadn’t been there himself, he’d have never known. “It
is
good,” she said. “Thanks, Marcus.” The moment between them had passed. There would be no more moans escaping Ryan’s lips today, no near-kisses between them. The girl in front of him was back to being his children’s nanny, every bit the professional herself.

“Seriously, guys,” Marcus said, getting up, “we’re all going to have to take it a little easier on Ryan over the next few days. She’s going to be moving around a bit more slowly, and that means she can’t be running after you. When she calls, you come.”

“Okay, Daddy,” they both said, and he was in awe at how good they were being, how much better behaved they’d been since Ryan had appeared.

“Daddy made Ryan better!” said Miles.

Marcus thought,
Maybe Ryan makes Daddy better, too.