Storybook Dad (Harlequin American Romance) (7 page)

“Oh, okay. But just so you know, you might want to go easy on
the trash talk, mister. Because if you don’t, you may find yourself eating way
more than one of Joe’s famous burgers by the time we’re done.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” she quipped.

Sure enough, two hamburgers, one corn on the cob, a hearty
helping of potato salad and three losses later, he collapsed onto the same
Adirondack chair he’d sat on earlier. Only this time, instead of stealing
glances at Emily and hesitating over which way the conversation should go, he
was interacting with her as if they’d known each other for years. She laughed at
his corny jokes, teased him about his less-than-stellar horseshoe skills and
smiled at him as if she was every bit as aware of the sparks flying between them
as he was. And it felt good. Undeniably good.

All too soon, however, dusk gave way to darkness and Mark found
himself reluctantly conceding that it was time to call it a night. His hand
found the small of her back as they made their way around the side of the house
and headed toward her car. “Emily, I had a really great time tonight. I can’t
tell you the last time I did something like this. Except, of course, the other
night.”

Her feet slowed as they approached the Jeep. “You were at a
barbecue the other night?”

“No, I was at Sam’s. With you.” A nearby streetlamp cast an
alluring glow across her face, and he swallowed.

“Then I don’t get it. Did something like what?”

He looked to the sky, taking in the crystal-clear view of the
stars above. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself simply to breathe,
without traveling down the familiar road of should-haves and could-haves where
the past eighteen months were concerned. When he was ready, he allowed himself
to look at her again, noting the way her skirt clung to her ass in a sweet yet
flirty kind of way, and how the tops of her breasts peeked out along the upper
edge of her halter top.

“Like have fun. Like laugh. Like…
live
.”

Reaching out, he traced the side of her face with his
fingertips, drawing her in for a kiss that had his heart accelerating in a way
no pickup game of basketball ever could.

Chapter Seven

If it weren’t for an approaching car, Emily could have
stayed in Mark’s arms all night, tasting his lips, marveling at the sensation of
their mingling tongues and feeling the heat of his growing excitement against
her body. She disengaged herself far slower than circumstances called for,
resulting in some rubbernecking from the teenage occupants inside.

She stepped back, swiping at her lips in an unexpected burst of
shyness that brought a crinkling to the skin around Mark’s eyes. “I—I…wow. I
don’t know what to say,” she confessed, once the car had passed.

“Say you don’t want to call it quits for the night yet. Say we
can hang out a little longer. Say I don’t have to stop kissing you for at least
another couple of hours.”

Lifting her wrist into the glow of the streetlamp, she took
note of the time, her heart sinking at the late hour. “But it’s already eleven
o’clock and—”

“It’s a Friday, remember?”

She paused. Mark was right. There was no pressing need to get
home, other than to take her medication. And that could wait another couple of
hours if necessary. In fact, the notion of not allowing her condition to impact
her evening in any way was very appealing.

“So what do you suggest?” she finally asked, the resulting
smile on his face warming her from head to toe.

“I don’t know. But I’ll think of something.”

She savored the feel of his hands on her hips as he leaned
against the car and pulled her close, the look in his eyes as he stroked her
cheek threatening to render her speechless if she didn’t think fast. “What about
a little preview of what you missed the other morning?”

“What I missed?” he asked absentmindedly, as his hand moved to
her hair and then her neck.

“The back entrance to my office opens to a room two stories
tall. The climbing walls I have in there aren’t quite the same as scaling the
side of a mountain, but they’re perfect for someone wanting to learn. If you’re
interested, that is.”

“Are you serious?”

“Sure. It’ll be fun.” She disengaged herself from his arms and
pointed her key at the car, the quick chirp-chirp of the locks accompanied by a
flash of the headlights. “I’ve got a pair of shorts and a T-shirt I can change
into at my office. Then we’re good to go.”

He stopped en route to the passenger side and made a T with his
hands. “Whoa. But I like the outfit you’re wearing now.”

“I can’t rock climb in a skirt, Mark.”

“Darn.”

She laughed. “I can put it back on when we’re done. Though why
it’ll matter at midnight or later is beyond me.”

“Because you look spectacular, that’s why.”

She slid behind the steering wheel and put the key in the
ignition, the purr of the engine, coupled with the intensity in Mark’s eyes,
making her more than a little nervous. She’d gone rock climbing hundreds of
times. She’d taught men of all shapes and sizes how to do the same on the very
wall they’d be scaling in under twenty minutes. Yet in that moment, she would
have second-guessed her ability to teach someone their ABC’s, let alone how to
climb a two-story wall, with her heart thudding in her chest the way it was.

And she knew why.

For as much as she bemoaned Kate’s life plan, Emily wasn’t much
different herself. She might not have made an actual bullet-point list designed
to take her from college to her death bed, with a nod to every major milestone
in between, but she
did
like to be prepared.

It was why, she always suspected, she liked the kind of
activities she’d built her life around. To kayak, she needed to be prepared—with
a paddle and a life jacket. To take a survival trip through the woods, she
needed to be prepared—with things like flint and a knife. To rock climb, she
needed to be prepared—with rope, a harness and connectors. To scuba dive, she
needed to be prepared—with a diving helmet and suit, weights, a regulator and a
tank.

And when the doctor had walked into her hospital room six
months earlier and uttered the words
multiple
sclerosis,
she’d begun the mental preparation necessary to abandon
all hope for her fifth and final childhood dream—of becoming a wife and mother.
She’d prepared herself for living alone. For finding things that would fulfill a
life shared by no one.

But Mark Reynolds, and the way he looked at her as if she was
someone special, was throwing a monkey wrench in those plans.

“You do know that, right?”

She peered at him across the center console and shook her head.
“I’m sorry, Mark. I think I may have missed what you just said.”

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No. But I zoned out there for a minute.” She slid the
gearshift to Drive and pulled the car from the curb, the motion a welcome
reprieve from the thoughts she was having at that moment. “So what is it I’m
supposed to know?”

“That you look spectacular.”

And just like that, the thoughts were back. Mark Reynolds hit
every single one of the must-haves she’d set for a mate. He was smart, funny,
motivated, outdoorsy—all of it. He was, essentially, a no-brainer, as Kate was
fond of saying about all sorts of things in life. But the problem wasn’t him. Or
even the notion of him. It was Emily.

Sure, she wanted to believe there was hope that someone would
love her despite her condition. But the recurring nightmare she had three or
four times a week said otherwise. It didn’t matter how supportive her faceless
prince tried to be, because the part that woke her in a cold sweat was having
her prince slowly giving up his own wants and needs to be her caretaker.

“I’m guessing by your silence that you don’t know that. So let
me be the one to tell you that you do. And as I always tell Seth, I’m a pretty
smart guy when it comes to the easy stuff in life.”

She had to laugh. “Isn’t
everyone
smart when it comes to the easy stuff?”

“You don’t get out much, do you?” Mark quipped. “Then again,
who am I to make a statement like that? I
never
get
out.”

His comment hit her like a slap to the side of the head.
Tonight wasn’t about looking inward. It was about having fun.

Mark needed that.

And so, too, did she.

Pulling her office keys from her purse, she climbed out of the
Jeep and gestured for Mark to follow. “C’mon, let’s go.”

When they reached the main door of the barn, she unlocked it
and stepped inside, the motion-sensor light she’d mounted in the hallway
switching on instantaneously. “Why don’t you head downstairs, and I’ll join you
as soon as I get changed.”

“Don’t take too long, okay?”

“I won’t.” And she didn’t. Less than five minutes later she was
standing with him at the base of the climbing wall, with a harness for each of
them. Dropping one to the ground, she helped Mark into his and connected it to
his rope. “Take your time. This wall here—” she touched the one directly in
front of them “—is the beginner wall. Your hand- and footholds are closer
together on it. Once you’ve mastered this section, you can move on to the
intermediate wall, where the hand- and footholds are farther apart and the climb
is a bit more challenging.”

“What about that wall?” Mark asked, pointing to the far side of
the room.

“That’s the expert wall. We’ll save that for another day.”

Mark snorted. “Or maybe another year.”

She secured herself into her own harness and hooked herself in
as Mark’s belay. “No, another
day
. You’ll get this,
if you try. The folks who don’t are the ones who let fear slow them down. Then
the doubts take over and knock them the rest of the way out. I see it all the
time. But if you think about it, climbing a wall or scaling the side of a
mountain is really no different than wanting to write a novel or become a world
champion chess player. You just have to check your hang-ups at the door and do
what needs to be done to make it happen.

“As for what you need to do here, keep your body close to the
wall. People tend to think their knees should be pointed inward, but if you turn
them out a little bit, you’ll be much more successful.”

When she was done sharing a few more true tips, she motioned
toward the wall. “Now it’s time for you to give it a go. I’ll be your belay a
few times, then I’ll hook you up to one of the electronic ones.”

* * *

H
OLD
BY
HOLD
,
Mark moved higher, Emily’s advice about turning his knees outward helping
immeasurably. His first trip up the wall was about trial and error, his second
time solely about improvement. But by the third trip, he’d discovered that the
best way to move was to do it in two parts—first his limbs, then his weight.
Employing that technique again and again ensured this was his most skillful
effort yet.

He glanced down over his shoulder as he hit the bell at the top
of the wall, Emily’s enthusiastic praise bringing an even bigger smile to his
face. “Think I’m ready to move on to the next wall?” he called down.

“Absolutely. But you need to know that the chance of falling
increases as the holds decrease in number.” When he reached the bottom, she
unhooked him from the rope and led him over to the intermediate wall, where she
proceeded to hook him in once again. “Now, if you feel yourself start to slip,
you need to push away from the wall right away. If you keep your feet out in
front of you as the rope comes tight, you can brace yourself and keep from
hitting the wall as you swing inward. Okay?”

“Feet out, push away…got it.” He moved toward the wall, only to
stop as he reached the base. “Is this your favorite?”

She shook her head and pointed to the wall behind them. “I like
the expert wall best.”

Now that he knew a bit more about the sport, he took a closer
look, finding the distance between each hold far more impressive than he’d first
realized. “Actually, I was asking more about rock climbing as opposed to the
other sports you do. Is it your favorite?”

Her eyes widened with an excitement he envied, and he found
himself hanging on her every word, her enthusiasm for exploration and life in
general transforming her already beautiful face into something truly
captivating.

“Wow. That’s a tough one to answer. I like climbing because of
the challenge. Being out on a real mountain, it’s almost like a puzzle. You have
to figure out the best hold to get you to the next level.” She wandered across
the room and took a seat on the bottom step of a narrow riser. “Rafting is
exhilarating. One minute everything is calm and peaceful and you’re paddling
along a river, and then all hell breaks loose and you’re forced to think and act
fast. I love that part.”

He unhooked his rope and sat down, too. “What about horseback
riding?”

“That’s one of those things I enjoy doing when I need time to
think. I guess I find the cadence of the horse like a lullaby of sorts.”

“What about when you’re jumping over a fallen tree or a rock?
Doesn’t that kind of mess with the lullaby?”

She leaned against the upper step and closed her eyes. “Mess
with? No, not really. Alter? Yeah, a little. You know how sometimes an
exhausting activity can clear your mind of things that seemed such a big deal
before you started? Well, working a horse hard does that for me. And the slow,
wandering part gives me a chance to catch my breath and come up with a
solution.”

Mark’s laugh brought her focus back on him. “So what you’re
telling me is that I need to learn how to ride a horse, huh?” Before she could
respond, he moved the topic into a broader arena, desperate to keep the evening
light and fun. “You ever think about changing the name of your company to
Outdoor Therapy?”

“Sometimes the stuff on a person’s bucket list is put there for
therapeutic reasons.” She swung her body to face him, hugging her knees to her
chest. “But most of the time, learning how to ride a horse in adulthood, or
rafting your way down a picturesque river, is about a dream. Sometimes it’s a
carryover from childhood—maybe from a television show or a book with a character
who rafted or climbed or snorkeled. In those cases it’s something my client has
always wanted to do, and they’re determined to do it before age makes it too
difficult. But sometimes it’s part of a broader dream that starts in a person’s
thirties or forties. Maybe they’ve always played life safe, or maybe they’ve
been so busy caring for an elderly parent or a sickly kid that they need a
diversion. Or maybe they’re so intent on accomplishing some sort of personal
feat that they show up at my door saying,
‘I don’t care
what we do just so long as I can say I did
something.’
”

“That happens?”

“All the time.”

Mark considered her words and compared them to his own reasons
for having enrolled in her orienteering class. His reasons, his motivations, put
him in the latter group. “I guess I’m kinda like those folks. At least on some
level.”

“How so?” she asked.

“I think I needed to prove something to myself. Prove that I
can change, can get myself out of a rut if I just make myself do it.”

“And?”

“I did that,” he replied. “Only now I want to see what other
kinds of things I can do.”

She released her legs and jumped to her feet, a sly smile
tugging at her lips as she reached for his hand. “Okay, so let’s see how you do
with the intermediate wall.”

He allowed her to guide him back there, only to wave off her
attempts to hook him back up to the rope.

“Oh, come on, Mark, you can do this.”

“And I’ll give it a whirl in a few minutes. But first I want to
see
you
climb.”

“Why?”

He looked from the expert wall to the beginner’s and back
again, finding the difference between the two substantial. “Because I want to
see that someone can actually climb that thing.”