Teardrop Lane (4 page)

Interest glowed in the gaze that flickered up.

Gotcha
.

Misty was a changed girl since her mother had gotten sick. Where before she’d been vivacious and open, after Jayne’s diagnosis, she had withdrawn into herself. Now she regularly escaped into fictional worlds where wizards ruled the day. Cicero wasn’t too concerned about it. In fact, her reaction seemed healthy to him. Because Jayne had moved her brood from Oregon to Houston after learning of her illness, the girl effectively had lost her home, her friends, and her mother. She needed a chance to grieve. In time, she’d bounce back. If that didn’t happen, then he’d suggest to Amy that Misty see a counselor. What was one more doctor bill at this point?

He helped Galen into his snow gear and shooed them outside, grabbing his own coat as he called over his shoulder to inform Gabi of the plan. Outside, sunshine sparkled off the three inches of new snow that had fallen overnight. His breath fogged on the crisp mountain air, and as he watched his sister’s sons take immediate delight in tracking up the pristine yard, he realized he’d needed a break, himself.

He was tired. Bone-deep, ass-dragging weary. Beginning with Jayne’s sudden death in early January, life had
been one challenge after another. Hell, life had been a series of challenges since he’d learned about her cancer last May.

The snowball to the face caught him by surprise. “Take that, Uncle Skunk.”

Slowly, he wiped the cold, wet snow from his cheek as he stared at the culprit who giggled maniacally in response.

Damn, but wasn’t that a nice sound?

In retrospect, he should have expected the attack. He’d have done the same thing at Keenan’s age. Narrowing his eyes, he spoke in a deep, threatening tone. “Keenan Brian Gresham. Prepare for defeat. You are going down.”

“No way.” Keenan turned and ran, his brother trailing after him as usual.

The property where Cicero lived and worked had once been the town’s Episcopal church. Thanks to Gabi’s influence with the local contractor, the remodeling work was in the homestretch with the studio and loft apartment about ninety percent complete. The retail space still had a ways to go, but both Gabi and Harold Benton had assured him that the shop would be ready for the grand opening celebration they had planned for Memorial Day.

He had big plans for his property once his cash flow situation improved. The yard where the kids currently played had been a parking lot for horses and buggies in the church’s early days, and a prayer garden in more recent years. When he’d first viewed the footpath that meandered through evergreens and hardwoods across the property last summer, he’d recognized the potential. It provided a good spot to sit and relax and nurture the creative muses. Plus, it gave him space to showcase the outdoor sculptures he’d been planning.

However, that was a topic of thought for another
time. Right now, the evergreens along the path offered battlefield concealment for Keenan and his brother and their snowballs, a fact he was reminded of when an icy sphere hit the back of his neck.

“Hoodlums!” he bellowed.

“Kids, two. Uncle Skunk, zero!” Keenan shouted back, then ducked away into the trees.

Cicero wore an evil grin as he bent down to scoop up snow. He cradled six fist-sized snowballs in his arms and had taken one step toward the trees in search of his targets when a blood-curdling scream stopped him in his tracks.

Cicero’s blood turned colder than the snow. He took off running before the scream faded or Keenan’s frightened voice reached his ears. “Un-cle Hun-ter!”

Twenty seconds later, he spied the boys. Keenan was down on his knees beside his little brother who lay still as death on the snow. Please, Lord, Cicero prayed. Please.

“What happened?” he demanded of the older boy.

“I don’t know! He was running then he fell down and he screamed then he just went quiet.”

“Did he hit his head?”

“No. I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

Cicero assessed the situation in a single glance. No visible blood. The five-year-old’s arm lay at an unnatural angle. Broken arm, probably fainted from the pain. Please, Lord, he silently repeated. Let that be all.

As he reached the boys’ side, Galen stirred and his eyes opened, little blue pools of pain. “Mama. I want my Mama. My arm—”

“It’s okay, buddy. Everything is gonna be okay. Let me take a look at you.” He crouched down beside Galen. “Did you hit your head?”

Tears began to roll down Galen’s cheeks. “My arm. Help me, Uncle Hunk.”

“I will, son. I will. Hang in there. You’re gonna be fine.” Cicero quickly debated the best course of action. He didn’t know whether to move the boy or not. He didn’t want to leave him lying in the snow, but was it okay to move him? He hadn’t brought his phone outside, so he couldn’t call 911. Dammit, he had no experience with kids and broken bones! He didn’t know the rules.

“Keenan, run inside and tell Ms. Gabi that your brother broke his arm and I need help. Go fast, now.”

The older boy turned and darted off. In her previous career, Gabi had been a cop. She’d know what to do.

Cicero patted Galen’s leg in an awkward effort at comfort and glanced around the area, trying to deduce what had happened. He couldn’t see anything the boy might have tripped over. The kid was accident prone, but how had he managed to fall hard enough to break a bone?

Looking closer, he spotted the jagged edge of a rock peeking out from beneath Galen. He must have come down hard on it. Holy hell. It could have been his head rather than his arm.

Shaky from the thought, Cicero turned with relief at the sound of Gabi’s hurried approach. “Oh, no,” she said, her voice brimming with compassion. “Baby, what did you do to yourself?”

“Did you call 911?” Cicero asked, spying the phone in her hand.

She shook her head. “Not yet. Let me take a look. I don’t see evidence of head trauma or significant bleeding, and the bone isn’t poking through skin. It’s quicker to transport him ourselves. Cicero, you pick him up and hold him, and I’ll drive.”

“What about the other kids? We can’t leave them alone.”

“The clinic is two minutes away. I’ll drop you off and
come right back. Misty can be in charge for four minutes. How much trouble can they get into in that short a time?”

“Don’t ask,” he said grimly before he focused his attention on Galen.

The process of lifting the boy, carrying him to Gabi’s vehicle, driving the winter-rutted road to the clinic, then toting him into the facility proved harrowing for Cicero. Surprisingly, Galen didn’t scream and cry, but he did moan and whimper the entire way. A nurse showed them straight to a treatment room where she cut the coat and shirtsleeve to reveal Galen’s bare arm. The pretty doctor he’d spoken to at the Valentine’s Day dance walked in moments later. Cicero had never been so glad to see someone in his life.

“What do we have here?” Dr. Anderson asked, her tone cheerful and upbeat. “Took a tumble, did you young man?”

“My arm is broked.”

“Yes, I agree it most likely is. I’m Dr. Rose. What’s your name?”

“Galen. That’s my Uncle Hunk.”

“Hunt,” Cicero was quick to say. “Hunter Cicero. This is my nephew, Galen Redmond.”

“Nice to meet you, Galen Redmond. Let’s take a look at your arm and see if I concur with your diagnosis. Do you know what an X ray is?”

The boy’s eyes went round as saucers. “You have X-ray vision like Superman?”

She laughed. “Not me, but my machine does.”

“Wow.”

Cicero stood back and watched as Dr. R. Anderson, a.k.a. Dr. Rose, or, as he’d mentally designated her, Doctor Delicious, examined and treated his nephew with caring, compassion, and a gentle touch. Despite the disdain with which he held the medical profession these
days, he found himself warming to the woman and studying her with an artist’s eye.

Rose was an apt name for her, he decided, as the chorus of “My Wild Irish Rose” spun through his mind. Long, slim, and judging from her reaction at the dance last night, thorny. But her face—oh, such an appealing face. Oval and perfectly framed by thick brown hair shot through with red-gold fire and secured in a professional chignon, hers was a face beyond the blush of youth, which made it all the more interesting. She wore no makeup; she didn’t need it. A sprinkle of freckles dusted her ivory complexion. Ridiculously long lashes framed almond-shaped eyes the smoky green of a forest of fir trees in winter. Her thin, straight nose turned up just enough to beg a playful kiss.

Her full mouth begged a different kind of kiss altogether.

And her hands were as sexy as sin. As her long, slim fingers moved expertly over Galen’s body, Cicero’s own fingers suddenly itched for charcoal and a sketch-pad. He could see her in glass, shades of green with a thread of fire running through her core. Substantial. Strong. And yet as delicate as spun sugar.

No wedding ring, he noted. No telltale white line where a wedding ring belonged. He perked up.
Well, well, well. How interesting
.

It had been a long time since he’d had any action. Too long. In Texas, he’d been too busy helping Jayne and setting up the studio and working to pay the damned bills to spend any time looking for female companionship. As a result, he was now smack dab in the middle of the biggest dry spell he’d had in years. Probably his entire adulthood.

Dr. Delicious completed her examination and declared the break to be a simple fracture that should heal fine. She sent him off to the clinic’s business office to take
care of paperwork while she set the bone and applied a cast. As he tracked through the clinic, he considered the possibilities.

His time on Bella Vita Isle had taught him that living in a small town complicated love affairs. Everybody knew everybody’s business. Gossip was a primary pastime. Privacy was all but nonexistent. Such realities didn’t preclude a liaison, but they meant he should probably do a little recon before jumping into anything.

On the flip side, small-town living made life simpler when dealing with a medical clinic business office, he discovered. He’d been in such a rush that he’d left his wallet behind.

“No problem, Mr. Cicero,” a perky, middle-aged brunette told him with a smile when he explained his lack of cash or paperwork. “Bring the insurance card and your medical power of attorney by later. We’re open until five. If you can’t make it back until tomorrow, that’s okay, too. We’ll get it all squared away. The important thing is that Dr. Rose is taking care of your nephew.”

His mouth lifted in a slow smile.

What a different experience from the bloodsuckers at the various medical centers he’d been dealing with over the past ten months
.

“Thanks.”

“I hope your nephew feels better soon, but I’m sure he will. I have three grandsons and every one of them has worn a cast at one point or another. Casts make them rock stars at preschool, you know.”

“I didn’t realize that. I just hope I can get through the rest of his visit without needing a second cast. The kid and his brother are accidents waiting to happen.”

“They’re boys,” she returned with a fatalistic shrug.

It was a statement and sentiment his sister often had expressed, and hearing it caused a pang in his heart.
Heading back toward the exam rooms, he picked up his step, attempting to leave the memories behind.

He halted abruptly when he passed the waiting room and spied Keenan. “What are you doing here?”

“Ms. Gabi brought us. Uncle Hunter, is my brother going to die?”

The abject fear in the boy’s voice and expression destroyed Cicero. This was what happened when a child’s only parent died. He hunkered down beside the seven-year-old, placed a hand on his shoulder, and stared him straight in the eyes.

“No, Keenan. Your brother is not going to die. He broke his arm and it will be good as new in about six weeks. He’s getting a cast.”

Keenan’s eyes rounded with hope and then narrowed with suspicion. “You swear?”

“I swear,” Cicero solemnly replied.

The boy let out a long, heavy sigh of relief. Then his eyes narrowed. “He’s getting a cast? That’s not fair. I want a cast. Can I get a cast?”

“No.”

Cicero rose and looked at Gabi who had entered the building, carrying Daisy. Misty stood beside Gabi. Her posture was tense, her complexion pale, and her eyes dimmed with worry.

“We were concerned,” his apprentice explained.

“Understandable.” Cicero summarized Galen’s injury, and as he spoke, he saw Misty slowly relax. The poor kid. She’s always waiting for the next disaster to happen, and after all that’s happened, who can blame her? He finished up his story with a reassuring smile. “So it’s all good news.”

“Lucky duck,” Keenan grumbled. “I want a cast.”

Misty shot her brother a glare.

“Which arm did he break?” she asked her uncle.

“His left.”

“That’s good. He’s right-handed.”

“Like I said,” Cicero told her, “it’s all good news.”

Gabi gave Misty’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, then caught Cicero’s gaze. “I brought Galen a blanket for the ride home—and your wallet and phone. I figured you’d need to call the Parnells to let them know what happened.”