Close to You (10 page)

Paperwork. Oh the paperwork this was going to require. SLT demanded a treatise if a client got so much as a bee sting.

She stepped toward Jackson as he hauled himself onto dry
ground. “That's like two hours and a few hundred bucks' makeup and costuming you've just destroyed there, buddy.”

Jackson peered down at his running makeup and dripping costume, trying to smother a grin. Apparently he'd just realized his dress-up day was over before it had even really begun. For some reason this just made her madder.

“Is that what happened, Alex? Were you going to fall in the lake and this guy grabbed you?” The kid looked at his father, then at Jackson, and gave the smallest hint of a nod.

Awesome. She'd taken a tumble down the hill for some moron who couldn't keep track of his own child and decked the guy who saved him. Her shoulder was killing her. “Where were you? What were you doing letting him so close to the water unsupervised? If it hadn't been for Jackson seeing him, he could have drowned!”

The man opened his mouth, but she wasn't finished with him yet.

“And him.” She jabbed a finger in Jackson's sodden direction, now incandescent on his behalf. “He's wearing almost ten kilos of armor. What if you'd knocked him out? He would've gone down like an anchor, and I'm guessing you wouldn't have jumped in to save him.” She didn't even want to think about that. A client dying on her watch was unfathomable. Even an arrogant, annoying one who needed to close his mouth. Jackson's jaw was hanging so low it was an open invitation to the native bug life to make themselves at home.

Mr. Punch-'Em-Up Father of the Year at least had the decency to look ashamed. “I just lost track of him for a second. One second we were in the Green Dragon and the next time I turned around, Alex was gone.”

She raised her eyebrows. A second, huh? She wasn't unfamiliar with how fast little people could move, but they were a decent distance from the inn.

The guy turned to Jackson. “I'm sorry. It seems I owe you an apology and a thank-you. I was out of my mind with worry and when I heard his screams and saw you holding him, my mind jumped to the worst. No hard feelings, I hope?” He held out his hand.

Allie waited for Jackson to come back with something biting to cut the guy down to size. Instead, he took the guy's hand and gave it a solid shake, lake glop spattering on the ground as he did. “No hard feelings. I know I must've given the little guy one unforgettable scare.”

He turned to Allie and opened his mouth to say something but paused, his brow creasing into little ridges. “What happened to you?”

Man, his eye was really puffing up bad. “What do you mean?”

He gestured at her, lips quivering as though fighting a losing battle against a large grin. She bristled. What was so funny?

“Why are you covered in grass?”

* * *

J
ackson was one happy man. With the exception of the right side of his face, which felt like it had borne the brunt of a two-by-four, he felt great. The wonders of a hot shower and being allowed to wear proper clothes again. Even the fact that he probably wasn't going to be able to see out of one eye for a few days couldn't ruin his fantastic mood after getting out of spending the day as an orc-thing.

And that was without taking time to relish what he was certain had been a glint of approval in his uncle's eye as Allie relayed the tale to the group.

“Ow!” He couldn't help the yelp as Allie dabbed the cut on his face with antiseptic, the piercing sting bringing him back to reality in the private dining room at the Green Dragon Inn.

“Oh, don't be such a baby.” She was crowding his personal space. At some point, she'd lost the wig, but her hair was still pulled back, a few errant flyaways dancing around her jawline. A faint hint of citrus wafted around his nose.

“That's not a nice thing to say to someone who saved a life.” He meant it as a joke, but somehow it came across petulant and patronizing.

She snorted. “Stay still, Hero Boy.” Her green eyes squinted as she tended to his cut. He wasn't going to mess with her, no sirree; the little spitfire had given that father a dressing-down. The guy was probably going to have nightmares about it for the rest of his life.

As long as he lived, Jackson would never forget the sight of her decimating a man who had six inches and a hundred pounds on her, while covered in grass clippings from the top of her frizzy wig to the toenails on her fake feet.

“Why do you do this?” The question slipped out of him. Allie could hold her own in any boardroom he'd ever been in. The more he knew about her, the less the tour guide gig fit.

“Do what?” Something undecipherable crossed her freckled face as she stepped back, threw the cotton ball into the trash can, and rummaged in the medical kit on the table beside her. She pulled out a slim packet and ripped it open. “These should do.”

Picking up a pair of tweezers, she plucked a slim sterile strip out of the packet. “Don't move. I need to put this over the cut.”

Hmm. He might be wrong, but he was pretty sure she was evading the question. Interesting.

“What's your PhD in?”

“English literature.” She smoothed the strip down.

He waited for more, but nothing else came. Even more interesting. He'd met a lot of people with doctorates, and every single one of them would happily talk for hours about their beloved field if asked. Even if the topic was the most boring and obscure thing you could possibly imagine. “Wh—”

“One more should do it.” She leaned forward, then suddenly jerked back and covered her mouth just as an enormous sneeze shook her small frame. “Sorry. Stupid grass.”

It was one of the spinsters who'd told him Allie had taken a tumble down the hill hurrying to get to him. Oh, how he wished he could have seen it. He struggled to contain his smile.

She sighed and paused mid-placement of the next strip. “What now?”

“I've heard of falling head over heels, but you've taken it to a whole new level. I'm flattered, though.”

“Yes, you're a regular Casanova,” she deadpanned. Stepping back, she studied his face. “That eye's going to hurt tonight. Take this.” She held up a bag with ice cubes. “And make sure you get a fresh one before we leave.”

A grimace crossed her face as she slapped the ice pack into his hand. He realized that he'd never checked to see if her little tumble hadn't resulted in anything more than great comedy. “Are you okay?”

She paused and rolled her shoulder a couple of times. “It's
nothing. I dislocated my shoulder in the fall, but it popped right back in so I'm sure it'll be fine.”

Whoa. What? He sprang up, almost knocking her over in the process.

“What are you doing?”

He pulled a chair out. “What am I doing? What are
you
doing? Why aren't you at the hospital? That needs to be checked out. Put in a sling. Strapped up. Sit down. I'm going to find someone to call a doctor. Or someone . . .” He trailed off. He was in a strange country in the middle of nowhere. He had no clue how to get her seen to.

She glared at him. “I have eight people to look after. Two of whom have already created a whole lot of extra paperwork for me tonight.” She gave him a pointed look. “I don't have time to get it checked out. I told you, it'll be fine.”

“Are you out of your mind? What's wrong with you?”

“What do you care?” She made a point of looking at her watch. “It took you over an hour to ask.”

Touché. “I'm sorry. I . . .” He ran out of words. Because there were none. She was right. He'd been a self-absorbed jerk who thought the whole thing was a great joke. He hadn't considered for a second that she might have gotten hurt.

A smile cracked her face. “Gotcha.”

“What do you . . .” Realization dawned. “It wasn't.”

“You're not the only one who can be funny around here.”

“That wasn't funny. That was mean.” He sucked in his breath as he realized that somehow, in the last few seconds, things had gotten borderline flirtatious.

So, because inside he was still a thirteen-year-old boy, he stuck his tongue out at her.

Allie raised an eyebrow. “Oh, that's real mature.”

“I'm rubber and you're glue. Whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you.” What was that? He hadn't heard that saying in years—let alone said it to someone.

“What are you? Twelve?” But she was smiling. And Jackson didn't like the effect it had on him. At all.

Alex's dad had hit him pretty hard; he probably had a minor concussion. That was it. Now that he thought about it, he did have a bit of a headache and felt a bit dizzy. Classic concussion symptoms after a blow to the head. That was it. That was all of it.

Eleven

A
LLIE ROLLED HER HEAD AND
listened to her vertebrae crack. First thing after this tour, she was going to make an appointment with her chiropractor. Her entire body felt jolted out of alignment. She peered out the window of the Green Dragon Inn and checked her watch. Almost two. The group should be on their way back to the inn for a late lunch. They were going to have to eat fast and get a move on to make their flight south back to Wellington.

Between Esther and Jackson, she was sure she'd lost a good decade off her life today. Probably more. Thank goodness there was nothing on the itinerary for this evening, because she really,
really
needed a break from these people.

It had been a bad morning. She'd decided that as she'd stood in a steaming hot shower back at the farm and tried to scrub all the dirt and grass off.

Nothing shook your faith in your bad opinion of someone like them saving the life of a child. Actually, that wasn't even
it. She was pretty sure the only type of person who wouldn't rescue a small child would be a sociopath. Or a serial killer. Not exactly a high bar.

It was more that then he had to go and be all
nice
to the father who'd given him a shiner when the Jackson she'd thought he was would've been a condescending git about it. And then,
then
, as she was struggling not to notice his ridiculous blue eyes or the fact that he hadn't shaved for a few days and looked like a rugged movie star, he had to go and be all . . . she didn't even have a word for it. Normal? Kind of flirtatious?

What mattered was that the day had altered the foundations of their mutually disdainful relationship that had been working so well.

Plus, she knew he knew she'd tried to deflect his questions about her. Bad idea. She should've spun him a couple of good stories, but she hated lying—which was good, because she was also terrible at it.

She preferred to tell the truth—but leave large chunks of detail out. She was sure that if there was anything that would kill the weird vibe between them, it would be the words
I'm married
—even though that wasn't the whole truth.

The only highlight was that she'd had to return to the farm to get her backup hobbit dress—yes, she had two—which gave her an excuse to send Jackson to rejoin the tour without her once she'd finished fixing his face.

“Interesting morning, Dr. Shire?” Gandalf had snuck up on her. For an old guy, Mr. Duff could sure move with stealth, especially considering the inn's wooden floors. Where had he even come from? She looked around for the rest of the group but couldn't see them.

“That's one word for it.”

The older man let out a bit of a chuckle. “I have to say, when I saw you rolling down the hill I was sure we were going to be needing a new tour guide.”

Allie summoned up a smile. “Oh, they breed us pretty hardy here. You can't get rid of me that easily.”

“Excellent.”

“Did you enjoy the rest of the tour?” Thank goodness Hobbiton had been able to lend someone to supervise the group while she tended to Jackson.

He beamed. “Oh, it was brilliant, just brilliant. The level of detail they thought of is genius . . .” And he was gone, rattling off his favorite parts.

Allie envied him. She wished she could return to the days when she'd had the same passion for the books, the movies, all of it. When she'd earnestly believed there wasn't a problem in life you couldn't find an answer to in the works of Tolkien. Oh, and the Bible, of course.

Unfortunately, neither of them seemed to have a passage for what to do when you found yourself an accidental bigamist married to a lying, cheating, bottom-feeding, sorry excuse for a man.

And those were his good points.

“Okay, I'm sorry. It wasn't me. I didn't mean to. I'll never do it again.” Jackson interrupted her thoughts, hands held up as if in surrender.

Where had he come from? Why was no one using the front door? “What?”

She looked around. Mr. Duff had disappeared into thin air. It was like the guy was actually a wizard.

“You looked like you were about to hit someone or something. Thought I should get my apology in before I lose use of my remaining eye.”

He wasn't wrong there. In the two hours since she'd last seen him, his right eye had swelled almost shut, showcasing some beautiful shades of purple.

“You're a real comedian today, aren't you?” As hard as she tried, she couldn't keep the laughter out of her voice.

A smile tugged at the side of his mouth. “I like to think it's one of my many, many talents.” She was glad he was only operating at half strength, because having only one of his blue eyes staring at her intently was unraveling something inside of her.

Get a grip, Allie.
Every other compelling reason why nothing could happen with Jackson aside, developing a thing for a guy who was only in the country for three weeks was romantic stupidity.

“I'm sure you like to think so.” Oh man, what she had meant to come out as cutting had somehow come out as teasing. She had to get this back onto appropriate neutral ground. Maybe they were too far gone to find their way back to mutual disdain, but at the least, she had to keep it strictly professional.

The sound of her phone buzzing cut through her muddled senses. A welcome interruption, for once.

She swiped the call on without even looking at the screen. “Hello, Allison speaking.”

“Ah, my darling wife. It's been a while.” The smooth British accent had always been able to send chills down her spine. Except now the reason for them had changed.

Trying to maintain a calm exterior, she mouthed “Sorry” to Jackson before forcing her feet to walk away. Fast.

“Don't call me that.” She didn't even bother to ask how he'd gotten her number. She'd bet a hundred bucks he'd palmed her sister's phone when Susannah wasn't looking.

Opening the front door of the inn, she stepped outside and headed for a nearby bench from which she could see anyone approach. This was one conversation she couldn't have overheard.

“Why not? It's what you are.”

She took a seat on the cool wooden slats. Her body still throbbed from the tumble down the hill and now this. At a rapid rate, today was turning into a cataclysmic combination of disasters and suffering. She should warn people not to travel on the same plane as her this evening. Her life was obviously doomed.

“What do you want, Derek?”

“Nothing.” He pretended to sound hurt. “Can't a guy call his wife to say hi?”

She let out an unbelieving laugh. “Normal guys, sure. But we both know you aren't that.”

“Ouch. That's not the sweet Allie I knew.”

“Yeah, well, she's long gone. Thanks to you. Disappeared the day she discovered she'd been conned and her marriage was a sham.” Why was she talking about herself in the third person? That was just weird.

“C'mon, Allie.” He pulled out the slick, charming tone that had worked so well at getting him whatever he wanted in the past. “You're the only girl for me. How many times do I need to tell you the whole thing with Julia was a stupid drunken mistake? That I honestly thought it had been annulled.”

Allie looked across the lake surrounded by hills dotted with
multicolored hobbit-hole doors. She tried to fight the memory of the time she and Derek had stood in this very spot. One of the most magical days of her life. Blissfully newlywed and convinced she'd snagged the perfect man. No idea the truth was that Derek had snagged her for money to escape mounting gambling debts to people who extracted late payment with their fists. Or worse.

She blew out a breath and forced herself back to the present. “We're not talking about this again, Derek. I don't want to hear it.” She'd long since stopped trying to make sense of the lies he spun to explain his way out of his web of deceit. “Look, we both know that sooner or later you're going to run out of stalling tactics and the court will rule in my favor. Why do you keep throwing away good money? Let it go. Let's move on already. We could part as . . .” Her sentence trailed off. Part as what? Friends? Not in this lifetime.

“Except I don't want to. I want to stay married. Build a life with you.” He paused, as if granting her a split second to say something.

She said nothing. She had learned long ago that the only voice Derek had any interest in listening to was his own. Sure enough, he kept on going.

“Seems ironic, doesn't it, that I'm the one fighting to save our marriage while the so-called Christian is the one trying to destroy it?”

She clamped her mouth shut, forcing back the desire to scream at him that one couldn't destroy something that had never truly existed in the first place. Her gut twisted. He was right, though. If—when—the annulment came through, it would legally be as though they had never married in the first
place, but a court ruling would do nothing to change all the other regrets she would have to live with for the rest of her life. The ones that snuck up on her and placed her in a choke hold at moments when she least expected it.

If she'd listened to the internal nudging she'd felt telling her to tread cautiously and keep her eyes open when it came to Derek, she wouldn't be in this mess. Instead, she'd let herself get swept away by the fairy-tale romance, only to wake up and discover she'd drunk from a poisoned chalice.

Her hands gripped her phone so tightly her fingers hurt. “Don't call me again. If you've got something to say, send it through the lawyers.” And with that, she hung up. Whatever the purpose of his call, one thing had been achieved: the noose of her past was still tied firmly around her neck.