Holding Off for a Hero Read online

  “Sounds as if you’re sulking because you can’t have both your career and a hot number like me, as well,” she said as she pushed a CD into the player.

  She was pretending not to care. Pretending. Yeah, that was it. He hoped.

  ****

  “Let me get you settled in bed.” Emma was close behind him as he made his way to the spare bedroom in her cabin. She’d insisted he stay with her for at least a few days. Realizing he wouldn’t win that battle, and not entirely sure he wanted to, he gave in. “I’ve brought over your pj pants and a couple of T-shirts you can wear in bed. I put fresh underwear and socks in the dresser drawers. Once you’re feeling better, I’ll bring over your jeans and shirts and stuff.”

  “Thanks.” Surprised at how weak the short walk from the car had left him, he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. “Man, I need a shave.” He ran his hand over the two-day stubble on his jaw and chin. “And my teeth feel like they’re wearing little fur suits.”

  “Got it covered.” Emma opened the door to the bathroom between the two bedrooms and proudly displayed his toiletries set up on a shelf above the sink. “Why don’t you climb into bed, and I’ll shave you? Then I’ll bring a glass of water and you can brush your teeth…”

  “Hey, I’m not a complete invalid.” He got to his feet, trying to exude more confidence in his physical capabilities than he was feeling. “I can make myself presentable. But,” he continued, “I’m really hungry. I haven’t eaten since yesterday. I could do with some lunch.”

  “Coming right up.” Emma headed toward the kitchen.

  With a sigh of relief, Frasier moved gingerly into the bathroom, dragging his pajama pants and a clean T-shirt. All he wanted to do was get cleaned up and fall into that comfortable-looking bed.

  ****

  “Soup’s on.” Emma stepped into the room carrying a lunch tray. She placed it on the dresser. After his ablutions, Frasier had climbed gratefully into bed and was now dozing.

  “You’ll have to sit up,” she said, bending to slip an arm beneath his good side and heap his pillows into a stack behind him with the other. “Couldn’t quite manage the shave, right?” She grinned at his stubbled chin and jaw.

  “Easy, easy,” he grimaced. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  “You’ve only got a flesh wound,” she belittled his cringing. “When my brother came home from Afghanistan, he wasn’t half the wimp you’re being, and he was hurt a lot worse.”

  “You have a brother in the military?”

  “Yes, and a twin sister we call Etta, although her real name is Henryetta. My mother was into old-fashioned names when we were born.”

  “You mean there’s two of you?” He couldn’t believe it. One Emma type was more than he could handle.

  “You sound as if that’s a bad thing.” She cocked her head to one side and narrowed her eyes as she looked down at him.

  “No…that is, not exactly. I never would have guessed…”

  “That the world had been so blessed? But enough about me. Time for you to eat and get your strength back.”

  She settled him back on his pillows, then brought the tray to the bed.

  “Minestrone with garlic bread,” she said as he looked down at the meal she was placing in front of him. “Should be chicken, but I didn’t have any stock.”

  “Looks great.” He picked up the spoon. “You’re a twin, you say?”

  “Yes. Now what about your family? Who and where?” She sat down in a rocking chair and crossed her arms.

  “Three brothers and a pair of happily married parents, who live in Halifax. My older brother Scott is a doctor at the cardiac care centre in Montreal. Colin is a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police…in Alberta, I think. I’m never sure where he is.”

  “And the last one?”

  “Gareth, the youngest, is still in university, well on his way to becoming a permanent student.”

  “An impressive lot. What about your mom and dad? Are they retired?”

  “You ask an awful lot of questions when a man’s trying to eat.” He took a big bite of garlic bread.

  “That’s such an old trick it’s got a long, white beard.” She looked over at him, narrowing her eyes. “I’ll wait until you swallow.”

  “Okay, okay! Dad’s a cop, RCMP Inspector, and Mom is a social worker. There, satisfied?”

  He feigned annoyance as best he could, but the truth was the delicious soup and tasty bread were having a mellowing effect.

  “Wow! You must be proud. And they’ll be more than proud of you when you prove the existence of that big pussycat.”

  She arose, green eyes bright with gentle teasing, and started out of the room. “Eat up. I’ll be back shortly with a dessert so good it’s sinful.”

  “Emma.” He stopped her. “Where’s Scout?”

  “Over at your cabin, guarding your research from I have no idea what.” She turned back. “But since that’s what you generally expect him to do, I’ve left him to it. Don’t worry. He’s been fed and watered and had a bathroom break. Tonight I’ll get Bruiser to sleep over there with him so he won’t be lonely.”

  “Thanks.” He leaned back with a relaxed sigh. “I appreciate…everything you’ve done, believe me.”

  “Hey, I owe you a lot more than a bowl of soup.” She grinned back at him. “You saved Bruiser’s life…remember?”

  She left the room humming tunelessly.

  “God help me, so I did,” he muttered, and returned his attention to the soup.

  ****

  When Frasier woke from his next nap, the room had darkened. A thought struck him.

  “Emma,” he called. “Emma, where are you?”

  “Right here.” A moment later she appeared in the doorway and came to his bedside to snap on a lamp. “Are you okay? Do you need more painkillers?”

  “No, no. It’s time I did some drug-free thinking. Where is my ATV? I don’t like the idea of it sitting out there in the woods where anyone might steal it.”

  “Steal it? The only things out there are birds and animals and maybe the ghost of Midnight Jim. Don’t worry, Frasier. Bright and early tomorrow, Bruiser and I will go out and get it.”

  “But you don’t know where to find it.”

  “It’s got to be at the end of the tracks you made, right?”

  “But you don’t know how to drive one.”

  “Ah, ha! Now there you couldn’t be more wrong. That brother I told you about taught me how to handle one of those critters when I was twelve. Like riding any bike, you never forget how it’s done.”

  “I don’t think you should go wandering around alone in the woods…”

  “Hush and stop worrying. I’ll have the Bruise with me.” She gave his shoulder a pat and left.

  Frasier looked down at the Pug standing beside his bed, his curl of a tail wagging vigorously, his wide mouth stretched in a good-natured grin. And groaned.

  ****

  “Would you like me to read to you?” She came back into the room, three books under her arm. “Since we have no TV and you don’t look up to making music, it’s the only form of entertainment I can come up with. I have—” she held them up one at a time— “A nail-biting thriller, a cozy murder mystery, or—” she paused before swinging the provocative cover toward him and striking a seductive pose— “A steamy romance.”

  He flinched. “Not up to a thriller and especially not that.” He indicated the romance cover. “Let’s go for the murder mystery. It’ll be a test to see if my brain is functioning again after the anesthetic and painkillers.”

  “Okay.” Emma pulled a rocking chair close to the bed, adjusted the light, and opened the book. “You’re sure about this?” she asked as she found Chapter One and paused. “That romance is really hot.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure. Just read.”

  ****

  He opened his eyes and blinked up at her. “Sorry. Must have nodded off. What?”

  She was staring at him, transfixed. “I can’t
stop thinking I’ve seen you somewhere.” She closed the book and squinted at him. “Now, with that stubble and your hair all tousled…”

  “Pretty unlikely.” He moved and winced. “If we’d met, I know I’d remember you and…” he pointed at the Pug, “Definitely him.” He let his eyelids droop. “Sorry, can’t seem to concentrate…”

  “A clear indication you need your sleep.” She got up, placed the book on the nightstand, and began to adjust his pillows. “Do you have to go to the bathroom before I tuck you in?”

  “No! Emma, I’m not five years old! I think I’m capable of knowing when I have to…”

  “Okay, okay, but you did have two glasses of water with your supper. Don’t blame me if you have to get up in the night. I helped nurse my brother when he came home wounded, so you don’t have to feel shy.”

  “Thanks,” he muttered avoiding her eyes. “That’s very reassuring.”

  She finished tucking him in, then bent and kissed him on the forehead.

  “If you do need to go in the night, just holler and I’ll come.” She paused at the door. “Can’t have you tripping in the dark or falling headfirst into the toilet. I’m sure the Professor would never forgive me if I let anything like that happen.”

  “Argh!” he gritted between his teeth as she snapped off the lamp from the switch by the door. She went out, leaving him in darkness.

  “Sweet dreams,” she called back.

  With a grunt, he yanked free the blankets she’d tucked about him, then stifled a yelp as his side lurched with pain.

  Gorgeous Emma annoying him, teasing him, raging at him, amusing him, impressing him, making him laugh, constantly astonishing him, saving his life, and now mothering him. How was a man supposed to deal with all that and remain aloof and impersonal? Worse still, how could he possibly manage to plot a method of getting rid of her when all he wanted to do was…

  Frustrated beyond his wildest dreams, he rolled over on his good side, stifling a grunt as his stitches pulled. Damn it, damn it, damn it!

  ****

  “Rise and shine, cowboy.”

  Frasier awoke the next morning when Emma threw open the curtains to let a blast of sunlight hit him squarely in the face.

  “Damn, Emma!” he muttered, shielding his eyes as Bruiser landed in a single bound on his bed. “What time is it?”

  “Nearly 8:00 a.m., my man. Breakfast is spoiling even as we speak. I’ve already brought Bruiser over from your cabin and fed Scout. I would have brought the big guy over, too, but I wasn’t sure you’d want your place left unguarded. Now let me get you into the bathroom and—”

  “No, no, no!” Grimacing, he struggled to a sitting position, thrust his feet out onto the cold floor, and rubbed his temples. “I’ll manage. Just give me a couple of minutes to get awake.”

  ****

  By 3:00 p.m. Frasier could stand no more of Emma’s mothering and ordered her from the room while he got up and dressed.

  “If you feel weak, call me,” she said, leaving the room, undeterred by his refusal to allow her to help. “Put on those warm socks. Can’t have you catching a chill.”

  “Sure, sure,” he muttered, feeling like a belligerent six-year-old.

  “And don’t try to shave,” she swung back on him. “You’re still too shaky.”

  “Go.” He eased his feet onto the floor. One day in bed under Emma’s smothering if well-intentioned care was about all he could handle in a platonic state.

  “Okay, okay.”

  ****

  When he joined her in the living area twenty minutes later, he was glad to sit down on the couch, although he’d never admit it to her. Getting washed and dressed had made him realize he wasn’t yet back in full working order.

  “Good. You didn’t try to shave or comb your hair. But you did wash. You smell fresh as a spring shower.” She sniffed him appreciatively.

  “You didn’t bring my soap,” he said. “I had to use yours.”

  “It is a lovely fragrance…not manly, just lovely.”

  “Fine, so I smell like a girl. At least I’m clean.” He pulled back from her sniffing and looked down at the Pug who sat on the floor in front of him, staring and sniffing, tail wriggling. “No comments from you.”

  “How about some music?” Emma turned toward a small stereo on a table in the corner. “I had a great sound system in my apartment, but there was water damage and the insurance still hasn’t come through. Therefore, this is a bargain store special.”

  “It’ll be fine.” He settled himself more comfortably. “What have you got?”

  “Not much choice.” She shuffled through a small stack of CDs. “Only my oldies that I kept in a plastic container in the basement storage unit survived. Now, let me see…” She paused in mid-sentence and stared down at the square plastic case in her hand, eyes widening.

  “What?” Her startled expression brought the word out sharper than he’d intended.

  “I thought I recognized you…with your hair all tousled and a stubble.” She raised her gaze from the CD cover to stare at him incredulously. “You’re the Frase, Larry Hadlen’s backup singer and guitarist for The Sound. Oh, my God! You really are the Frase!” She was all-out staring at him, her expression one he’d seen thousands of times on the faces of fans and groupies. His heart plummeted.

  “You are, aren’t you?” She crossed the room to stand in front of him, the CD clutched in her hands.

  “Yeah, well, I guess you’ve got me cold. Yeah, I was Larry’s backup a long—a very long time ago.” He spread his hands in resignation.

  “I had such a crush on you!” She sank into the chair opposite him and stared, wide-eyed. “You were the ultimate bad boy of my dreams.”

  “Yeah, well,” he repeated uncomfortably. “The band’s broken up. I’m a dull old associate professor of biology. Times change, people change, and stuff moves on.”

  “I guess.” She continued to gaze over at him, the same star-struck expression on her face.

  “Ah, come on, Emma.” He shifted uneasily. “All that is long past. I’m the hermit at Loon Lake now, so shove your eyes back in place and put on some music that isn’t by The Sound.”

  “Okay.” She backed slowly away from him, still looking awestruck. “Okay.”

  “By the way, thank you for heading out into the woods to rescue me. That took guts, with an Eastern Panther in the vicinity, not to mention the ghost of Midnight Jim. I should have said it sooner, but I guess I was too wrapped up in myself. I’m sorry.”

  “No big deal.” The star-struck look still dominated her features.

  “I disagree. It was a very big deal.”

  “Oh, come on!” She snapped out of her hero worship mode. “Don’t get too melodramatic! I had Scout and Bruiser with me. And I did take a self-defense course last year. Although how effective any of those moves would be against panthers or ghosts…”

  “Okay, okay.” He caught the twinkle in her eyes. “Nevertheless, I’m grateful. I regret I didn’t say it sooner.”

  “Apology—and thanks—accepted. Now let me get back to our dinner.” She went to the refrigerator.

  “You never told me how you happened to take a job in Carleton,” he said, as she rummaged through the crisper. “It’s a long way off most beaten paths.”

  “We spent our summers at Loon Lake when I was a child, remember. I fell in love with the place. A few years ago when I was surfing the net for job prospects, I found one that suited my qualifications in Carleton. I jumped at the chance.”

  “Are you still happy with your decision? Seems you’ve had a lot on your plate, dealing with kids with drug problems.”

  She faced him, a bag of carrots in her hand. “It’s been a challenge, but it’s my job, what I hoped to do when I became a guidance counselor. Sometimes, though…” She frowned. “I wonder if I’m making any difference at all.”

  “It can’t be easy. But don’t give up. Never give up. It’s a battle worth the effort.”

  **** />
  An hour later he sat ensconced in a chair in front of the fire, reading one of the newspapers Emma had bought when she made (she told him later) a quick (the word made him cringe) trip to Carleton that morning while he’d (apparently) been dozing. A soothing instrumental wafted softly from the small stereo while Emma prepared a beef roast (another acquisition of her journey) that smelled so good he felt he could salivate like one of Pavlov’s dogs. It wasn’t only the meat. Emma Prescott in her jeans, plaid shirt, and moccasins looked a whole lot more tempting than any food as she chopped vegetables at the counter.

  The fine weather that had begun the day had vanished. Now an autumn storm buffeted the cabin, with rain slashing at the windows while a gale howled around the corners. But inside all was cozy, domestic warmth. Emma, with Frasier’s permission, had brought Scout from his cabin. The big Shepherd lay stretched out on the hearth, the Pug in his basket beside him.

  I could get used to this real easy. Frasier put down the paper and stretched as best his stitches would allow. A comfortable little wilderness cabin, the dogs, Emma making like a wife…

  “Broccoli or spinach salad?” She broke in on his thoughts as she opened the refrigerator door and bent over the vegetable bin. Bent. Yellow pantaloons, short green dresses, now super-fitted jeans. A series of frustrating images flashed through his mind.

  “Frasier?” she half-turned to look at him. “Spinach or broccoli?”

  “Spinach…yeah, spinach,” he garbled and held up his paper to block the view.

  ****

  “I didn’t hear you leaving for town this morning,” he commented an hour later as they ate their dinner. “Did you get a new exhaust system on your car?”

  “No, I took your SUV.” Emma didn’t miss a beat as she cut into a slice of medium rare roast beef.

  “You what?” His knife clattered onto his plate. “It’s not my SUV. It belongs to the project, and—”

  “Relax, Frasier.” She looked up at him in mild exasperation. “It’s still in A-1 condition. My car was low on gas. I didn’t want to risk getting stranded on the road, with you incapacitated and all, so when I saw yours was full to the brim…”

  “How many citations did you manage to rack up on this cannonball run?” He looked over at her.