“I’m really sorry, Mr. Rossi,” the child said, drawing closer.
Derek guessed the girl to be nine, maybe ten. She was thin but not undernourished. Her face was covered in freckles and her eyes, instead of being blue like her mother’s, were a vivid green, framed by thick brown lashes. But what Derek noticed most was her hair. It hung in long corkscrew curls halfway down her back. It was a tan color, not blond but not really brown either. She was cute, rather than pretty. He decided she must take after her father.
“I noticed a ball on the floor and I threw it to you.” By now the child had tears in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”
Before Derek could respond, the event coordinator returned juggling a cup of water and Tylenol in one hand and an ice pack in the other.
“Thanks, Ron.” Derek swallowed the pills and pressed the ice bag gingerly against the side of his head.
Once that was done, he reflected on what the child had said, wondering if he’d heard correctly. The ball that had hit him had packed a wallop. Had it really been thrown by a girl?
“Do you forgive me?” By now tears were slipping down the girl’s cheeks.
“Mr. Rossi understands it was an accident.” The woman stared into his eyes. Her expression reminded him of a tigress protecting her young. “He’s not angry with you.”
Derek shrugged off Rachel’s hold and rose to his feet. She quickly followed, standing close, as if worried he’d fall. For a second that seemed possible, but thankfully the spinning room righted itself.
“I’m not angry,” he said. “I’m impressed.”
Mickie cocked her head, clearly puzzled.
Rachel’s jaw dropped. “Impressed?”
“Your kid has one mean throw.” He shifted his attention to the child. “How long have you been playing ball?”
Mickie blinked. “Never. I just came here today to help Rachel.”
“You call your mom Rachel?” Living in California, Derek knew lots of kids who called their parents by their first names. In fact, most of those moms and dads insisted on it. He just hadn’t expected that to be the case in Jackson Hole.
“Rachel is my foster mom.” The girl ducked her head and stared at her feet. “I’m just staying with her temporarily.”
An armful of bats hit the hardwood and Derek jumped. A knifelike pain sliced his head open. He inhaled sharply.
“You’re hurting.” Ron stepped closer, his eyes filled with concern. “I think we should get you to a doctor—”
“I’m fine.” Derek pressed the ice pack more firmly against his head and gestured to Rachel. “I have my own personal emergency room nurse.”
“They don’t come better than Rachel. She was on duty last year when they brought my son in.” For a second the older man’s eyes darkened, then he placed a fatherly hand on Derek’s shoulders. “If you’re still in pain next weekend, we can cancel your appointments.”
“No way.” Derek had made a commitment to do private lessons next Saturday and he honored his promises. Not to mention the proceeds were essential to Jackson Hole’s fledgling Big Brothers Big Sisters program.
“At least promise you’ll take care of yourself this week,” Ron pressed.
Derek knew some guys might have been irritated by Ron’s hovering. But the event coordinator had a big heart. Derek had seen that heart in the considerate way the gray-haired man had treated the kids and parents today.
“You got it,” Derek said.
“Good.” A look of relief crossed Ron’s face. He removed his hand from Derek’s shoulder and glanced at his watch.
“Go ahead and leave, Ron,” Rachel urged. “I’ll lock the doors.”
“Closing up is my responsibility, not yours,” Ron protested.
“Yes, but Amy Sue is expecting you at her piano recital. Your granddaughter will be disappointed if you don’t show.” Rachel’s tone turned persuasive. “Besides, it will give me more time to observe Mr. Rossi before I clear him to drive home.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Derek interrupted, annoyed at being discussed as if he wasn’t in the room. “A couple hours and I guarantee I’ll be good as new.”
“See, Ron?” Rachel said. “Derek thinks you should go to the recital, too.”
It wasn’t exactly what he’d said, but Derek wasn’t about to argue. Ron didn’t need to hang around because of him.
The older man thought for a moment, then nodded. “You’ve convinced me.”
Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. For a second she’d thought the older man might insist on staying. But family was important to Ron. After losing his son in a motorcycle accident last year, he’d made his loved ones even more of a priority. Still, instead of immediately hightailing it for the exit, the event coordinator turned back to Derek.
While the two men talked, Rachel stayed silent, listening, amazed at Derek’s commitment to youth mentoring. It was a far cry from what she’d read and heard in the media recently. In fact, the tabloids had her believing the only thing Derek Rossi cared about was himself.
“Rachel, I’m hungry,” Mickie whined when Ron finally strolled off. “When are we going to eat?”
“I’m a little hungry myself,” Derek said.
Rachel turned. His eyes were blue, like hers. But while hers were just average run-of-the-mill blue, Derek’s reminded her of the color of the ocean off a Caribbean island.
They were the eyes of a man who’d left a trail of broken hearts in his wake. Clean-shaven, with dark hair cut stylishly short, the former professional baseball player had a lean muscular build and a classic handsomeness that most women would find appealing.
She, on the other hand, preferred her men bigger, more rugged and bulky.
Like Tom.
Her heart gave a little ping.
“How about we all get something to eat?” Rachel said without thinking.
Derek’s gaze turned speculative. “What about your husband? Will he join us?”
“I’m not married. Not anymore.” Rachel spoke in the even tone she’d perfected the past three years. “My husband died.”
Confusion clouded his eyes. “But you’re wearing a wedding ring.”
Rachel glanced at her left hand. Should she try to explain? He wouldn’t get it. Even her friends didn’t understand. How could they? They’d never had a husband murdered. Never kissed their spouse goodbye and had a sheriff show up less than an hour later with devastating news. They hadn’t gone into early labor from the shock and been consumed by guilt because the baby, their long-awaited first child, had been too small to survive.
“Wearing it makes me feel like Tom is still with me, close by,” she said unapologetically. “It probably sounds crazy to you—”
“Not at all,” he said with such conviction that she almost believed him. “My father passed away from cancer when I was a little younger than Mickie. My mother wore her wedding ring until I was out of high school.”
The empathy in his voice took her by surprise. And oddly, it made Rachel feel better to know another young widow had also sought comfort in the familiar….
“I think Rachel likes pizza,” she heard Mickie say.
Rachel pulled her thoughts back to the present, wondering when the conversation had made the jump from rings to food. “Pizza is good.”
“Great.