“Get away from her.” He hauled the kidnapper to his feet. No one—no one—was going to hurt his daughter.
“Hey! Let go of me.” A rather bossy woman yanked her arm out of his grip. “What’s wrong with you, buddy?”
A woman? He blinked, the scene coming clear to him. His daughter sitting up, cradling her arm. Macie was hurt. Tears stood in her eyes. Was it this woman’s fault? “What are you— I mean, who are you? What’s going on here?” he boomed.
“You must be Macie’s dad. Good thing you came along. Awesome, right, Macie?” She cast him a quelling look and he felt like an idiot grabbing her like that. The girl was lost. Clearly the woman had been trying to help.
Great. Jump to the wrong conclusion, Michael. Just add it to his long list of idiocies around women. The flare of adrenaline crackling through his blood calmed. Now what did he do? Apologize? Explain that he wasn’t a terrible father? All he could see was Macie still on the ground, clutching one arm, pale, shivering and obviously hurt.
“I fell, Daddy.” Her lower lip quivered. “It was the curb’s fault. That’s what Chelsea said.”
Chelsea, huh? He bypassed the woman, catching a glimpse of big blue eyes glaring up at him. Her sweet oval face was framed by a hint of light-chestnut-brown hair and topped with a red hat. He ignored the hitch in his chest that made him want to take better notice of her and knelt in front of his daughter. Macie looked fragile and tiny, and his heart seemed to break—but that was impossible because as everyone told him, he didn’t have a heart. “Were you daydreaming again? Telling yourself stories?”
“Kinda.” She winced. “The snow could be hiding a princess’s castle.”
“Next time, stay with me, got it?” He gentled his voice, although it still came out gruff. Tenderness wasn’t his strong suit either.
Macie nodded. Twin tears trailed down her too-white cheeks.
His poor baby. “C’mon, let’s get you in the car.”
“No. Chelsea says I need an X-ray.” Macie sniffled. “You know why I don’t like the emergency room, Daddy?”
Yeah, he knew. He squeezed his eyes shut to hold in the pain. The past flashed like a mosaic—the receptionist bursting into his office with news of an urgent phone call, the mad dash to emergency, seeing Diana still and slight looking in death. His nurse kept Macie in the waiting room. After hearing the sad news the child had sat utterly still, frozen in a room of chaos.
He opened his eyes. Only a second had passed, but it felt like an eternity. “Let me take a look.”
“No!” She jerked away, the movement causing pain. More tears fell. “It’ll get better. I know it will.”
He knew the sound of desperation. He heard it every day in his office, when family members had to face a tough diagnosis. As a specialist, he gave out bad news as a matter of course. He’d had to harden himself so the sadness wouldn’t take him down. He had patients to think about, he had to stay uninvolved and rational so he could guide them through a tough and trying time.
He gave thanks that his child was healthy, unlike the others he treated, and wiped at her tears. “Come with me, baby.”
“No! I won’t go where Mom died.” His beautiful daughter hiccupped, upset by memories, which were hard for him, too.
At a loss, he opened his mouth and closed it. He wasn’t cut out to be a single father. He wished he were able to do a better job.
Footsteps crunched in the snow behind him. He felt the woman’s—Chelsea’s—glower as she stomped closer. He hadn’t noticed she’d left, but when he spotted two knit blankets folded up in her arms, it touched him.
“She needs to be kept warm.” Her blue eyes met his, full of concern, and was that a hint of censure? Or wariness? Her gaze turned kind as she brushed snow off Macie’s hat. “If we leave you out here any longer, you are going to turn into a snowman, well, a snowgirl, and that would be bad because then you’d melt away.”
“Not if I moved to the north pole.” Macie hiccupped, in an effort to hold back her pain. “I could make a house there.”
“True. You could live in an igloo. It could be cool.” Chelsea rolled her eyes, as if amused by her own pun, and draped one blanket around Macie’s snowy shoulders. “There, now you’re ready for transport.”
“We’re going home, right, Dad?”
“Sorry, baby. I’m worried about your arm.”
“The pain is sharp and radiating.” Chelsea rose, clutching one remaining blanket. “There’s no tingling or numbness in her fingers. No sign of a compound fracture.”
“You’re a doctor?” It came out gruff and ungrateful-sounding, which isn’t what he meant. Not at all.
“That’s what they tell me.” She glared at him, apparently not willing to share her kindness with him.
Not that he blamed her, grabbing her the way he had. He’d been wrong, but the instinct to protect had been right. Surely she could understand that? Trouble was, he didn’t know how to say all that to her. His child was still shivering and in pain, so he gathered her in his arms, keeping his focus where it should be. On his daughter. Her weight in his arms was dear as he stood, cuddling her against his chest. He turned, shielding her from the worst bite of the wind.
“Daddy, promise me.” Macie pleaded, fragile and small against him, shaking with cold and pain. “Not the hospital.”
“I don’t know, baby.” Maybe he could think of a solution. The snowstorm worsened, the downfall so thick it hid all signs of the parking lot, but not the woman standing beside him.
“Where’s your car?” Chelsea in her navy coat said as she forged ahead. “This way?”
“Yes.” He squinted to keep her in sight. She walked easily through the whiteout conditions, graceful as the snowfall. There was something about her that was poetic as the night.
Not that he was given to poetry. He fished his keys from his coat pocket, careful not to jostle Macie. She sniffled against him, fighting her tears. Maybe there was a way to avoid the emergency room. He beeped his remote, and the SUV’s lights flashed through the veil of storm. Chelsea surprised him by opening the passenger door, holding it against the gusts of wind so he could settle Macie into her seat. He brushed the snow off her the best he could.
“Here.” Chelsea shook out the second blanket and shouldered past him. He caught a faint scent of vanilla and strawberry. Light-chestnut-brown hair spilled out from beneath her hat as she spread the afghan over his daughter, tucking it snug around her. “How does the snowgirl story work out? Does she live happily ever after at the north pole?”
“Yes.” Macie sniffled. “Her daddy turns into a snowman so she’s not alone.”
“Sounds like a fantastic story to me.” Chelsea’s smile could light up the darkness. “I’ll see you around, Macie.”
“See ya around.”
“Thanks.” He cleared his throat, but the gruffness remained. The woman’s kindness touched him and drove some of the ice from his heart, on this of all days, the three-year anniversary of his wife’s death. “The blankets. I’ll need to return them.”
“I live at the end of Wild Rose Lane. It says McKaslin on the mailbox. You can’t miss it.” Her gentleness vanished when she turned to him, crossing her arms over her chest like a shield.
Yeah, he’d made a good impression, all right.
“I’ll be praying for Macie, that her arm is all right.” Chelsea McKaslin stalked away, her boots squeaking in the snow.
Before