First Real Kiss

Chapter 23

Sheridan

Luke Hotwell’s kiss blurred and drowned all other kisses and memories in my life to nothingness. His lips left me in a dizzying, swaying world where I could only cleave to him for strength—and where I only ever wanted to cling to him forevermore.

He gathered me closer, and it wasn’t close enough—it could never be. Every pass stole my breath, and then gave it back to me again renewed. He shattered and rebuilt all my walls. This man who’d loved his brother enough to redirect his life to saving others, this man who’d buried his fears and given me his days and nights. This competent, powerful, warm-hearted man was kissing me.

And I was kissing him back and wanting more and more—

The light flicked off and on, and a throat cleared. “Sheridan? Sorry to interrupt.”

I tore out of Luke’s arms and ducked behind him. Great. I’d embarrassed him at work.

“Is there something else, Maxine?” Luke asked. He didn’t sound embarrassed. He sounded renewed. “More records?”

“No, I recalled something I think will help with your search.” She handed me a slip of paper with a name and number on it, as well as the words Call her for list of survivors and rescue workers Great Quake.

I could barely contain my excitement. “There’s a list?”

Kissing Luke Hotwell in a closed office in a hospital like those TV medical staffers with no morals—and getting driven to utter distraction by his electric kisses that felt like love and lust and irreversible emotional bonding all at the same time—was one thing. Getting caught by Maxine Jericho, who looked a lot like the stern friend on Golden Girls, was something completely different. My face burned, and I’m pretty sure my neck looked a lot like a Jackson Pollock painting, nothing but splotches.

However, the second I saw that note, I didn’t care who saw me kissing Luke. It could’ve been on a JumboTron at the Reedsville Rhinos game and I wouldn’t have been bothered a bit—because a list existed—and we had a number and a name for how to get it.

“Maxine! Thank you!” I launched into her arms, giving her a heart-to-heart hug, the kind that lets the rhythms sync and souls connect. “I can’t thank you enough.”

When I let her go, she wore a wary look. “You did see the name that goes with the number, right?”

I looked. Marcia Dawsonside. “Any relation to Dusty?”

Maxine lifted her Bea Arthur-arched brow. “By blood, but not by personality.” She shook her head. “Good luck, kids.” And then it sounded like she murmured, “You’ll need it.”

“Isn’t this great?” I turned to Luke, whose eyes were half-lidded and his gaze hungry.

“Not as great as what was going on before Maxine came in.”

Truer words. I lifted a finger and traced his lower lip. “There’s more where that came from.”

“Excellent.” He reached out and pressed the loud, creaky door closed with a slam. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

I snatched the list out of his hand. “Good! Then you have time to go with me to get the list from Marcia Dawsonside.”

His shoulders fell and his head tipped back. “You’re killing me.”

“That’s okay. You’re a physician. You’ll know how to heal yourself right up.” I grabbed his hand and marched him out of there and down to the car, remembering to grab my file folder of notes and gripping the Post-It from Maxine like it was a gold nugget. “I’ll dial her, but I think Dusty told me she lives north of town, in that retirement community with the carousel in the center.” I was already dialing her.

But I stopped short of the final digit.

Marcia Dawsonside was Dusty’s mother. She’d adore Luke for saving Dusty’s grandma’s life—and she’d despise me for how I’d treated Dusty. No matter what Dusty had said, everyone at Bacon had seen me come in with Dusty and leave with Luke, and Torrey Junction was not the type of town where something like that would go either unnoticed or unreported.

I shrank down in the car’s passenger seat.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Everything. The Bible said something about the fury of a woman scorned, but what it didn’t say—and which was much more furious—was the mother of a son scorned. “It might be better if you make the call instead of me.”

“Why would Mrs. Dawsonside even create such a list?” Luke kept his eyes on the road. “And are you sure we need to explore it? Mrs. Dawsonside isn’t unlike what Maxine warned …” He slowed down for a light. “We could work on following up on the notes you made first.”

I let that thought settle in me. “No. I feel like I’ve got to go through with this.” Something about the Post-It from Maxine drew me to it, almost with a pulsating power. “It’s okay. I just think she’d be more likely to offer you the list, since you saved Dusty’s grandma’s life, than she would me.”