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  Above all else, once he reached the pros, Thane had wanted nothing more than to make his parents proud. He had no way of knowing that those first few years he’d end up getting attention for all the wrong reasons. Initially his success had come with plenty of attitude, a willingness to work hard, and a stubborn persistence that even his competitors marveled at. It was only later that he’d had to reevaluate a chunk of it.

  Thane liked to think that when it had counted, he’d done the right thing. No doubt he’d gotten sidetracked along the way. But he’d finally come back to his roots and brought his little boy with him. Too bad his mother and father were no longer alive so they could see the one-eighty he’d pulled.

  Even now he was in the process of rehabbing a storefront to open his own pizza place two blocks from the house his mother had left him on Landings Bay. Home was just down the street from the school where Jonah started first grade.

  So far Jonah’s days there had proved uneventful. No major disasters. Yet. But he knew that would probably change. With a boisterous six-year-old it was only a matter of time before all that energy bubbled to the surface and spelled trouble. If his boy was anything like he’d been at that age, it was inevitable. He’d just have to deal with it when it happened.

  Overnight it seemed as though Thane’s life had changed—gone were the days of living in a self-absorbed fishbowl to becoming a full-time father. Those nights spent carousing every club in Manhattan, doing all kinds of stupid stuff, were behind him. He was a responsible dad now who wanted nothing more than to do the right thing by his kid.

  The days of spending hours boning up on defensive strategies were over, too. Now, he was an ordinary stay-at-home dad, who packed Jonah’s lunch every morning, picked him up after school every afternoon. He dusted the furniture, did laundry, and even changed the bedding on a regular basis.

  So far he’d resisted the advice from his neighbors, Logan and Kinsey, to hire a nanny to look after Jonah when the restaurant opened up.

  He’d have to find a way to do it all himself, he decided. A hands-on dad didn’t hire a nanny. Having someone else in the house would be a distraction and a pain in the ass, especially since Jonah was still grieving the loss of his grandmother. He missed his “Mimi” every single day, still mentioned her when he went to bed every night. Truth be told, Thane was still having a problem dealing with his mother’s death, as well. That’s why lately, it had been just the two of them—father and son—making their way on their own. And for that, Thane would forever be indebted to Alyson Benning. She’d given him his son. Maybe it hadn’t been his initial reaction to the situation at the time, but nonetheless, it was how he felt now. That had to count for something.

  While Jonah’s birth might not have been part of his original master plan, he could be proud of how he’d stepped up when he’d found out. However it happened, however, he’d ended up a father, for Jonah’s sake, or maybe his own, it was now his full-time job. The amount of work it took was unbelievable. Some days he’d had to remind himself that he’d made it through the diaper stage, learned that the terrible twos didn’t come to an end on the third birthday, and weathered a four-year-old testing independence with a full-blown, temper tantrum thrown in a five-star restaurant in the middle of dinner rush.

  No, when the pizza place opened its doors next month, his life would surely get more complicated. But somehow he would find a way to keep up the pace and continue taking care of his son—the same way he’d been doing it for six years. Granted, without his mom around, it would be a tougher challenge. But Thane Delacourt had never run from a difficult task.

  So, for now, he intended to enjoy the ride as much as he could and do it all himself. With that resolve, he shoved the car into gear to go about his errands.

  Chapter Two

  Isabella made her way into Murphy’s Market still fuming about the encounter with Thane Delacourt. Whenever she’d had conversations with Logan about Pelican Pointe—both before and after her decision to move here—he’d failed to mention the major asshole tendencies of some of its residents. Oh well, didn’t every town have a curmudgeon, someone who seemed to take pleasure in bringing misery to neighbors? That was Mr. Delacourt.

  She thought back over the last several months when she’d met practically the entire town at various events—the opening of Phillips Park, the outdoor movie nights held throughout the summer, the concerts over the bay, parties she’d ducked. Now she knew why she hadn’t crossed paths with him before today. He probably didn’t get many social invitations and didn’t yearn to make new friends.

  But then she realized she’d done her fair share of shunning social engagements over the past several months. It wasn’t that she was aloof or unfriendly. It wasn’t because she wanted to remain a mystery to people. But how could she explain that she hadn’t wanted to answer the inescapable questions about her past, those that came with settling into a new place. It meant her absence at get-togethers had led a few around town to believe she was standoffish and distant.

  That included the good-looking Zach Dennison. Zach was a nice guy. Ever since meeting at Julianne Dickinson’s Memorial Day barbeque last spring they’d crossed paths a couple of times around town. After one of the concerts, the two had even shared a meal, sort of, when Kinsey had insisted on inviting everyone back to her place to celebrate the opening of Tradewinds Boatyard, Zach’s new enterprise he’d started with pals, Ryder McLachlan and Troy Dayton.

  Now that she thought about it, there were nice guys all over town. NFL career or not, Mr. Delacourt definitely wasn’t one of them. In fact, his moniker from now on should be something similar to “Oscar the Grouch.”

  Maybe she’d stop by Tradewinds Boatyard and say hello, in a neighborly sort of way, to Zach. Maybe she’d take the initiative and do the asking out.

  After grabbing a shopping cart from the row, she began to feel the aftereffects of falling on her bike. Soreness began to settle in, especially around her right knee. Realizing she was fortunate to have nothing but a few bumps and bruises and not a broken bone or two, she entered the produce aisle, perused the selection of grapes. She stopped to add a few vine-ripe tomatoes to her basket but as she turned to toss in a bunch of kale, her head started to ache. Determined to forge on, she moved past a table piled high with Tuscan melons. She reminded herself that she was on her bike and was therefore limited to how many items she could carry home at one time. But as the pain in her head increased she decided that maybe she needed to get back home. But first she had to troop through frozen food to pick up a carton of chocolate caramel gelato. That would make any ailment feel better. If it melted on the trip back, so be it. She’d lap it up soup-style and be in ice cream heaven.

  With enough supplies to hold her for a couple of days, she headed to the front of the store to check out. But as she stood in line behind Prissie Gates, her head began to pound even worse. Her vision blurred before everything went black. Slowly she crumpled to the concrete floor. The last face she remembered belonged to Thane Delacourt.

  On his way back from the hardware store past the pizza place he had yet to name, Thane spotted the ambulance parked outside Murphy’s Market, its lights still flashing. Knowing Isabella had been headed that way, his first thought was of her. Turning the wheel, he pulled into the lot, and rushed through the double doors only to see her laid out on the linoleum.

  “What happened?” he asked Murphy.

  “Damned if I know. She was standing in line and the next thing I knew she hit the floor. I guess she must’ve passed out.”

  Thane shook his head. “She was in an accident earlier while riding her bike. I almost hit her with my car. It’s possible she hit her head when she tumbled off her bicycle.”

  “We need to tell that to the EMTs.” Murphy turned to the paramedics. “Hey, Deacon, Brian. The girl may have blacked out from an earlier accident.”

  “Okay,” Brian replied as he slapped a blood pressure cuff around Isabella’s arm. “We’ll roll her over to Doc�
��s then for a look-see, have him evaluate her head.”

  “I’ll follow you over there,” Thane offered, catching the other EMT staring at him.

  “I know you,” Deacon said in recognition. “You used to play for the Giants, right? Linebacker, all-American at UCLA, you grew up here.”

  Irritation flickered in Thane’s eyes and had him frowning at the paramedic. He didn’t want these guys focusing on him when what they should be doing was to try to get Isabella over to Doc’s. “That was me, a few seasons back though,” he finally grumbled. “Look, is she gonna be okay?”

  “When did she hit her head? Do you know?”

  “Yeah. About forty-five minutes ago on Crescent Street.” Thane watched as the two men got Isabella onto a stretcher. One of them took out a cell phone, hit speed dial and began detailing Isabella’s vitals to Doc Prescott, the town doctor.

  Grateful for something to do, Thane followed them out the double doors.

  Once he got to the clinic, a renovated Mission-style house off Tradewinds Drive, Thane paced in the outside waiting room while Doc worked on Isabella in one of the three exam rooms. Despite the slapdash looks of the place, he already knew Doc ran a state-of-the-art facility.

  With a kid, Thane had tested the waters two weeks after moving back when Jonah had jumped out of the pecan tree in the backyard and landed on a spike sticking up out of the dirt. It had taken four stitches to close the gap in his hand. During that visit Thane had discovered Jack Prescott knew his stuff. You didn’t spend twenty years as chief resident of emergency medicine in one of San Francisco’s busiest ERs without learning a thing or two.

  And recently the rock star physician had talked his wife, Belle, a former pediatric nurse, into becoming his receptionist. The job was a temporary fix because Belle hadn’t been keen on resuming her duties. Both husband and wife were simply biding their time until Sydney Reed, an ER nurse out of St. Louis, and sister to Hayden Cody, could move to town and take over as Doc’s assistant.

  Hayden had already announced to everyone that Sydney had bought a house on Cape May. She claimed her sister was chomping at the bit to get here and settle in. Thane knew Doc and his wife felt the same way since Belle didn’t exactly want to spend her days at the clinic.

  When Thane finally took a seat in one of the uncomfortable chairs, he tried skimming a magazine article but couldn’t focus on the words. Maybe he shouldn’t have even followed her over here. Isabella Rialto wasn’t his responsibility. Of course, he realized he was the reason she was injured. But that didn’t mean she would like to have him sitting here…waiting for her.

  He wondered if he should call Logan and Kinsey, who both seemed to treat her like close family. As he pondered what he should do, Thane had no way of knowing that inside exam room number three, Doc was in the middle of his own conundrum.

  Jack Prescott eyed the film he’d taken of Isabella’s knee and decided to move on to the brain scan. He picked it up, studied the MRI. Glancing over at his pretty patient as she began to come around again for the second time, he waited for a several moments while she gained a more cognizant awareness. When he could see her look around and clearly take in her surroundings, he said, “Do you know where you are?”

  “Doctor’s office,” she muttered.

  “That’s right. I need to make certain you understand what I’m about to say.” In a no-nonsense voice, Doc went on, “Ms. Rialto, your knee is swollen and hyperextended. If you stay off it for a few days, it should be fine. Your head, however, is another matter. You suffered a small contusion at the back. I’m guessing you’re lucky you turned your head when you did, otherwise you would have hit your temple, a very tender part of the brain where the middle meningeal artery is located. You hit that, and it can easily cause an epidural hemorrhage. That’s why it’s so important bikers always wear a helmet. Soft tissue hitting concrete rarely goes well for the rider. A concussion, young lady, is serious stuff. I’ll need to keep an eye on you for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Do you still feel nauseated?”

  “No. Not anymore.”

  “Still experiencing blurry vision?” he asked, shining his light into her pupils.

  “No.”

  “Good.” He switched x-rays, held up the one he’d taken of her knee. “It might be none of my business, but I see by the images you’ve suffered several broken bones before. The break at your ankle, for example, is old and has healed. There are other breaks, some hairline fractures, still showing up from thigh to heel. Were you recently in a car accident?”

  “No.”

  “I see. Then did you ever play contact sports where you suffered several broken bones?”

  “I ran a little track in high school and college.”

  “Hardly contact sports that would yield such repeated damage.” He thought he already knew the answer but asked the question anyway. “Would you like to tell me how you came by so many fractures over the course of your young life?”

  Isabella closed her eyes. “That’s… It doesn’t matter now. He’s in the past.”

  “No chance of him showing up out of the blue and doing the same thing to you all over again?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Then I’ll release you to go home. I want you to spend the rest of the evening taking it easy. It isn’t necessary to be in bed but I want you off that knee and taking better care of yourself. Thane Delacourt is waiting outside to take you home.”

  That news brought her to a sudden sitting position on her elbows. “What? Why is he here?”

  “You’ll have to take that up with him. He followed the EMTs to my door and insisted on waiting to see how you were.” Doc picked up a chart, began making notations. “I’m prescribing a long, restful weekend. I want you to avoid stress and excitement. That’s a real prescription by the way. Do you think you can manage that?”

  “I live alone. I’ll manage just fine.”

  “Then get dressed. If you need help, I’ll send my wife in.”

  “I’ll manage,” Isabella repeated.

  Doc left her alone and wandered out into the outer room where Thane was. As soon as the two men made eye contact, Doc held up a hand before the man could leap to his feet.

  “She’s fine. A three-day rest with someone making sure she doesn’t have a repeat of what happened in the store and she’ll be even better.”

  “How were her x-rays? Did you do an MRI?”

  “Even if I did, since you aren’t family or related, I can’t share those kinds of details with you.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “She’s getting dressed. She’ll be out in a minute. You can take her home though and make sure she gets settled. Keep an eye on her. You don’t have to sit by her bedside or anything like that but I’d like to know that she doesn’t lose consciousness again.”

  “I will. I can do that. I do feel responsible.”

  “That’s nonsense,” Isabella said from the doorway. “I took a tumble off my bike when I saw your car heading straight for me. That’s all there was to it.” She looked over at the physician who’d treated her. “He’s worried I’m going to sue him, which I’m not.”

  Thane rolled his eyes. “I’m not worried. Maybe my Rover did get closer to you than I thought it did, maybe grazed the fender of your bicycle. It’s possible the car inched you over to the curb.”

  “Don’t be absurd. I fell off my bike,” Isabella stated again. “I was daydreaming just as you said earlier and not paying one bit of attention to where I was going. I didn’t even realize I was pedaling down the middle of the street until you pointed it out.”

  While Doc and Belle took note of the couple’s squabbling, it was Belle who reminded them both, “This is exactly what Isabella does not need right now. She needs quiet for the next several days without stressing out or arguing.”

  “See, we should avoid discussing the entire incident while I drive you home,” Thane pointed out.

  “Just call Logan or Kinsey. They’ll pick me up.”
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br />   “I did. They’ll be over later to check on you after I get you home. But right this minute Logan is dealing with an issue with his agent and Kinsey—”

  “Has the babies,” Isabella finished through gritted teeth. “I get it. Fine. But I have to settle my account first and go back to Murphy’s to get my bike.” She reached in her jeans pocket for her debit card which she’d planned to use at the market.

  But Belle waved her off and pointed to Thane. “He’s already taken care of your copay.”

  “And I threw your bike in the back of my Rover.”

  Isabella’s head began to throb again. She stared at the ex-football jock. “I’ll write you a check as soon as I get home. I’m no one’s charity case.”

  “Who said you were? I just thought you might not feel like dealing with the bill once you were ready to leave.”

  That had her feeling like an ill-tempered shrew. “Just tell me how much it is and—”

  “You’ll write me a check as soon as you get home,” Thane mimicked her voice. “Yeah, I may have hit my head a time or two in football, but I get it.”

  As the two headed out the door to the car still engaged in verbal battle, Doc shook his head. “Do they even realize they’re attracted to each other?”

  “It’s probably too soon. What’s it been? A couple of hours yet since he almost hit her with the car. You have to admit it’s a distinctive way to start out but it’s not unheard of.”

  “I suppose so. From what I’ve seen of Thane Delacourt, would you consider him to be a decent sort of guy?”

  “Sure, I guess. I read he did have some issues in the NFL, dating a different woman every month and all that. Playboy bunnies one week, actresses and models the next. All the stories made me wonder why he came back here to settle down, here of all places when he could live anywhere in the world. Why do you ask such a question?”