Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Renthrow
“It’s just a scrape,” the doctor says after we get to the hospital. “Miss Davenport will be fine.”
Cordelia tilts her head up and flings me a sharp “I told you so” look.
I promptly ignore it. “Are you sure she won’t need a tetanus shot?”
Gordie is in my arms, bopping her head and making her pigtails swing. I doubt she knows what tetanus is, but it’s enough for her that I’m being serious about it.
“I can order a test if you want,” the doctor says hesitantly.
“Do it,” I declare.
Cordelia swishes around so fast that her dark hair spins out. “Don’t push it, Renthrow,” she grumbles. “He said I’m fine.”
The doctor looks at me as if for permission to skip the test.
Cordelia scoffs, clearly displeased with being left out of a conversation that involves her.
“Whatever she wants, Doc,” I say.
I’ll let her win this round. All I wanted was for her to get checked, and if she insists that she’s fine and the professional sees no need for further testing, then I’ll defer to his experience.
A nurse comes in to tend to her hand, and thankfully, Cordelia doesn’t put up a fuss. However, as the medic puts the antiseptic directly on her cut, I notice her pulling her fingers into fists and bracing herself.
Worried, I consider offering some kind of support. But I can’t figure out what to do. Cordelia has never been my biggest fan, and she’s definitely not looking to me for comfort right now.
My daughter pats my chest at that moment. I set her down and watch as she ambles straight over to the wincing patient. Tiny fingers slip over Cordelia’s uninjured hand as Gordie gives her a sweet smile.
I can’t tell if Cordelia appreciates that or not because she’s not looking at me; however, she doesn’t pull her hand away from Gordie’s.
When the nurse is finished, she bandages Cordelia’s hand and directs her to pay the bill and pick up the prescription the doctor wrote for her.
“I’ll get it,” I say, accepting the invoice in her stead.
“It’s my bill, Renthrow,” Cordelia argues.
I hold the paper out of reach. “I was the one who insisted you come to the hospital.”
“But—”
“Gordie, keep an eye on Cordelia until I come back. Take her to see the garden out back.”
“Yes, sir!”
I go to pay the bill and nod at all the secretaries who smile in welcome when they see me.
“Hi, Renthrow.” A nurse passes by and grins.
“Hey, Renthrow.” One of the secretaries leans forward, a smile dripping over her lips. “How you been?”
“Good,” I say. “How’s your mom, Sheena?”
“She’s good. Keeps telling me every day that I should get married and settle down.”
“Sounds about the same as my mom,” I agree.
“Well, how about we help each other?” Sheena gives me a sultry wink. “Take each other off the market and get our moms off our backs at the same time.”
Sorry, Sheena. I’ve already made that arrangement with someone else.
I smile politely to keep from answering.
An older secretary passes by, grinning. “Enough, Sheena. That man won’t love anyone the way he loves Gordie. You don’t stand a chance.”
I shuffle my feet. They’re not wrong, but I still feel like the butt of a joke.
Sheena fights her case. “Gordie’s going to grow up and fly the nest someday.” Sheena twirls her finger, giving me a good view of the claw-like nails she’s sharpened like daggers. “I’m willing to wait until then.”
“I’m sure you’ll find someone nicer than me before that day,” I assure her, half-joking and half-wanting to steer clear of the weapons attached to her hands.
“Call me in fifteen years, Renthrow.”
I laugh.
“Here you go, hun.” Another administrator hands me my credit card and a receipt.
“Thanks.” I tap my card twice on the counter. “Ladies.”
“Bye!” They chorus as one.
I fold the invoice into my back pocket and make my way to the hospital garden that’s located on the east side of the building.
My steps slow as I spot Gordie and Cordelia looking up at a thick crab apple tree.
The breeze ruffles Cordelia’s hair, and she tucks it back gracefully, pointing at a bird nestled in the tree’s branches.
With her face upturned, Cordelia’s pretty neck is exposed, and I realize that I’ve never seen a neck that elegant.
Which is crazy.
Since when have I been into necks?
Cordelia’s in her usual all-black today. A black tank top tucked into tight black jeans. She doesn’t wear a jumpsuit like the other female mechanics, so her arms and elbows are streaked with the evidence of her handwork.
The way the dark smudges smear against her pale skin is absolutely beautiful, like a painting…
My heart picks up speed, and I inhale deeply.
I must be getting heatstroke.
I’ve found myself noticing Cordelia’s beauty more and more lately. And while it’s perfectly natural to admire an attractive woman, I can no longer allow myself to have such thoughts.
Our relationship is strictly business. Nothing else.
“Ready to go?” I ask, walking over.
Gordie’s face lights up when she sees me.
Cordelia has the opposite reaction. Those dark brows furrow in disquiet.
“Daddy, can we have ice cream?”
I narrow my eyes. “We need to go back to the garage and start your interviews.”
“But Cordelia has a boo-boo. You always get me ice cream when I have a boo-boo.”
I tilt my head, smelling a rat. The psychologist said that routines are as important as ever for Gordie, and I can’t stick to routines if she’s calling the shots on our schedule.
Gordie blinks innocently at me. “Please, Daddy.”
My resolve shakes like an earthquake.
Cordelia clears her throat. “I need to get back to work.”
Gordie spins to face her, evoking her lethal wide-eyes-and-pushed-out-lips combo. Knowing Cordelia’s discomfort with kids, I expect her to hold out.
She caves in half a second.
Big brown eyes flitting to me, Cordelia mumbles, “I mean…I could use some ice cream right now.”
Outnumbered, I drive the ladies to the ice cream shop. Gordie excitedly picks out her favorite flavor—strawberry—and I order a coffee flavor for myself. Cordelia goes for a cookies-and-cream, and we all head outside to eat near the children’s play area.
I’m once again locked out of conversation while Gordie and Cordelia chat about motorcycles. But I don’t mind, especially when I see how brightly Gordie smiles.
As soon as my daughter’s finished with her ice cream, she asks permission to play on the slide with the other kids.
I’m left alone with Cordelia.
I lean back in my chair, noticing how stiff she’s gotten now that Gordie can no longer be a buffer between us.
“Are you still mad I took you to the hospital?” I ask.
She stares straight ahead. “You mean ‘dragged’ me to the hospital?”
I accept the berating. Something inside my brain snapped when I saw her injured, and I understand how grabbing her and swinging her into my arms could have been annoying.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She glances over at me, her eyebrows raised.
“I acted without thinking. Actually”—I scrub my chin, which is already getting prickly from my beard filling in—“I was thinking. You’re Gordie’s lifeline. I can’t let anything happen to you.”
Her eyes widen, and she looks away. “You overreacted.”
“In my eyes…” I wait for her to meet my gaze again. “Protecting you is protecting my daughter.”
“I…” Cordelia’s attention slices back to the playground where Gordie is running around. “How am I supposed to respond to that?”
I shrug. That was a simple statement of fact. I wasn’t looking for her permission or approval.
We sit in silence for a minute.
My eyes dip to her hand. “Do you get hurt on the job a lot?”
“No. I was rushing, that’s all.”
“Why the rush? Something good happening later?”
Her expression pinches in a strange way. “Nope.”
Intrigued, I lean forward. “Is your mom back in town already?”
“Surprisingly, it’s even worse than my mom.”
“Worse?”
“I’m meeting a…” She stops herself and glances at me with a hint of uncertainty. “A friend.”
Alarm bells start ringing.
But it’s none of my business. And I really don’t care who…
“What kind of friend?” I blurt.
She rolls her eyes. “One I knew from my old life.”
That told me absolutely nothing. Which is fine. She owes me nothing. I’m only in her orbit because of Gordie, and she’s only tolerating me because of her mom. We have a clear-cut and professional relationship…
“Male or female?” I ask again.
She takes up her napkin and wipes her hands. “I haven’t eaten ice cream in so long, I forgot how sticky it is.”
I reach into my bag and grab a bottle of hand sanitizer. Pushing it over to her, I frown, “Cordelia.”
“What?”
“Is it a guy?”
“So what if it is?”
I guess that’s my answer.
I notice that she’s still frowning at her hands, so I go into my bag again and take out the baby wipes.
“Is it a date?” I offer the wipes to her.
“Absolutely not.” She seems horrified by the thought. Which is enough to put me at ease until she follows that up with, “But I should probably leave now. I need to figure out what I’m going to wear.”
The bitterness in my stomach doesn’t feel particularly warranted.
Or healthy.
“Why do you need to worry about your clothes if it’s not a date?” I ask as naturally as I can.
She wipes her hands as her eyes dart to everything but me.
I’m overstepping my bounds.
Cool it, Renthrow.
“He’s the project manager for the company’s domestic investment team. He’ll be Mom’s liaison for the Lucky Strikers. I’m representing my mom and the company, even if I’ve changed jobs.”
She’s pulling words out of her backside. Or maybe she thinks I’m an idiot.
Who is this guy that she’s dressing up for and blushing about?
Professional. Fake. Relationship. That’s what she and I have. That’s all I need to know.
But the more I think about her sitting across the table from some bozo in a business suit, the more annoyed I feel.
“Well”—Cordelia swallows hard in the middle of our awkward pause—“I’ll tell Gordie bye and then—”
Reaching out, I wrap my fingers around the leg of her chair and drag it flush against mine.
Cordelia stumbles into me. Her hand on my chest and her head tilted up, she asks breathlessly, “What are you doing?”
Who knows at this point?
“I’ll drive you.”
The crease between her eyebrows loosens, and she exhales a nervous laugh. “It’s fine. I’ve taken enough of your time. I’ll catch a taxi and—”
“Tonight.”
The Bambi eyes get bigger, and her mouth gapes wider.
“You said you’re going as your mom’s representative? I’ll go as a member of the Lucky Strikers team.” I sit her upright and rise to my feet. “What time do I pick you up?”