brought a gurney to the pool, while a female paramedic carried her bag and placed it next to Mr. Murdock.
The tough old man waved her away, especially when she tried to attach an oxygen mask to his face.
Justin seemed none the worse for wear, thank goodness.
“Can I have a ride in the ambulance?” he asked one of the firemen.
“That depends,” the fireman said, nodding toward Mr. Murdock. “Is this man your grandfather? And did you ride with him here today?”
“No, they’re not related,” Angie clarified. “And we’re not riding in the ambulance. We need to go back to the ranch.”
“Then can I see how you turn on the siren?” the boy asked.
“Maybe after we get this gentleman loaded up,” the fireman said.
“Who, me?” Mr. Murdock asked, apparently realizing that the 911 call had been made for him. “I ain’t going nowhere in no damn ambulance. And I don’t need no siren. My ticker is just fine. I only got a little winded after a friendly competition with the boy.”
“A competition?” the paramedic asked. “Maybe we should start at the beginning. What’s going on here?”
Justin explained what had happened, going so far as to tell them how Angie had tried to save his life, even though it didn’t need saving.
“Mr. Murdock beat me the first round,” Justin said, “but he taught me how to let the bubbles out my nose to keep the air in my lungs longer.”
“Well, I don’t think Mr. Murdock’s lungs are doing so great right about now,” Angie mumbled in frustration. Her worry now switched to the old man.
Mr. Murdock finally ripped the oxygen mask out of the female paramedic’s well-intentioned hand and threw it about ten feet into the pool.
Then he pointed an arthritic finger at the poor woman only trying to do her job. “I said I don’t need medical attention. What I need is a Scotch and a cigarette.”
Angie wanted to tell the old man that she didn’t think his lungs could take the extra stress of inhaling tobacco right this second. But before she could, he turned to her and said, “You done good, Girly. No one was drowning, but if the kid had been, your response time was the quickest I’ve ever seen.”
A wet Mr. Murdock in a saggy bathing suit shuffled to his feet and dripped his way to the changing rooms with the paramedics still following him.
A 911 call was big news and everyone inside the YMCA had now gathered around the pool area to watch. There was no getting around it. She was going to be the talk of the town before nightfall.
Angie, her yoga outfit drenched in water and stuck tight to her skin, pulled Justin into her lap and held him close. Thank God everything had turned out okay.
Still, as she glanced at the oxygen mask floating to the deep end of the pool, she sighed. What a day. She might have had the best of intentions, but she’d really screwed up.
How was she ever going to tell Toby that she’d nearly lost Justin—and that she just might be as flighty and irresponsible as everyone seemed to think that she was?
* * *
Toby had just pulled the chicken off his outdoor grill when the headlights of Angie’s Toyota flashed, letting him know she was turning up the drive that led to his house.
He’d put Brian in charge of making the salad with the promise that if the kid could master assembling some easy dishes in the kitchen, Toby would teach him how to man the grill next time.
And it had worked like a charm.
When Angie and Justin climbed from the car, Toby called out, “You guys are just in time for dinner.”
Neither of them spoke as they slowly made their way to the patio at the side of the house.
That seemed a bit odd.
Toby flashed Angie a smile, which she didn’t return. And that was his second clue that something had gone wrong.
Why was her hair all wet and slicked back?
Uh-oh. Her clothes were wet, too.
Before he could ask, she said, “We had a bit of an incident at the pool.”
“What happened?”
When she didn’t give him a speedy reply, Justin answered. “Me and Mr. Murdock were having a breath-holding contest, and Angie thought I was drowning. So she jumped in the pool to save me.”
Justin glanced at Angie, then at Toby, his eyes wary as though he was bracing himself for a scolding. But Toby was still waiting for Angie to say something.
Apparently, thinking he was off the hook, Justin brightened and really opened up. “It was pretty sweet, though. The firemen and paramedics came—with sirens and everything. But best of all, I beat Mr. Murdock at holding my breath. And then he cussed. And Angie yelled at both of us. And even though the fireman said I couldn’t ride in the ambulance, but I could look inside, Angie wouldn’t let me. But that’s okay, because—”
Toby interrupted the boy’s rambling dialogue and said, “Kiddo, why don’t you go get some dry clothes on before dinner. I’ll let Angie tell me the rest of the story.”
There was no telling what all had transpired at the YMCA earlier, but knowing Justin’s history of wandering off and Mr. Murdock’s fierce competitive streak, Toby was able to piece a lot of it together.
After Justin ran inside, Toby turned his full attention to the soaking-wet woman. She’d better get out of her clothes, too.
Whoops. Now that was an intriguing thought. And an arousing one, seeing how the Lycra now covered her like a sexy layer of skin. But as tears filled her eyes, his thoughts cooled to sympathy.
Justin said she’d been angry earlier, but she appeared to be hurt now. Crushed, actually.
Uh-oh. This was bad.
What in blazes had happened?
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have gone to that yoga class. I should’ve just stayed out by the pool with him. And then, when he wasn’t where he was supposed to meet me, I thought of all the terrible things that could have happened to him, and I panicked. I guess you could say I had a meltdown, and everyone saw the whole thing.”
“It couldn’t have been that bad,” he said.
“Oh, no? If I’d been on an E.R. reality show, the TV ratings would have shot through the roof. It was terrible, and I completely lost it.”
She started rambling then, just as Justin had. And while her sweet face still looked confused in the aftermath of her unnecessary panic attack, the snug workout pants sent his testosterone soaring, and he nearly dropped the platter of grilled chicken he was holding.
Damn. If he didn’t have his hands full, he’d pull her to him, wet Lycra
