Mark gritted his teeth. “I swear, on my mother’s grave, I would never think of harming you.”
She studied him, and he was grateful she could only see the left side of his face.
“Ms. Madigan, can I have a word with you, please?” Les motioned toward his unit.
She nodded and followed him. Mark watched them in the side mirror, stewing over what a mess he’d made. And now Les was probably telling her Mark’s sob story and how pathetic he was and to show a little mercy. She stood—all 5'4" of her—arms wrapped around her torso in an attempt to stay warm, glancing Mark’s way. Finally, she shook her head, and as Les left her and approached the truck, she turned away.
Les rested his arm on Mark’s window frame. “Well, she’s not pressing charges.”
Mark swallowed, considering for the first time that that was even an option.
“You understand why she thought what she thought, right?”
Mark nodded, fully ashamed.
“She’s pretty shook up. I’d give her space if I were you. Just until things settle down.”
Mark pressed his lips together in a line. “That shouldn’t be a problem.” He wanted nothing more than to head home and lock himself inside. “But she believes me about never hurting anyone, right?”
Les nodded thoughtfully. “I think so. Most likely your reputation will eventually change any ideas she has about you.”
“You mean the one about being a deformed, unhinged recluse?” Mark grumbled.
Les furrowed his brow and looked him in the eye. “I mean the one that you’re a hero.” His words were measured and filled with conviction. “You saved those boys’ lives.”
Mark looked away.
“Like it or not, that’s what people say about you.” He sighed. “Gotta be tough, though, all that admiration.” He waited for Mark to respond.
Mark didn’t.
“Okay. Well, you’re free to go. Tell your dad hello. And again, I’m sorry about your mom’s nativity. That was a county treasure. Come to think of it, so was your mom.” He glanced Riley Madigan’s way. “Maybe she’ll still consider it.”
Mark huffed.
“You never know,” Les said, backing away from the truck. “Miracles happen.”
It took Mark a moment to realize Les was waiting for him to leave and would stand there until he did. He looked back at the art teacher, and she returned his gaze. He gave her a quick but sincere nod, shifted the truck into gear, and pulled into the street, driving past the neighbors still standing on their porches. Roger and Beth Simons waved enthusiastically. Mark couldn’t help raising his hand in return. Everybody knew everybody in this town.
The kids had chosen the ’59er Diner in Cashmere for their after-party. There weren’t any actual restaurants in Miracle Creek, just the Grill-n-Go drive-thru, the bakery, and a bar called Jake’s. Riley almost hadn’t come, but after all their hard work—and the evening’s events—she would at least have a milkshake. On the school’s tab.
Hit with the fortifying smell of onion rings, Riley slid into a vintage red vinyl booth across from Yvette. Most of the kids had eaten. A few greeted her with enthusiasm, wired from the success of the performance, sodas, and ice cream.
“You made it. Here.” Yvette pushed a menu at Riley, who glanced over it half-heartedly. She motioned a waitress over.
“Can you mix milkshake flavors?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll have onion rings and a peanut butter, marshmallow, hot fudge milkshake.”
“Anything else?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“That was decisive,” Yvette said after the waitress left.
“It called to me.”
Yvette smiled.
Riley tried to relax into the atmosphere of the ’50s-style diner, complete with black-and-white checkered floor, posters of Marilyn, Frank, and Doris on the aqua-blue walls, a jukebox, and a life-sized statue of Elvis standing in the corner. But Riley’s mind was replaying her evening so far. Not in a good way.
When her food came, Riley started with the milkshake.
“Hittin’ it hard tonight, huh?” Yvette ventured.
She swallowed and pinched the bridge of her nose as the brain freeze struck. “I just did something horrifying and humiliating at the same time.”
“What happened?”
Riley shook her head, hesitant to share anything. Finally, she leaned heavily on her fist. “What do you know about Mark Rivers? The man we saw tonight after the play?”
“Why do you ask?”
Yvette wasn’t a gossip, and Riley respected her for that. She wouldn’t share anything Riley didn’t need to know, but she would give her the truth.
“He followed me to my house tonight and scared the heck out of me.”
“After the play? But why would he do that? I mean, I can understand being scared, I guess. It’s a little startling at first. But what did he want?”
Riley paused. “What do you mean you can understand being scared? Has he followed you home?”
Yvette covered her mouth. “Oh, heavens, no, I didn’t mean that. I’m just saying that it doesn’t sound like something Mark would do. Are you okay?”
Riley couldn’t help the twinge of anger growing in her gut. “I’m fine. But what if I wasn’t? What if something had happened and he’d done something? Is this the kind of town that holds their heroes”—she made finger quotes—“so high they’re immediately exonerated of all guilt?”
Yvette frowned, watching her. “What exactly happened?”
Riley covered her eyes. “It’s all so lame.” She told her the story, and as she did, she became sure of the stupidity of it all.
“I guess he wanted to ask me to paint him something for Christmas, and for some reason that was difficult for him. And I, obviously, misunderstood. I’m a single woman living on my own. I had to think like that in LA, Denver. Anywhere.” She picked up an onion ring, but then set it down. “Am I that unapproachable?”
“Maybe with a baseball bat in your hands,” Yvette suggested.
Riley smiled at her.
Yvette sighed. “Honestly, that doesn’t sound like Mark Rivers. At least the old Mark. Good family. Good kid. Top of everything. So much going for him and a smile that stole hearts in a second.” She paused. “He’s been through a lot. I’m not saying you had no reason to
