Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor (Friday Harbor #1)(30)

Mark entered the house through the back, walking straight into the kitchen. Sam was there, pouring himself a glass of wine. He looked haggard. The front of his T-shirt was water-splotched, and his hair was standing up in places. An array of medicine bottles and empty glasses had accumulated on the counter, as well as a plastic jug of rehydrating drink.

Sam looked at him with a flicker of surprise and shook his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you,” he said in resignation. “My God, Shelby must be pissed.”

Setting down his bag, Mark stripped off his jacket. “I don’t give a damn. How is Holly? Whose car is in the driveway?”

“It’s Maggie’s. And Holly’s better. She hasn’t thrown up for an hour and a half.”

“Why did you call Maggie?” Mark asked, nonplussed.

“Holly likes her. And when I met her on Halloween, she told me to let her know if we ever needed help with Holly. I tried Alex first, but there was no answer, so I called Maggie. She came right over. God, she is great. While I was at the store, she put Holly in a lukewarm bath, cleaned things up, and got her to keep down some medicine.”

“So the fever’s gone?”

“For the time being. It keeps spiking, though. We’ll have to keep checking on her.”

“I’ll take the night shift,” Mark said. “You get some rest.”

Sam gave him a weary smile and took another swallow of wine. “I could have handled it. But I’m glad you came back.”

“I had to. I would have been rotten company at the party tonight, worrying about Holly.”

“What did Shelby say?”

“She’s not happy.”

“She’ll get over it. This is nothing that a bouquet of flowers and a little groveling won’t fix.”

Mark shook his head irritably. “I’m not above groveling. But it’s not going to work out with Shelby.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “You’re going to break up with her over this?”

“No, it’s not this. It’s just that lately I’ve realized…never mind, I’ll tell you later. I have to see Holly.”

“If the two of you split,” Sam said as Mark headed for the stairs, “make sure that Shelby knows I’m available for revenge sex.”

The hallway that led to Holly’s room smelled like ammonia and bath soap. Lamplight sent a soft varnish across the rough wood flooring. For a moment Mark tried to imagine what an outsider’s impression of the house would be: some of the unfinished rooms, the floors that needed sanding, the unpainted interiors. It was a work in progress. At this point, they had spent their efforts on structural restoration, making the house safe and sound, but they hadn’t gotten around to doing much cosmetic work on it yet. No doubt Maggie had been appalled.

Entering Holly’s room, he stopped just inside the doorway. Maggie was on the bed beside Holly, who was snuggled in the crook of her arm. A new stuffed animal was tucked on Holly’s other side.

With her face bare of makeup, and her hair pulled back in a ponytail, Maggie looked like a teenager. There were scattershot golden freckles on her nose and the crests of her cheeks. She was reading aloud to Holly, who was glassy-eyed but peaceful.

Holly gazed toward Mark with drowsy confusion. “You came back.”

Mark went to the bed and leaned over her, smoothing back her hair. His hand lingered on her forehead, testing her temperature. “’Course I came back,” he murmured. “I couldn’t stay away if my girl is sick.”

“I threw up,” she told him solemnly.

“I know, sweetheart.”

“And Maggie brought me a new teddy bear and gave me a bath—”

“Shhh…you’re supposed to be falling asleep.”

He looked over at Maggie, and was caught by her dark gaze. He had to check himself from reaching out to touch her, from grazing his fingertips across the festive spray of flecks across her nose.

Maggie smiled at him. “One more page to finish the chapter?” she said, a question tipping her voice, and he nodded.

Drawing back, Mark sat on the side of the bed as Maggie continued to read. His gaze fell on Holly, her lids heavy, her breathing slow and steady. Tenderness and relief and anxiety tangled in his chest.

“Uncle Mark,” the child whispered when the chapter was done. A small hand fumbled out to him across the quilt.

“Yes?”

“Sam said I could have”—she paused with a yawn—“a Popsicle for breakfast.”

“That sounds fine.” Mark lifted her hand and kissed it. “Go to sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll be watching over you tonight.”

Holly settled deeper into the pillows and dropped off to sleep. Slowly, Maggie extricated herself, maneuvering off the bed. She was wearing jeans and sneakers, and a pink cotton sweater that had ridden up to her waist, revealing a strip of pale midriff. She flushed and pulled the hem of the sweater down, but not before Mark’s gaze had flickered to an intimate flash of skin.

They left the room together, turning down the lamp but leaving a night-light glowing.

“Thank you,” Mark said quietly, leading the way through the dim hallway to the stairs. “I’m sorry Sam had to call you. I should have been here.”

“It was no problem. I had nothing else to do.”