Mayday (15 page)

So they lifted the tree again and kept moving. When they reached the hole they'd dug for the Maypole, they set the tree trunk to one side. She made sure the rough part—the part that had given her the splinters—rested against the ground. Panting a little at the exertion of the past few minutes, she removed the dark gray sweater tied around her waist and pulled it on. No need to bleed all over everyone, after all. When she got a free moment, she could find some antiseptic and bandages.

She sat on the tree trunk while she caught her breath. Immediately, she felt a gentle hand moving up and down her back, soothing the tense muscles there. When she looked up, she caught Wes's gaze on her. Despite everything, the corners of his mouth tipped up as he maintained eye contact.

“I don't remember the last time I relied on someone else like this,” he said. “Thanks for your help, baby.”

Using the support of his strong arm, she stood with a slight groan. “You're welcome. What do we do now?”

“I've got this part,” he said.

On a nearby table, alongside the ribbons, sat a bullhorn. He picked it up and jogged up the steps to the central wooden platform. With a last smile directed her way, he pushed a button on the back of the bullhorn.

“Welcome, Niceville citizens and visitors!” he boomed.

Most of the protestors went silent, but not Mr. Skagway. “What don't we want?” he shouted. “Flower vaginas! When don't we want them? Now!”

Wes pointedly ignored him. “Thank you for your patience as we worked through some last-minute difficulties. As you can see, though, the Maypole has arrived, thanks to the kind contribution of a cherry tree from the Murphy family. Now that we have everything we need, let's work together to attach the ribbons to the Maypole, raise it, and trim the ribbons to the right length. Are you excited to see a Maypole here in Niceville for the first time in a century?”

The crowd cheered, and he smiled at them.

“I consider our difficulties tonight a lesson about how communities truly function,” he added, his expression turning serious. “Not with perfect harmony, but with perseverance, generosity, and the will to move forward as a team for the betterment of all. And what better lesson to take us into spring and the rebirth of our downtown?”

As the people clustered around Wes applauded, Helen realized that the protestors had started to disband. Even Mr. Skagway had fallen silent. The sign he carried dropped to his side as he too strode away, defeated for the moment by the power of Wes's words. With a subtle turn of her head, she glanced over to where Bea stood. The councilwoman was eyeing Wes with her usual calm demeanor, but Helen could detect a hint of approval in the lines of Bea's serene face.

Damn right. Wes deserved Bea's approbation. After years of hard work and self-sacrifice, he deserved recognition, success, and an opportunity for a future that would make him happy. He deserved everything. Everything.

Even if everything didn't include her. Helen blinked rapidly, her gaze dropping to the grass beneath her feet.

Wes spoke again, and the crowd grew silent. “We can make this May Day special for Niceville. It's time for a new beginning, and it starts here. If you want to help, please come forward. Our volunteers will show you what needs to be done. We also have a little something special planned for the raising of the Maypole.”

“What is it?” a young girl in the crowd shouted.

He sent her a grin. “If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise. But you'll see. In the meantime, enjoy the free coffee and discounted”—he paused—“merchandise, as well as the vendors who've set up booths for the weekend. As a reminder, many of our downtown restaurants and stores are open late both tonight and tomorrow, and they'd love for you to visit. Thank you for being here tonight, and please come back tomorrow for an entire day of community events. Good night, everyone.”

Wes jumped nimbly down from the platform and strode into the crowd, prepared to greet his constituents. After one last burst of applause, the crowd scattered in all directions—toward him, toward the Maypole, and toward the various other attractions set up for their entertainment. Speakers hidden in the bushes came to life, piping the sound of big band jazz into the square. Along the edges of the crowd, she could see the owners of the booths approved by the May Day Celebration Committee talking with customers as they sold crafts, baked goods, flowers, and local produce to the citizens and tourists who'd traveled to attend the event.

The volunteers sprang into action, resting the top of the tree trunk on an anvil so citizens could more easily attach the ribbons. Again, Helen ensured the roughest parts remained out of the reach of both helpers and citizens. There was no time to sand the damn tree right now, but at least she could make sure no one else got hurt.

After a few minutes and more than a few near misses with the hammers and nails provided, the ribbons were attached, and the Maypole was ready to be raised to vertical and inserted into the waiting hole in the ground. Volunteers had made that hole last night, measuring to make sure it was just the right size for the Maypole they'd ordered. But of course, her cherry tree might not fit so well. She crossed her fingers, hoping for the best.

Wes got back on the bullhorn. “Are you ready to see the Maypole in all its glory?” he called out.

When a spotlight illuminated the hole for the Maypole, people whooped and gathered closer. The music came to a halt, emphasizing the significance of the moment. Wes gestured to the volunteers, who lifted the Maypole and set it in the hollow they'd dug. To Helen's relief, it fit perfectly, rising a few feet above the crowd with its ribbons shining in the spotlight. Volunteers positioned the anvils they'd provided to ensure the stability of the Maypole at its base. Mark reached up to push at the trunk, checking to make sure it wouldn't topple over. It didn't budge.

Just as they'd planned, the trees all around the square—at least, the ones not burned to a crisp—lit up with strings of bulbs in spring colors. Pink, yellow, green, blue, and white. The more artistic light displays illuminated too, showcasing images of flowers, butterflies, and plants. She could hear people gasp at the beauty of it, and her pride at what they'd accomplished nearly brought her to tears again.

When she could tear her gaze from the lovely sight, she saw Wes looking her way.
Thank you
, he mouthed. She gave a little bow.

Vivaldi's “Spring” began to play through the speakers, and she saw a few of their more musically inclined citizens smile at the sound. Several couples drifted toward the small wooden platform the committee had built for dancing, climbing up onto it so they could embrace and sway to the music. A few people trimmed the Maypole ribbons to the appropriate length, while others shopped, chatted, or ate.

Her city had come to life again. All thanks to the man who'd disappeared into the clusters of townspeople, no doubt charming each and every one of them.

No, she couldn't hold him for long. She knew it. He had a big future ahead of him, too big for the likes of her. The only question was whether she'd survive his departure into that future with her heart intact.

She was beginning to suspect the answer was a firm, resounding
no
.

A
s the last volunteers finished cleaning up and headed for home, Wes stretched his arms above his head with a jaw-cracking yawn. Despite its unfortunate start, the night had proven successful beyond his wildest hopes. He'd seen hundreds of locals mixing with tourists in downtown shops and restaurants. Several business owners—including a few who'd previously expressed skepticism about his plans—had made a point of thanking him and encouraging him to hold similar events in the future. Everyone had appeared excited about the May Day Celebration in progress, even though tonight was nothing compared to the various activities planned for tomorrow.

No doubt the newspaper reporters and Bea had taken it all in, every bit of it.

He hadn't had the same luxury. As the mayor and organizer of the event, he couldn't spare any time to stand around and enjoy the evening. But now that he'd greeted the last visitor and thanked the last volunteer, he could stop acting like a mayor and start acting like a man. A man who couldn't contain his pride at what he'd accomplished with the help of his constituents and one very special woman. His woman. And he wanted to share that pride with her. He wanted to celebrate their achievement together.

If only he could find her. He'd caught glimpses of Helen throughout the evening, but every time he'd tried to catch her attention, a volunteer had needed her help. Or someone had wanted to talk to him. After an hour or two, he'd given up, figuring he'd see her when all the hubbub ended.

It had ended, and so had his patience. He wanted her by his side.

He finally found Helen sitting slumped on the edge of the wooden platform. In the dim light, behind the barrier of her glasses, he couldn't quite tell where she was looking. Maybe at the fanciful depiction of a tulip in lights near her, maybe at the booth vendors closing up shop for the night. Maybe at the Maypole, still illuminated by the spotlight.

When he got closer, though, he could see her eyes were closed. Poor baby. She'd had a stressful day, and her inconsiderate boyfriend had kept her on the phone late last night. Of course, she'd gotten something out of that call too. Two somethings, as a matter of fact. But he still regretted the fatigue the call had caused.

As quietly as he could, he settled on the platform next to her. When he slid a supportive arm around her shoulders, though, she jerked in alarm. With a gasp, she pushed him away and shot to her feet.

His heart clenched at the alarm on her face. “It's me, baby,” he told her quietly. “I'm sorry I frightened you.”

He held out his arms to her, watching as her weary mind registered his identity. The anxiety on her face dissolved, and she walked into his embrace. For several moments, she simply stood between his legs, her arms tight around him as he stroked her back. With a sigh, though, she finally released him. Sitting back down next to him, she allowed him to put his arm around her again.

“Must have drifted off,” she said. “And I'm not used to waking up with anyone else around. Sorry about that. For a moment, I thought there was a stranger in my bedroom.”

She leaned against him, resting her head against his chest. Her bright curls spread out over his coat when she nestled closer, as if seeking his heartbeat beneath the layers of fabric, flesh, and bone. The sight caught at him, making him take a deep, steadying breath.

Trust. She trusted him.

When he reached out his free hand to clasp hers, though, she gasped again. This time, she didn't sound scared. She sounded like she was in pain.

He let go of her hand immediately. “What happened, baby?” he asked, searching her face for the answer. “What's wrong?”

“A couple of splinters from moving the Maypole. Maybe a few cuts too,” she said. “Don't worry. I didn't bleed on anyone. The cuts are on my forearms, and I put on my sweater as soon as I realized what had happened.”

Trying his best not to hurt her again, he stripped off her cardigan. It seemed to stick to her flesh, and she bit her lip when he tugged lightly. Finally, the soft gray knit released from her skin, revealing her uncovered forearms. He leaned over and squinted in the darkness, trying to see where she'd injured herself.

Some dark splotches stood out against her pale skin. She'd definitely been bleeding. No wonder the sweater had adhered to her. In the dim light, though, he couldn't make out how deep the cuts were or whether they were still bleeding. And as hard as he squinted at her hands, which she held palms-up for his inspection, he couldn't determine the location of any splinters.

He laid her hands gently in her lap and stood. “I'll go get a flashlight and my first-aid kit from the truck. I need to get a better look.”

“It's nothing,” she protested. “I'll take care of it when I get home.”

“No.” He shook his head. “We should have removed any splinters and bandaged your cuts hours ago. And I'm taking you to a doctor if you need stitches.”

He turned toward the parking lot, and she started to stand too.

“No,” he said again. “I'll be able to see you all the way to my car. Sit. Stay here.”

“Woof.” She put her hands out like paws in front of her chest and panted.

He rolled his eyes. “Suck it up, woman. Sometimes you're too stubborn for your own good.”

He strode to his truck as quickly as he could, removing the first-aid kit he kept stored there. Inside it, he knew he'd find a set of tweezers, some disinfectant, and bandages. The flashlight rested in his console, and a push of a button confirmed that the batteries still worked.

When he returned to find her still sitting in the same spot on the platform, he slanted her a teasing grin. “You stayed.” He lowered his voice to a croon. “Who's a good girl? You are. Yes, you are. Yes, you are.”

“It's rapidly becoming clear to me why Vampira bit you,” she said. “Don't push me, Mayor.”

He took her hands in his again, making sure not to touch the palms or fingers. Turning them over, he aimed the flashlight and surveyed the damage. Then he inspected her arms just as meticulously. “I'm not entirely thrilled with you, either,” he said. “Why didn't you tell me you were hurt as soon as it happened?”

The cuts on her arms had stopped bleeding at some point during the night, although they'd need bandages. He was no doctor, but he didn't think they required stitches. Two nasty-looking splinters had embedded themselves beneath the skin of her right palm, though, and those were going to prove trickier to treat.

“I didn't tell you because we had a crowd waiting for the event to begin,” she said. “You had something to prove to them, especially Mr. Skagway and Bea. You also had something to prove to yourself, I think.”

She sees me too clearly
, he thought.
I don't know whether to appreciate it or hide
.

“And then I didn't want to disrupt the evening. You've worked so hard, Wes. I wanted to make sure everything ran smoothly for you, so I refused to leave for a couple of stupid splinters.” The sweetness of her smile pierced him in the darkness. “I wanted you to spend every minute of tonight enjoying your accomplishment, not picking wood out of my hand or searching for extra help when I left.”

He stilled, her words striking somewhere deep inside him. She'd quietly coordinated the event for hours, cutting ribbons, manning booths, and directing volunteers as necessary. No fuss. No complaints. All the while, she'd been in pain. But she hadn't told him or left to take care of the splinters or her bleeding arms. No, she'd just worked. For his sake.

It warmed his heart and broke it at the same time. It also pissed him off.

He took her face between his hands, cupping her cheeks and making sure she met his eyes. “You're more important than an event or anything else I'm doing. If you get hurt or sick, you tell me right away.”

“But I—”

“Promise, Helen. Knowing you were in pain the whole time strips some of the joy from tonight away from me. So if you truly want me to enjoy my so-called accomplishments, you'll tell me next time.” He shook his head, correcting himself. “Every time, actually. I don't want to choose between you and my job. I want both.”

She blinked at him. “I shouldn't be your priority, Wes.”

“It's not a matter of should or shouldn't, baby. It's an acknowledgment of reality.” He ran his thumbs along her soft cheeks. “So promise me.”

She sighed, her breath tickling his face. “I promise.”

“Also promise me you won't sit alone in the dark with your eyes closed again. Not in public. It's not safe.”

“I knew you were nearby,” she argued, her eyes narrowing. “I'm a big girl, Wes. Don't baby me.”

“I didn't know where you were. Anything could have happened before I saw you,” he countered. “Promise me, baby.”

She glared at him, and he stared back. That lasted for a minute or two.

“I can do this all night if necessary,” he said.

He could almost see her bat down her desire to choke him. At long last, though, her shoulders slumped, and she surrendered.

“Fine,” she gritted out. “I promise.”

With a satisfied nod and a kiss on her forehead, he let her face go. “Good. Then let's take care of these before they get infected.”

“They're not going to get infected over the course of one night,” she muttered.

He ignored her, lifting her arms so he could examine them more closely. She'd need quite a few bandages, from what he could tell. He wasn't going to be able to fix her cuts and remove the splinters while holding a flashlight, though. “Let's get under the Maypole spotlight so I can see your hands and arms without the flashlight.”

Despite her continued grumbling, she allowed him to guide her under the bright light.

“We'll make sure a few of our volunteers sand that pole first thing tomorrow morning,” he told her. “So you don't get more cuts, and neither does anyone else.”

He leaned over her left arm and took out a disinfectant wipe from a small, square wrapper. At the first touch of the damp cloth against her cuts, she inhaled sharply.

His hand instinctively stilled at the sound of her pain. He glanced up at her in concern. “Does that hurt too much?”

She shook her head, directing a shaky smile his way. “Nah. Just a little sting. Keep going.”

A long moment passed before he could make himself resume his task. Then, bracing himself against further evidence of her discomfort, he cleaned each of the wounds gently but thoroughly. Afterward, he reached for the tweezers in his kit and disinfected them carefully with another wipe. He brought them near her right hand, and then hesitated, looking up at her.

“Would you rather go to a doctor for these?” he asked.

“I trust you,” she said. “And if you can't get them out, we can always go to a doctor then.”

He searched her face for any sign of uncertainty, but didn't find it. She didn't look worried or squeamish. As far as he could tell, he was much more uncomfortable about the situation than she was.

“Okay.” He swallowed hard before lowering the tweezers. Even though he knew it was necessary, the thought of hurting her again made his stomach churn.

With the first exploring touch of the tweezers against the tip of the splinter, she sucked in another breath. For the sake of his own sanity, if not hers, he decided to distract her with conversation.

“So how do you think the evening went?” he said.

Dammit.
The top of the splinter broke off during his first removal attempt, leaving the sliver completely buried under her skin. He'd have to probe, hurting her more.

“After the first few minutes, great. Was Bea impressed?” she asked.

He managed to maneuver the sharp tips of the tweezers into the spot on her palm where the splinter had entered, grasped its end, and pulled. Thank God, it came out in one piece.

Though she flinched, her hand didn't move in his.
Such trust
, he thought.
Has anyone ever trusted me this much before?

“I'm sorry, baby. At least that one's out now,” he said. “I didn't get a chance to talk to Bea, so I'm not sure if the rest of the evening overrode the need for fire trucks and an emergency Maypole at the start of it all.”

“I'm sure it did,” she said, her breath catching as he began to work on the second splinter.

That one came out without breaking, as far as he could tell. With careful fingers, he pressed on the spots where the splinters had embedded themselves.

“Does this hurt?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “Thank goodness.”

“Are you sure there's nothing left inside those two spots? No other splinters in either hand?”

“I'm all better. Thanks to you. Even though you're bossy as hell.”

She got on her tiptoes and placed a soft kiss on his mouth. The sensation of it shot down his spine, making his hands clench with the need to touch her. But he couldn't yet. Not until he knew he'd taken care of her to the best of his ability.

“You like a little bossiness. Gives you an excuse to get feisty,” he said. “Now it's time for more disinfectant and bandages.”

As he dug in his first-aid kit, she gazed at the undersized Maypole.

“Have you seen
This Is Spinal Tap
?” she asked Wes. “Specifically, the scene about Stonehenge?”

He glanced at her. “No.”

“Good,” she said.