Hometown Hero Page 2

“Oh, you are still such a charmer, Mark Mitchell!” Bellie squealed. “By the way, have you been in touch with your mother and your sister, Erin?”

  Mark's smile fell to a grimace. More people who had loved him, more people he'd let down. More people who may never forgive him or speak to him again. He wasn't in a rush to contact them until he figured out what to say, but now they'd know he was back, if Bellie had anything to say about it.

  “Not yet,” Mark shook his head. “I...I was hoping to have some time to settle, and decompress, before I announced my return,” he added, knowing full well that Bellie wouldn't care.

  “Of course,” she winked at him conspiratorially. “Mum's the word.” She pretended to lock her lips with a key before shuffling off toward the main street of town, and Mark chuckled, musing silently that no amount of lock and key could keep her lips shut. She was probably headed straight to the donut shop to blab the great news—maybe even call ESPN with the big scoop about the missing college hoops star.

  When she was out of sight, he trudged into the rental house. He looked around, but was still lost in thoughts, his luggage scattered beside his leg. He had no right to go barging in on his family to inform them of his return. He felt very certain everyone wanted his head on a platter or to smack him around a bit at the very least. Though his encounter with Bellie suggested otherwise, he wasn't confident that those who were close to him would feel the same enthusiasm. Bellie was likely just excited for the fresh gossip.

  Most would just remember him unfondly, and question why he returned after disappearing from his hospital bed after the surgery that was supposed to get him back in the game by the following season went terribly wrong—something he had never told anyone. His entire town, half the state, and groups of fans around the country had been so supportive and so eager for him to recover from his torn rotator cuff and return for his junior year, and hopefully take the Midwest Mammoths basketball team to an NCAA Tournament. He already had felt like he'd let them down by being injured. He couldn't bare the thought of standing in front of the press and telling everyone that the surgeon had done major nerve damage during the operation and that he'd never play again. His career in basketball was over.

  He bent and grabbed the heavy luggage with his right arm and grunted his teeth against the pain in his right arm that always seemed to overshoot his shoulder and spill over into his chest. The pain at the simplest tasks always made him feel like less of a man. That, more than anything, was why he had ran. He was sure he'd be worthless, he'd be nothing to anyone without the one thing he was good at, without the thing that everyone adored him for. Maybe he had overreacted, and not had enough faith, but he didn't want to hang around and find out. He didn't want the pity, the shame, the feelings of being less than he had been.

  No need dwelling in the past, he cautioned himself once again, adjusting the bag on the good arm and hauling his stuff up the stairs to his bedroom.

  A closer appraisal of the house, once he'd snapped out of his wandering thoughts, made him sigh in relief—it was everything the real estate agency had told him and more. He wandered into the walk-in closet off the master bathroom, which featured a jacuzzi tub that was actually large enough for his hulking six and a half foot frame. This would do, he thought. It was not as large as his family's farmhouse outside of town, or the ranch he had occupied the past few years in Alaska, but it was cozy and it had a comfortable feel about it.

  The rental agent had been true to their word and had the whole house furnished with what appeared to be brand new, showroom quality furniture. Mark noted that they seem to have tailored their master bedroom decor for a single man. The furniture was all black and the bedding was plush and animal printed. Candles lined the dresser, and a vase of fresh white roses sat on each bedside table. He moved around the room touching some decorations as he went. It was a regular seduction spot, he thought, twiddling with the light dimmers. He could think of many ways to pleasure a woman in this room...and without warning his mind wandered to Mara. His Mara.

  All the while he had been away, he'd had several other dates and women, but none had measured up to his Mara. He had tried engaging with the women who were constantly flocking to his rugged good looks and muscular body, but hadn’t been interested in them after one outing. And even when he did have sex with them, he rarely enjoyed it. His mind had often wandered to Mara then, too, right in the middle of the deed, and he would just finish quickly, kick them out, and drink himself to sleep. It wasn't long before he started avoiding women all together, and willingly entered a long drought. Months had stretched to years, and he was certain a lot must have happened with her. There was a very good chance he would be forced to move on...

  Bracing himself, he came to a decision—there was no use daydreaming about a married woman, if she was married, and if she wasn’t then there was no point standing idle wishing for things to fall into place on their own. He had to go look for her, and if she was still available, do whatever it took to win her back.

  THREE

  The day was not looking as bright as Mara had anticipated. She'd woken with a crummy mood, one that weighed her down and stripped all her motivation for the day. What was the matter with her these days anyways? She hoped she wasn't pregnant giving the mood swings and the nightmares that had started recently.

  Last night’s dream had been awful. She’d been dreaming of him again. And that was the third time in the week alone. This time Mark had come riding on his old spotted horse, Tango, and rescued her from a burning farmhouse, just like a scene from a movie. Once he'd pulled her onto Tango behind him, her arms wrapped around his barreling torso, they rode through the wheat and corn fields aimlessly, as they'd done in real life when they were younger, and he'd stopped at the campground by the lake and slid her off the horse before securing her against a tree and removing her clothes. She'd anticipated their union with an aching that remained even when she woke abruptly to her alarm clock.

  What was wrong with her? The last she had seen Mark had been over three years ago and he had left without a word to her. He could be dead, for all she knew, and sometimes, in her most resentful and depressed moments, she had almost wished that. It was better to just go ahead and think that than imagine him with a gorgeous wife and adorable toddlers running around in the sand outside of some perfect beachfront house.

  She was jolted out of her thoughts by the oven timer for the cookies, and from the aroma of chocolate escaping the oven, she figured they were done, and just in time, too. Phillip wanted to picnic on their day off and do some wedding planning, which Mara was really not in the mood for, but she obliged. Just because she wasn't in a great mood today didn't mean she had to wreck Phillip's plans. Mara felt certain once she got out of the house, she'd snap out of it.

  Mindlessly, she scraped the cookies off the trays with a metal spatula and transferred them to a plate to cool. Once they had cooled for a few minutes, she wrapped the plate in plastic wrap and placed it in the picnic basket, along with the paninis and fruit salad she had prepared. Phillip had wanted to take care of the details, order sandwiches and dessert from the bakery downtown, but Mara had insisted on preparing the picnic. It was the least she could do after he'd been taking her out for lunch almost every day for some months now.

  The man was perfect to a fault. Most times Mara felt intimidated with how perfect he seemed. He made sure things were done efficiently and in an orderly manner, but never became irritated when they didn't go as planned. She was yet to see him get angry over anything, which sort of made her uncomfortable. Maybe his angry side was unbearable when it did come out. Or maybe, just maybe, he was a zen master. How would she be able to measure up to that for a lifetime?

  Looking at the clock on the kitchen wall, Mara choked on a test cookie she had set aside for herself at the realization that Phillip would be there soon to pick her up and she had not even changed yet. She quickly finished packing the basket and scrambled for the closet.

  Flipping through her sundresse
s, she heard the front door opened and then close. He was already here and she still had to put on makeup and do something about her hair...

  “Phil! Is that you?” she shouted from the closet.

  “Yeah, babe,” he yelled back from the living room. “You weren't expecting someone else, were you?” he joked, his volume louder than normal to reach her across the house.

  Mara scrunched her nose in irritation, but then cautioned herself silently. What is wrong with me? But she knew what was wrong—the nagging thoughts about Mark that had been taking up her days because he'd taken over her dreams at night.

  “No, Phil, I just wanted to make sure it was you,” she lied. Part of her had thought maybe it was Mark, finally coming home. It was a daydream she'd had everyday for a year after he disappeared. He would come in unannounced, apologize to her on his knees and spill his tragic story of where he'd been, and they'd spend the next twenty-four hours in her bed...

  “I will be out in a bit, I am almost done,” Mara added, her voice echoing in the bathroom as she haphazardly slapped on blush with an oversized brush.

  “No need to hurry, babe. I only came earlier than agreed to see if there was something I could help you do but I can see you have all under control,” he muttered, sounding like he had cheeks full of food.

  Mara smiled knowingly and let out a soft giggle. He had never been able to resist her baking anytime of the day, one of the few signs he was human after all. One of his flaws, Mara thought fondly, his killer sweet tooth.

  She paused in her tracks as sounds of slow and romantic music filtered into the bathroom from where Phillip was. It was going to be a great day and everything was going to be alright, she sighed relaxing visibly. Mara whistled happily to the familiar Frank Sinatra ballad pouring into her room from the stereo in the living room. She quickly brushed and styled her hair into a sophisticated partial twist behind her neck.

  Phillip had already loaded the basket into the trunk of his car and was seated on her couch, swiping his phone, probably checking stocks, Mara thought. He quickly stashed his phone in his back pocket when Mara entered and room and looked up. “Are you all set?”

  “Yes,” she answered, a little disappointed he had not noticed the dainty cerulean sundress she had put on for his attention. They both left the house, Phillip gesturing for her to go first so he could turn off the music.

  Mara tried to shake away the frustrated thoughts again, but they were persistent. He never noticed her appearance; he had said once that he loved her not because of her looks but because of who she was. But, Mara still longed to be so irresistible to him that he'd occasionally lose his impeccable control and act on his attraction to her. Mark would have...he had when they were together. She'd be wearing his Midwest Mammoths sweatshirt and leggings, hair a mess and no makeup, and he'd still be unable to resist her.

  Mara glanced at Phillip's rigid temples as he steered the car down the road to their preferred picnic park. He had been unusually silent since they started out on the drive. Was something bothering him? Mara wondered. He was usually a chatterbox on occasions like this. Maybe he sensed her irritability of late, or her distant daydreaming.

  “Phil? Are you alright?” she asked, concern mirrored in her voice. She had known Phillip to be a lot of things, but moody was never one of them. That was more her territory.

  “I’m good,” he responded, awarding her with a brief smile that didn't match his eyes.

  She watched as his hands tightened on the wheel more than necessary and he breathed out slowly, glancing briefly outside the window. Something was definitely up and he was choosing not to share it with her.

  “Are you having troubles at work?” Mara tried again, feeling somewhat guilty she had never been as concerned about his work as he had always been of hers.

  He had complained once or twice about the new financial officer at the bank, and how it was becoming difficult to work with him. Mara had been concerned at that point but had forgotten to continue checking up on the situation for any news.

  “No, Mara,” he answered as he released his grip on the wheel and moved his right hand to touch her hand, his face still stern. “Work is fine and I'm alright. Don’t worry that pretty head of yours okay.”

  “Okay,” she reluctantly agreed to relax. She glanced frequently at Phillip’s temple, and he would give her hand a reassuring squeeze whenever he felt her eyes on him.

  The rest of the drive to the park was done in silence. Mara got out of the car with a sigh of relief when they got to the park. It had not been a long drive but the uncomfortable silence in the car had made it feel like millions of miles in between. And Phillip’s constant squeeze on her hand had not helped issues at all.

  “We are here!” he exclaimed nonchalantly, looking suspiciously around like he was expecting something to jump out of the bushes at them any second.

  He had that lost look on him again, but Mara was not about to comment on it. If he said he was okay, then he was okay. If he had something to share with her then she would willingly open her heart and ears to hear him out, but she wasn’t going to force him to do otherwise.

  That decided, she headed for the trunk of the car to assist him in getting out the picnic items. He carried the basket and blanket while Mara trailed behind him with a bottle of wine and glasses, plus her purse, which contained the necessities of sunscreen and bug spray.

  Mara frowned noticing that most people in the park were staring strangely at her, some even whispering as she passed, if they were near someone to whisper to. What was going on? First, it had been Phillip and his strange mood and now the whole town was being weird. She turned to study Phillip and found him totally relaxed on the perfectly smoothed blanket in the shadiest spot, investigating the sandwiches to see which one was his tomato and mozzarella panini.

  He appeared genuinely relaxed, so she sat next to him and relaxed as well. Maybe it was a coincidence that the whole town was staring openly at them and exchanging whispers. There must be a reasonable explanation to it, she concluded, and tossed the thought out of her mind as Phillip handed her the tuna melt she'd made for herself, and then a glass of chardonnay.

  She had forgotten all about the tension in the air when they had first entered the park and was finally enjoying herself with cookies and wedding magazines when Clint Buller, a middle-aged mechanic who Mara fondly thought of as a 'male cat lady', approached them with an awkward grin plastered on his face.

  “Good morning, Doctor Raymond,” he greeted Mara and nodded to Phillip before resuming his pleasantries. “I see you have the day off.”

  “Yes, I guess Friday isn't a popular day for checkups,” Mara chuckled. “How are the cats?”

  “Oh, Puck and Lily are perfect, as usual,” Clint explained, “but Dina keeps getting outside and into a poison ivy patch. Can cats be allergic to poison ivy?” he asked, cocking his head.

  “Yes, they can,” Mara answered. “Is she getting itchy skin, or rashes?”

  “Oh yes, definitely,” Clint nodded, “and howls like the dickens when I try to scratch her back to make it feel better.”

  Mara shot a questioning glance at Phillip, and the question was 'can I go take care of this animal now?' Phillip just gave her a single understanding nod, but he seemed to have been watching Clint tensely before she had shifted her gaze to him.

  “Well, Clint,” Mara said, “I'm almost done here. Do you want to bring Dina by the office? Sounds like she needs some medication, possibly a steroid shot, just to get her comfortable. And we should do an allergy test to make sure that it's the poison ivy, and not something inside the house that's bothering her,” Mara added, enthusiastically.

  Clint chuckled deeply, his low baritone voice practically rumbling.

  “Dina is a tough little gal,” Clint said. “I won't bother you on your day off. She can wait until Monday morning. And, I wouldn't want to take up your time, in case you have anywhere else to be, or anyone to go see.”

  Mara cocked her head at him
, and swore she felt Phillip go stiff as a brick next to her. “I don't think I do. What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Well, he's back, you know,” Clint answered, hesitantly, his gaze flickering back and forth between Mara and Phillip. “I didn't know if you had seen him yet.”

  Mara swallowed hard and felt a black hole of nervousness open up in her stomach.

  Mark. Mark was...back?

  “I'm sorry,” Clint shook his head. “I've said something wrong.”

  “No! No. It’s okay,” Mara assured him, forcing an unnatural smile that was as much a lie as her words—she was screaming on the inside, her thoughts had gone fuzzy, and she fought the urge to jump up and storm off to find the man who had stomped on her heart all those years ago. “It's fine,” Mara repeated. “I didn't know, but—but thank you for telling me.”

  Clint nodded and tipped his trucker hat to the two of them before turning to leave. Mara watched as he walked away from them with the slumping shoulders of a person who had made a huge mess but couldn't help clean it up. Gradually, slowly, she turned her attention on Phillip, whose temples protruded again, his forehead crinkled in concern. So, that was what his deal had been all day—he had been aware of Mark’s return.

  “You knew?” Mara uttered, disappointment and anger filling her quiet voice.

  “Mara...I—” Phillip started, but she cut him off.

  “Don't you think I would have rather heard it from you?” she snapped, trying to keep her volume low so as not to attract more unwanted attention.

  “I wasn't thinking!” Phillip argued, matching her restrained tone. “I was just—”

  “Scared? Worried?” Mara suggested, her voice a defensive snarl. “Completely lacking in any trust for me?”

  Phillip sighed and dropped his head in embarrassment. “You're right,” he apologized. “I'm sorry. I made a huge mistake. I should trust you—I do trust you, Mara. But, I don't trust him. Why is he back now?”