High Speed Holiday. Katy Lee
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where Jaxon is?”
“Curtain three.”
“Great, you’ll find us waiting in there. Stay close and follow,” she said to Ian.
They passed by the waiting room and a familiar redhead jumped up from her chair and rushed their way. “Sylvie, hold up!”
“Walk with us, Roni,” Sylvie said without halting her steps. Her friend joined them down the hall. “How’s Jaxon?”
“He’s a champ, but what took you so long getting here?”
“Roni, meet Ian. Ian, Roni Spencer.”
“I know who Veronica Spencer is,” Ian said, his voice hard and condemning. Did the man still think Roni tried to kill him? She was watching the track when everything went down. She couldn’t have shot him.
“Have we met?” Roni replied.
“No, we haven’t,” Ian clipped.
“But you know me. Are you a fan?”
“Figures you would think so, but no. I don’t follow racing.”
Sylvie leaned into Ian. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Mr. Stone. Watch it.”
“It’s all right, Sylvie,” Roni assured, but her normally bright smile dulled. However, Sylvie quickly noticed a mischievous glint spark up in the woman’s ice-blue eyes. Her friend never got offended, even when the joke was on her. She just angled those ice crystals on the other person and gave it back tenfold. A quick glance Ian’s way, and Sylvie noticed his eye color had the same hue. That’s where she’d seen it. Wade and Roni had the same eyes. Interesting that Ian’s eyes matched the Spencers’. Before Sylvie could speculate further, Roni said, “I’m sure your Ian will smarten up soon enough. It won’t take too long for him to realize what the town revolves around.”
“I assume we’re talking about you again?” Ian shot back.
“Ian!” Sylvie nearly grabbed his injured arm and threw him behind a curtain—any curtain would do. “She was talking about racing. Now knock it off. Roni is not your enemy. And, Roni—” Sylvie leveled her eyes on her friend “—he is not my Ian.”
Roni pursed her lips. “Good, because you could do so much better. He reminds me of all the locusts claiming to be our long-lost baby brother lately. We got another one this week. Now that word is getting out that Luke didn’t die in the car crash, strange men are coming out of the woodwork. Don’t they know we will have them tested?”
“Right,” Ian said with a smirk, “because you can’t let a penny of your money go to a locust.”
“All right, that’s it.” Sylvie made a grab for Ian’s good arm and twisted it up his back. He didn’t fight her as she pushed him toward curtain three. “Get in there before I throw you out the front door and let whoever shot you have another go at it.” That part she whispered, but not softly enough because her son immediately spoke from behind the curtain.
“Shot?” Jaxon said.
Sylvie opened the curtain to shush him. Anxiety she’d held at bay since the accident lifted from her shoulders at the healthy sight of him. She shoved Ian inside and turned back to Roni to see if she’d heard, but her friend only said, “He’s cute, and a worthy opponent, but watch yourself.” Sylvie wanted to set the record straight. She was in no way interested in Ian Stone. In anyone for that matter. But she knew her friend would never stop hoping she would find someone someday, like Roni had found her handsome FBI agent, Ethan Rhodes.
Sylvie yanked the curtain closed with a rattle to the metal rings above. “Sit in that chair and fill this out.” She passed over the clipboard and went to her son’s bedside to hug him, relieved he let her embrace him. After a few moments of assurance that he was alive and well she pulled back and picked up his chart to read. “How you feeling? Anything broken? Has the doctor seen you yet?”
“Leg snapped. I’m getting a boot. Who is he?” Jaxon asked, peering around Sylvie.
“He’s someone I brought in for stitches.”
“Because he got shot?”
“Yes, but’s that’s between us. Don’t go repeating that. I’m keeping him with me until I know more details.” Sylvie turned to see Ian hadn’t even clicked the pen to write his name. “The doctor won’t be able to see you until that’s filled out, Mr. Stone.”
Ian barely looked at the forms. “I told you I didn’t need this. I shouldn’t have come here.”
“Just why did you come to Norcastle? Especially if you don’t follow racing.”
“Is it a crime to want to see a mountain town in New England at Christmastime?”
“No, but you don’t fit the profile of a tourist, most know how to dress appropriately for the harsh winters. It snows practically every night up here. Did you even pack a hat and gloves? A scarf? I’d say you’re a California man. Am I right?”
“I’m impressed.”
“I don’t care if you’re impressed.” She nodded at the clipboard. “Just write it.”
Ian stared at the information sheet and clicked the pen. He clicked it again and again. Five more times at a rapid rate before he sent the clipboard clattering to the floor and jumped to his feet. He was out the curtain in an instant.
But he wasn’t faster than Chief Sylvie.
She had an arm wrapped securely around his neck and had him back behind the curtain and in his chair before anyone saw the takedown.
“Man, you thought you were going to escape my mom?” Jaxon said with a wry smile. “I could have told you not to bother. She’s got some moves.”
Ian cleared his throat and mumbled aloud, “‘And though she be but little, she is fierce.’” He ran his fingers through his hair to right it back into its unkempt style. He straightened up in his chair. “How about a warning next time, Chief?”
“It wouldn’t change anything. She’d still win.” Jaxon smirked.
“Thanks a lot, kid,” Ian said, chagrined.
“Was that Shakespeare?” Jaxon asked. “That quote about my mom being little but fierce?”
“Yeah, Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
“I’ll have to read it.”
“Here.” Ian reached into his pocket and withdrew the MP3 player. “I have the audiobook on here. You can listen to it.”
Sylvie picked the clipboard up and held it out to Ian again. “If this is about money, I already told you not to worry. It’ll get worked out.”
Ian stared at the floor. “It’s not about the money. At least not all of it.”
“Then explain. What was that outburst for?”
He hesitated, but then blurted out, “I can’t read, okay?” His gaze lifted to her.
“Whoa,” Jaxon said, but Sylvie warned her son with a shake of her head before he could say more.
“You should have just said so,” she said to Ian.
“I try to avoid being ridiculed whenever possible.” He looked away. “I have dyslexia. Words and letters make no sense to me. They’re all one big wavy line, moving around the page.”
“We won’t ridicule, right, Jaxon?” Sylvie said.
“No, man. I get enough of that at school to know it stinks.” Jaxon reached for the clipboard. “I can help you fill it out.”
Sylvie’s heart swelled with pride to see her son jump in to help a complete stranger with no judgment. But she did wonder what her son meant by experiencing enough ridicule at school. He hadn’t