Fairy-Tale Family. Pat Montana

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      “I don’t think you’ll have to isolate King from the toys.”

      With each of Mitch’s announcements, her uneasiness grew. “Were you planning to tell us why anytime soon?”

      “He won’t be on crutches for a while.”

      “Why?”

      Mitch inhaled slowly, as if what he had to say came hard.

      “They’ve got him kind of wired together. His right ankle has a pin, and his left shin... Let’s just say he’d never make it through a metal detector. Both legs have to be elevated—for circulation. He can’t put weight on either leg.”

      “You mean he won’t be able to get out of bed?”

      Mitch winced. Then he nodded.

      Ellie’s hopes plunged—because she could imagine King lying in a bed surrounded with railings, both legs encased in plaster casts suspended from the ceiling by ropes, his body swathed in miles and miles of white bandages. Like an accident victim in a cartoon.

      But the cartoons never showed the jillion things about which she didn’t have a clue. Like shaving a patient... and getting him dressed. And undressed? Like bedsores...and bedpans? And baths? How did a person care for a very large, very active, very bedridden...male?

      How could she and four little kids possibly do it?

      Mitch watched worry spread across Ellie’s face. He was doing this to her. The shadows under her eyes seemed to darken each time he spoke.

      “King won’t have to stay in bed.” He hoped what the doctor told him would reassure Ellie better than it had him. “He can use a wheelchair. They’ll deliver that this afternoon, too.”

      “A wheelchair!” Michael popped back up from the floor. “Wow, do you think King will let us ride in it? Mom, can we have races with our skateboards?”

      Mitch shoved his fingers into his jeans pockets to keep from tousling Michael’s hair again. Ellie made it pretty clear she didn’t want him warming up to her kids. Good sense told him he shouldn’t be wondering if her hair felt as soft as Michael’s. Unfortunately good sense had never been his long suit.

      Ellie rested her hands on her bouncing son’s shoulders and shook her head.

      “Aw, Mom, why not? I want—”

      “A wheelchair isn’t for racing, Michael.” Mitch regretted the words the minute they were out of his mouth. He sounded positively parental.

      Gabe frowned at him over the edge of his book. “They race them in the Special Olympics,” he challenged.

      “Hey, you’re right.” Since when had Mitch started acting like his old man? Since when did he think Ellie needed help with her own kids?

      Ellie sighed. “Points for you, Gabe.” She marked the air with two fingers, then kissed the end of one and touched it to Michael’s nose. “But no rides for you, young man.”

      “Aw, Mom.” Michael slumped to the floor.

      Mitch shrugged off the thought of renting a second wheelchair just for the kids. A crazy attempt to win points for himself? A kiss from Ellie’s fingertip? Damn, he was letting himself get way too involved here. And he hadn’t told them the worst yet.

      “King won’t be running any races. You’ll have to move him real slow—” he took a deep breath “—’cause his legs’ll be sticking straight out in front of the chair.”

      “He’ll run into the walls,” Gabe announced tersely.

      Mitch groaned as he watched Ellie’s eyes widen in alarm. Out of the mouths of preadolescents—was that the saying?

      “Things will go just fine, Gabe.” Mitch doubted Gabe believed that any better than he did. “Your mom will be in charge of wheeling him around, and you guys will be in charge of keeping your toys out of the way. You can all help swing him in and out of bed while he pulls himself up on the trapeze. I’ll put one in the bathroom, too, so—”

      Gabe sat up and squinted at Mitch. “Who’ll do all that stuff while we’re in school?”

      “School?” School wasn’t out yet—Mitch knew that. Skiing vacations had long since passed, and families hadn’t started showing up at Winterhaven for summer vacations. Jack always claimed this was Mitch’s favorite time of the year—no kids, no lessons, no avalanches, no rescues.

      “Mommy and I go to school, too,” Seri piped up. “She’s going to be a dentist.”

      “Seri...” Ellie shook her head at her daughter.

      “You go to school?”

      She nodded. “But my finals are done in two weeks. I’ll be here after that.”

      “And she helps King in the store,” Gabe added defiantly. “Are you going to help in the store now, too?”

      Mitch couldn’t believe it. “You go to school and you work in the store and you’re trying to raise four kids? Just how, exactly, were you planning to take care of King? Or maybe I should be asking when?”

      His anger flared—at this too slender, too tired, too enticing little woman—for taking on more than any sane person could possibly handle; and at her defensive, protective son—for challenging Mitch’s intentions. Most of all, he was angry at himself. For caring.

      This wasn’t like him. He never let himself get involved. Any more than it was like his father to get involved. The father he remembered never would have taken people into his home. And not just any people—a woman with four kids. And a dog. What had happened to his father?

      What was happening to him?

      He glared at Ellie, saw her pull herself up the way she did, like a little bird puffing her feathers to look bigger. But her blue, blue eyes didn’t snap with electricity. She looked worried and tired. And he knew if she were in his arms, the top of her head would barely brush his chin.

      Thoughts like that would get him into a whole lot of trouble. He fought to keep from reaching out to brush wisps of hair from her forehead. Undaunted, she turned her face up to him—and wiped out his resistance.

      “I didn’t know King would be so...restricted, but I’m sure he’ll want to wheel himself around as soon as he can. When classes start again, I’ll fix his lunch before I leave. The kids will be here after school.”

      She smiled up at Mitch, a tired, unwavering little smile that never made it to her eyes. “You don’t need to worry about King. We’ll manage, won’t we, guys?”

      Mitch wanted to yell at her. He wanted to believe her. Damn it, what he really wanted to do was kiss her. But he couldn’t do any of those things.

      “Ellie, you can’t even lift the TV with the help of your ragtag kids. How do you think you can take care of King?”

      Ellie’s determined voice never faltered. “I always take care of my responsibilities.”

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