“You can . . . um . . . let me go now,” she said, her voice little more than a squeak.
“Oddly enough, I don’t want to,” he blurted out. His words made her head snap up in surprise. Nothing he seemed to say or do was consistent from one moment to the next.
“Dang, Hawk. Would you quit groping the girl and introduce us?” Natalie peered nervously upward, looking for the speaker. About ten people were looking down at her. How could she climb the steps onto the wraparound front porch without disgracing herself again?
Hawk slowly—reluctantly? She couldn’t be sure—released his hold on Natalie, only to place his arm behind her back. She refused to read anything into the gesture. It had to be his way of ensuring he wouldn’t have to catch her again if she tripped.
If she didn’t get some good boots, and soon, her ass would be grass. Correction. Her ass would be snowbound.
“Sorry I’m late, Mom. We had a little accident in town. This is Natalie Duncan, the new third-grade teacher. Natalie, my family. There are too many names for you to even try to remember them all,” Hawk said with a wink.
“As much as I love my son, I know his failings. Ignore him, dear,” a tiny woman said as she took Natalie from her son’s arms and rushed her inside. “What in the world are you wearing, my child?”
That was the question of the hour. Or maybe the last day and a half. “I . . . um . . . wasn’t prepared for the cold here.”
“I’m Maggie, Hawk’s mom, and I’ll get you introduced to the rest of the gang real soon. For now, we need to find you some better clothes. You must have ripped your pants in the accident, and those shoes just won’t do.” Maggie was talking so quickly that Natalie was having a hell of a time keeping up.
“I didn’t realize it was Thanksgiving, so I went looking for a place that sold boots . . .”
Maggie just stared at her as Natalie trailed off in embarrassment. Damn.
“Oh, darling,” Maggie exclaimed. “No one should forget Thanksgiving. You look about the same size as my daughter, Taylor. Let’s go raid her closet.” She took Natalie’s hand and dragged her up an extrawide staircase to a room with a large sign on it that said, ironically enough, Do Not Enter.
“What size shoe do you wear?”
“I’m a seven, but really, I can wait until tomorrow and go buy some appropriate apparel.”
Natalie’s protests were clearly falling on deaf ears—Maggie was already digging around in the closet.
“Aha! I knew you were about the same size. Here’s a brand-new pair of UGG boots, size seven,” she said triumphantly. “I bought them for her two years ago, but Taylor disdains any article of clothing without a Fox label on it. She races dirt bikes.”
Natalie’s mouth dropped wide open. “Your daughter races?”
“Yes, and she’s very good at it. This is the first Thanksgiving in years that she hasn’t been home. She made it to the finals. It breaks my heart, but I understand.” Maggie’s sudden sniffles belied her final words.
“Doesn’t that scare you?” Natalie asked.
“Oh, it can if I let it,” Maggie said, “but I’m very proud of my daughter. Her two brothers, on the other hand, are constantly preaching to her about how unsafe racing is. They don’t realize that the danger makes her that much more competitive. Someday they’ll learn, but I fear it won’t be anytime soon.” The woman kept pulling out clothing.
As the pile grew higher and higher on the bed, Natalie shifted on her feet. “I really shouldn’t just borrow her clothes without her permission.”
“Nonsense, darling. Taylor would want you to have them. You can wear what you want now, and then we’ll bag the rest of the things up for you before you leave.” And apparently the woman was just like her son, because she didn’t listen to any further protests, but instead just walked from the bedroom and shut the door behind her.
Natalie’s knees suddenly turned weak and she found herself sinking down onto the neatly made bed. She was so exhausted. But she couldn’t help looking around Taylor’s room. Pictures of dirt bikes and Fox racing gear lined the walls, and there was a floor-to-ceiling shelf with so many trophies on it that Natalie couldn’t count them all. Taylor was apparently really, really good at racing.
Knowing that if she went back downstairs without changing, there was a very good chance that Maggie would march her back up and dress Natalie herself, she picked out a nice pair of jeans and a thick sweatshirt.
When she slipped on the fur-lined boots, she had to admit her toes wiggled in warm appreciation. Okay, maybe the boots were worth the slight guilt she was suffering from taking clothes from a stranger’s closet. And they probably made up a little for the torture of feeling out of place, of knowing that she’d essentially barged in on this nice family.