Leaving Normal by Stef Holm (whitelam books txt) 📗

Then she did something he hadn't anticipated. She threw her arms around him and gave him a hug.

Chapter Three

Happy Holly-Daze

Tony was no stranger to being shown appreciation— a touch on his arm, an embrace, smiles and thank-yous. But he'd never had a physical reaction like this. Natalie's soft body pressed against his felt incredibly good. Her cheek slightly touched his as she stood on tiptoe, arms wrapped around his neck.

His breathing shortened, caught in his throat. A fist of arousal hit him low in the gut. The rapid, and almost reckless, way he responded threw him for a curve.

"You remembered," she said, her breath warm against his face.

Without his being aware, his hand had come around her back and he held her in return.

She backed away, her expression guarded, if not embarrassed, as if she just realized what she'd done. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… I'm a little stressed out." She gave a nervous laugh. "Okay, a lot stressed out. Do you think you could… I hate to ask, but—"

"Don't worry about it. I was going of offer." He grabbed the shovel. "You're wearing the wrong shoes for this kind of job."

She gazed at the pointed-toe black shoes with heels that she had on. "You're probably right."

"No probably about it."

"I was in too much of a hurry to change into my snow boots."

She wore a long coat and slacks, and nice shoes that were meant for an office and not clearing a driveway. A forest-green scarf wrapped around her neck, an almost perfect match to her eye color. Her makeup wasn't overdone, and she'd applied a shade of pink lipstick he thought attractive.

Her lips parted, and he couldn't help but smile when she confessed, "I set my alarm two hours earlier than necessary, but I hit the snooze and that was a big mistake. I barely got ready on time."

"Really?" he responded in jest. "I thought you wore mismatched gloves on purpose."

She stared at her hands, noting one brown and one black leather glove. "Oops."

He chuckled as she dashed into the house and came back wearing a matching pair of black gloves. "Thanks. My mind is just crazy today. It did have to snow buckets last night." Her breath misted as she spoke. "I can't believe this…I'm going to be late for the biggest day of my life."

"I always thought a woman called her wedding day the biggest day of her life."

"Actually, I think that's what I called my divorce."

A half smile gathered on his face.

"Oh, that was horrible of me. My ex-husband isn't that bad."

:

Tony ran the shovel across the width of the driveway in one long run, lifting a weighted scoop without effort. As he moved to the opposite side of the walkway, she followed him.

She put a hand over her heart, sincerity in her gaze. "This is really nice of you and I appreciate it."

"Not a problem."

"I'm sure I could have done it, but it would have taken me twice the time and…really, this is just so incredibly nice of you."

She gave him a warm smile.

He couldn't really guess her age—whenever he dealt with patients, he never made assumptions. Perhaps Natalie was a little older than him. If she was, it couldn't be by much. The fact that she owned her own business and seemed to be financially stable was an attribute he commended. Not every woman could be single and self-sufficient to live this comfortably.

She lived alone, her daughter was in college. He wondered if she ever got lonely. God knew he did, even sometimes when Kim was home. They'd sit on the sofa together, each at their own end, and watch a TV program without really talking to one another. During those times, he wished he was at work.

But there were nights at the station when he'd come in from a call at one, two or three in the morning, and he just couldn't fall back asleep. It was the adrenaline, the fact that he'd been woken up in a foggy sleep that kept him from crashing hard again. Once awake, he had to struggle to capture that completely relaxed state once again. The room where he stayed was small with just a bed and a locker and sometimes he'd lay in his twin bed and read. Other times he'd go into the television room, pick one of the many recliners to lie in and watch the tube. If he was lucky, he'd doze off with the clicker in his hand.

"I want to thank you in some way. Please come by the shop," she insisted. "Pick out whatever flowers you like and I'll make them into something nice for your wife."

"I might just do that."

"I wish you would. I'm sure you had a rough night and this is the last thing you need to be doing."

"It's actually a good stress reliever." He'd never minded shoveling snow; in fact, he liked the tediousness of it after a night of unpredictable events.

In a thoughtful tone, she asked, "Did you have some difficult calls?"

He shrugged. "No more than usual."

"I guess I'm curious. Anything in particular you've found hard to deal with?"

Thinking to himself, he was reminded about that DOA—a code blue called in by two people who worked with the victim. A sixty-two-year-old woman who'd been dead in her home for a couple of days, as far as the coroner could tell after a cursory exam. Idaho Power had killed her electricity—a notice was tacked to the door. No heat in the house. While it was obvious to assume that she died of exposure, that wasn't the case. She had failing health; a half-dozen medication bottles were on the kitchen table.

Tony recalled the fecund odor of cats in the dingy house, only able to see as far as the beam of his flashlight stretched. Mixed-breed cats. Two of them meowed at the blue-black corpse sitting upright on the sofa. One more day and the cats probably would have got to