Page 52 of Calling on the Matchmaker
Finola guessed he was referring to the physical intimacy in his first marriage. Yes, indeed, he was an experienced man, but he hadn’t taken advantage of her, had been quite respectful. Even today, he could have easily turned their passionate moment on the pond into something more. He could have twisted her around and kissed her more ardently. She most likely wouldn’t have resisted if he had.
As if reading her mind, his attention dropped to her mouth. Blatant desire darkened his eyes. She wanted to let him kiss her again. God alone knew how much she did. But she couldn’t. She’d just chastised herself to be fair to Riley and not to give him false hope.
He swallowed hard and then tore his gaze away, finally unlacing the knot on her skate as if he couldn’t make his fingers work fast enough.
Had he read her hesitancy? Or was he attempting to respect her chastity in a way he hadn’t done with Helen?
Whatever the case, the moment was too intense.
Doing her best to ignore the ripple of tension that seemedto be tugging her to lose herself in him, she slipped her feet into her boots.
At a loud cracking and popping behind them followed by screaming, Riley was up and on his feet in an instant. Still wearing his skates, he spun, and before Finola could even assess what the problem was, he sprinted across the ice toward the direction of theKeep Offsign.
On the other side of the blocked-off portion of the pond, a boy had fallen through the ice. His head was visible above the surface of the water. He was trying to grab on to the edge of the ice and pull himself up, but with each heft, he broke away more ice and floundered in the water.
A group of three other boys stood a short distance away, having crossed the barrier too. They were staring at their friend and then down at the ice beneath them, their faces filled with fear. How long before it cracked under them?
Riley called out to the boys, “One at a time, inch back toward the shore!”
The boys hesitated and looked at their friend who was pale and frozen, his movements growing more desperate as he struggled to stay above water.
“I’ll go after him,” Riley shouted. “You just get off the ice.”
“No.” The word slipped out before Finola could control her reaction, and she cupped a hand over her mouth to keep from protesting further. Even so, more objection welled up so swiftly she thought she might be sick to her stomach.
She couldn’t let Riley skate onto the dangerous ice. He was heavier than the children. He’d break the weak layer for certain.
But how could he do anything less than attempt to rescue the drowning lad? Nothing would stop him. He was brave and strong, and it would do no good to try to convince him otherwise.
Other skaters were now congregating along the edge of theblocked-off area, calling out suggestions for ways to save the boy without causing more harm to anyone.
Surely with all of them working together, Riley wouldn’t have to do it alone and put himself into so much danger.
But instead of stopping and consulting with the others, Riley grabbed the rope barrier along with the sign and dragged it with him toward the boy, all the while unraveling the rope from the post.
Finola’s chest seized, and she couldn’t breathe. What was he doing? Why wasn’t he taking the offers of help? Or at the very least, moving forward with more caution?
At a dozen paces from the boy, the ice began to crack beneath Riley’s skates, and he finally slowed. Without a moment of hesitation, he tossed the rope. It landed directly in front of the boy, splashing in the water.
“Grab on,” Riley called, his voice as calm as though he were giving instructions to one of his campaign workers.
The boy, his face frozen with terror, fumbled with the rope for a moment but latched on.
Riley lowered himself to his knees and began to haul against the rope, tugging the boy up out of the water. But the lad lost his grip and plunged back into the pond, spluttering and coughing. His hands, though mittened, were likely frozen and unable to cooperate.
Again, without any indecision, Riley flattened himself onto his belly and crept forward.
Finola wanted to close her eyes and block out the unfolding disaster, but she could only stare with growing horror.
“Hold up your arm!” Riley called to the boy as he neared the water.
Before the boy could do as instructed, the ice cracked all around Riley, and he disappeared beneath the surface. The momentum of the crashing ice took the boy down too.
More shouts rang out from those along the edge of the dangerarea. Finola was too frightened to release the scream building in her chest or to utter the briefest of prayers, not even a Hail Mary.
Another man began to creep cautiously out toward Riley and the boy. But before he could get far, Riley’s head popped above the water, his hat gone. He hoisted the boy in one arm and swam toward the edge of the ice with the other, angling toward a patch that didn’t appear to have any cracks.
As he reached the solid area, he spoke to the boy. Finola couldn’t make out Riley’s words, but the lad nodded, and in the next instant Riley was thrusting him up and out of the water onto the ice.
