Eli nodded, then looked down at his cast. “Maybe you tell him that? He’s a butthead.”
Trace was long-suffering. “I thought that was our secret. Remember?”
“Everybody knows,” Eli said.
“I guess the secret’s out,” Kacey said with a grin, then told Eli, “But I wouldn’t worry about Cory . . . uh . . .”
“Deter,” Trace supplied.
“Right. I think your dad will handle any trouble you have from him. I heard that he was an Army Ranger. From what I understand, those guys are pretty tough.”
“They are!” Eli declared, and Trace looked as if he wanted to fall through the floor.
“I think that’s enough,” he said, reaching for his son’s jacket when the boy blurted, “You look like Miss Wallis.”
Kacey glanced up at the father, who visibly winced. “Is that a good thing?”
“Yeah. I guess.” Trace nodded without a lot of conviction.
“Great.” First Shelly Bonaventure, now the unknown Miss Wallis. It seemed to be her week for resembling someone else.
Eli announced, “She’s my dad’s girlfriend.”
Every muscle in Trace’s body appeared to stiffen. “Eli, I told you that Miss Wallis and I—we’re not dating. She’s not my girlfriend.” Totally abashed, he said, “Sorry. Miss Wallis was Eli’s teacher last year, when he was in first grade.”
“And you went out on dates!” Eli glared up at his father.
He gazed apologetically at Kacey. “She and I did go out a couple of times, and yes, you do look a little like her.”
“I must have a face that looks familiar.”
He closed his eyes for half a second and shook his head, the overhead light catching in the blonder strands of his hair. “So, now that I’m completely embarrassed, can you tell me how to slow an active seven-year-old down?”
“It’s probably impossible, but you, Eli, remember to take it easy. No roughhousing. Got that?” She leaned down to meet the boy’s gaze, eye-to-eye once more.
He nodded solemnly.
“Promise? Scout’s honor?”
“I’m not a Cub Scout.”
“Okay, I’ll believe you,” she said, raising her eyebrows as if she really didn’t trust him, not quite.
“I will!” Eli was completely earnest.
“Good. ’Cuz your dad’ll be reporting to me.” She smiled at Trace, who started to smile back, then thought better of it when she told him that if the pain in his son’s arm was so great that over-the-counter pain medication didn’t help, he should call her. He nodded grimly.
As she wrote out the prescription, she added, “I’ll call about the throat culture. I’ll want to see you again”—she pointed her pen at Eli—“in about ten days. Can you do that?” The boy was nodding vigorously. “Good.” She ripped off the prescription and handed it to his father. “He’s going to be okay, though I think he should stay home from school for a couple of days.”
“Yessss!” Eli said and pumped his good arm, which suggested to Kacey that he was feeling better.
“Anyway,” she said to Trace, “call me if he’s in a lot of pain or something looks wrong to you. You’ll know. My service can reach me twenty-four-seven, and either Dr. Cortez or I will call you back ASAP.”
Trace tucked the prescription into his pocket and seemed a little less uptight than when she’d first examined his son a couple of hours earlier. He dropped Eli’s jacket over the boy’s shoulders.
“Now, Eli, you be good, okay? Do as your father says, and don’t give him any trouble. And, oh, stay away from bullies,” Kacey advised.
“Thanks.” Trace’s intense blue eyes were sincere, and when he shook her hand again, she thought the clasp lasted a bit longer than normal. Then again, maybe she was imagining things.