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“He ever apologize?”
“Yes. Sort of.”
“But you’re not ready to forgive and forget?”
Hailey had a hard time forgetting a lot of things—her mother’s broken spirit, for one. For all the mornings Hailey had to drag her mom out of bed, force her to eat a child-prepared breakfast, then encourage her to go to work so that the rent would be paid on time and groceries would be bought. “I’ve come to grips with the past. I don’t hate my dad, but neither do I want to have a relationship with him.”
“That’s too bad.”
“I’m doing fine on my own.” And she was. Hailey was the captain of her own ship, and her carefully laid plans guaranteed a life that was smooth sailing. Except for tonight.
As much as she wanted to avoid Nick’s eyes, her gaze caught his and locked. Something passed between them, although she wasn’t sure what it was. A kindred spirit kind of thing, it seemed. Like they had more in common than either would suspect. It momentarily warmed her heart, touched her soul. Whatever it was.
“What about you?” she asked. Lobbing the memories back in his court. “Do you have a family?”
“None to speak of, other than the cop who turned my life around. I was sixteen when I first met him. Back then I was a loudmouth kid who was angry at the world.”
She studied the rugged, good-looking detective and tried to imagine him as a troubled teen. It was tough to do, because he seemed grown-up. Together. “Congratulations on the U-turn. You’ve obviously made some changes in your life.”
“Thanks to a wise detective.” He tossed her a crooked grin. “I’ll never forget the first time I met him. It was Christmas Eve, and he caught me throwing rocks at a nativity display in Old Town.”
“Did he haul you in?”
“Nope. He took me for a cup of hot cocoa at an all-night diner. Said he’d just gotten off duty and was hungry. We talked for a while. The next thing I knew, I was having Christmas dinner with his family.” He flashed her a nostalgic smile, one that touched her heart with its sincerity. “I never knew what a real family was like, not until meeting them. And the fact is, I haven’t been the same since.”
“What about your own family? Didn’t they miss you on Christmas?”
“My mom had already died. Fell down the stairs, at least that’s what my stepdad told the cops. I guess they believed him, but I never did. Anyway, at that time I had no real place to call home, and no reason to celebrate the holidays.” He scanned the living room, those stimulating eyes taking in each nook and corner. “You gonna have a Christmas tree?”
“Yes.” She always did. In fact, she’d planned each and every holiday since Harry walked out of their lives. Her mom hadn’t been up to the extra effort. It really wasn’t so bad—taking over the household at an early age—because Hailey had come out on top. She was an organized dynamo at work and at home. Life ran smoother that way. No surprises.
Well, no surprises except the detective sitting across the table from her, but she’d grown adept at making the best of difficult situations.
They finished dinner with little conversation. Nick continued to refill their wineglasses until the bottle was empty. Hailey wasn’t sure how they’d handle the bedtime stuff, but she was no longer uncomfortable with the good-looking detective in the house.
She wasn’t entirely sure why. The wine maybe? The self-disclosures they’d shared?
Hailey didn’t open up to people, especially strangers. She’d learned to keep her thoughts and feelings locked away inside—where they belonged, hidden with her memories and dreams.
The lights flickered once, twice, then went out altogether, leaving Hailey and the detective in the dark—except for the soft candlelight and the steady flames in the fireplace.
“Do you have any more candles?”
“In the bedroom.”
He was heading down the hall before she realized she should have gotten them herself. She’d set the scene for romance in there, with aromatic candles glowing warmly throughout the room and the soft sound of love songs on the CD.
And in case that wasn’t enough to give Steven a hint, she’d taken great care to make the bed look inviting.
Under the white, goose-down comforter that begged to be turned down, freshly laundered sheets with a light sprinkle of lavender scent awaited first-time lovers.
Maybe Nick wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t know what she’d planned for the evening. But instinct told her a guy like Nick wouldn’t miss much. He’d have to be a dunce not to notice. And cops didn’t get to be detectives by not being observant.
Maybe he’d be gentlemanly enough not to mention anything about her bedroom—or her obvious intentions.
A long, slow whistle told her he’d found the candles.
And that he wouldn’t be a gentleman and keep quiet.
Hailey’s heart sank low in her chest, and heat blasted her cheeks. She quickly stood and began to clear the table, wanting to keep herself busy so that she didn’t have to look him in the eye when he returned from the bedroom, which now seemed like a den of iniquity, although she didn’t know why.
She was a grown woman, for goodness sake, and could certainly spend a romantic evening with anyone she wanted. Where had the guilt come from?
Nick carried two candles into the living room and set them on the coffee table. “I guess the storm and I really screwed up your plans for the evening.” Before returning to the bedroom for the other two candles, he chuckled. “I guess ‘screwed up’ was a bad choice of words.”
She grimaced at his inappropriate attempt to joke and continued to wipe the table that no longer bore a crumb or a dribble. What she actually wanted to do was sling the dishcloth at him.
“Sorry,” he said, as he reentered the room. “I guess that was out of line.”
“My plans are none of your concern.” She continued an overzealous attempt to scrub the table.
As he placed one of the candles on the mantel and the other on an end table, she blew out a ragged sigh. How was she going to manage spending an evening with this guy?
And what if they didn’t clear the roads for days?
If he were short and dowdy, instead of heart-zappingly gorgeous, if he were quiet and shy—like Steven—instead of so quick with the snappy comments and sexual innuendoes, then maybe time would pass without a hitch. But as it was—
“I’m sorry, Hailey.” His voice settled over her skin, like a blend of melted butter and warm maple syrup over a stack of hotcakes. And those freshly brewed coffee eyes offered a dose of compassion.
Coffee and hotcakes. Breakfast food. Another reminder this man would be spending the night.
She shrugged at the apology, hopefully brushing off thoughts of bedtime, rumpled sheets and morning.
He slowly made his way toward her and took the limp dishcloth from her hand, carelessly tossing it into the sink. She meant to reprimand him, and would have, had he not taken hold of her hand. His grip enveloped hers in a cocoon of warmth, and her skin tingled, her heart skipped a beat.
“I crashed into your life uninvited, and you served me one of the best dinners I’ve had in a long time. I’m sorry for teasing.”
“It’s okay.” Her anger seemed to dissipate in the romantic ambiance she’d unwittingly set into motion. Yet she wasn’t sure anything about this evening, this man or her growing attraction was even remotely okay.
He took the glass of wine she hadn’t finished and handed it to her, then snagged his own.
“Come with me.”
Chapter Three
Hailey’s heart shot into overdrive. Was he going to put the moves on her, try to lead her down the hall and back into the bedroom?
If truth be told, she half hoped he would. Guys like Nick Granger had always appealed to her and made her common sense go haywire, but in spite of the arousing effect he had on her, she couldn’t succumb to temptation. She wouldn’t allow it.
Of course, that knowledge didn’t do anything to slow a racing pulse or to still an incredible sense of anticipation.
He led her to the sofa. “Sit down.”
“Why?” she asked, unable to quell the sense of seduction. And not just hers. She had half a notion to respond to each of his moves and make a few plays of her own.
Good grief. What was the matter with her? No way would she consider a one-night stand with a stranger. Yet when he flashed her another Brando smile, a part of her wanted his arms around her, his mouth on hers.
He motioned for her to sit, then took a seat on the other side of the sofa. His arm dangled over the back-rest, but not close enough to touch. “Let’s talk.”
Talk? Was that part of the seduction? A line he used?
“Talk about what?” she asked.
“You. I want to hear more about little Hailey, the cute girl with pigtails and a missing tooth.”
She glanced at the fireplace mantel, realizing he’d seen her photograph. As thoughts of Nick putting the moves on her flew out the window and escaped into the snowy night, a keen sense of relief mingled with disappointment. “There’s not much to tell.”
Nick studied the woman across from him, watched her struggle to open up. If he could piece together her life, understand her anger and disappointment, then convincing her to visit Harry in San Diego would be easier.
He was good at interrogating suspects, but this was different. Much different. A suspect’s secrets were often a result of guilt. Hailey’s secret was the result of a child’s pain.
It was something Nick could relate to, he supposed.
She shot him a wistful smile. “My parents weren’t married, and my dad was never really a part of my life. I suppose people don’t really miss what they never had.”
“I don’t know about that.” Nick still resented the sailor who’d fathered him, the man who’d refused to step up to the plate and be a dad. “It’s been years, but I still blame my old man for the lousy stepdad I ended up with. And for the beatings I received just for being someone else’s brat.”
Compassion swept across her brow. “I’m sorry.”
He hadn’t meant to spill his guts like that, and he wasn’t sure why he had. He supposed it was the wine, the quiet, introspective evening, or maybe it was something about the somber beauty sitting across from him. She continued to eye him with a tad more sympathy than he was comfortable with, blew out a slow, steady breath, then ran a hand through her long, brown locks of hair. The glow of the fire enhanced red and gold highlights he hadn’t noticed before.
His fingers itched to touch the strands, but he removed his hand from the sofa back and dropped it in his lap.
He watched as she drew up her knees, tucked her feet under her skirt, and slowly turned to face him. “I did okay without a dad. It was my mom who took the brunt of his abandonment. She died loving my father, even though he dumped us both years ago.”
Nick wanted to defend Harry, but didn’t think it was his place. If Hailey would just talk to the man, Harry could defend himself.
Twenty years ago, Hailey had been a kid. She couldn’t possibly know the whole story. Hell, Nick didn’t know the whole story, but he knew her father well enough to know there was something only Harry could explain.
Nick had never questioned Harry’s values. The man was practically a saint. But even saints were human. Maybe Harry had tried to befriend Hailey’s mom, like he had so many other people in recent years, and experienced a moment of indiscretion. And if the woman fell in love with him—
Hey, Nick had plenty of women look at him with hero worship. He just made it a point not to take any of them up on their various ways of showing gratitude. “Maybe your mom fell in love with your dad, but the feelings weren’t mutual.”
“Obviously not.” Curled into the corner of the sofa, she looked like a small child. And Nick had a feeling that’s where her thoughts were taking her—back to a sad childhood.
He had this sappy urge to go to her, offer her comfort and a shoulder to lean on, but God knew he wasn’t that kind of guy. What did a man like him offer a woman who needed emotional support?
Hell, that huggy/feely stuff was learned as a kid, which was why Nick had never been comfortable with showing affection to anyone other than a lover. He’d never had the luxury of a hug or a pat on the shoulder, which were things kids needed. Women, too, he supposed. But it was a difficult gesture for him and another reason why he wasn’t cut out to be a father or a husband.
She set her empty wineglass on the coffee table. He would have offered her a refill, but they’d finished the bottle. He could use another glass, too. The last swallow had left him warm and wanting.
Wanting more wine, he added. Of course, he wouldn’t ask. When she rose from the sofa, he smiled, thinking he wouldn’t have to.
He watched her go, but not to the kitchen. She padded down the hall and into her bedroom. He ached to follow her. Hold her close and chase the bad memories away. Give her some new ones.
Harry Logan might have convinced Nick to curb his delinquent ways, but no one had been able to shake the rebel from Nick’s blood.
And the rebel in him wanted to follow pretty Hailey into the bedroom and offer her more than comfort.
Hailey didn’t know why she knelt by the bed and reached underneath the dust ruffle for the old shoebox. She’d always kept the items hidden, even from her own sight. But for some reason she wanted to show the photograph to Nick.
She’d never confided in anyone before, other than a middle school teacher who’d sent Child Protective Services to visit their home. After that she’d kept quiet, kept things locked in her heart.
But tonight she felt the need to open up and share the past with someone. To cry in her beer and confide in an understanding, tight-lipped bartender she would never see again.
And who better to share with than a man who would leave town as soon as the roads cleared?
She blew out a jagged breath and, resting her bottom on the heels of her feet, opened the box. A soft kiss of bittersweet nostalgia brushed across her heart, as she looked at the items her mother had treasured: a stack of letters tied with a faded pink ribbon. A couple of ticket stubs. A take-out menu from some diner in Florida.
In the midst of her mother’s things sat something of hers. Something her father had given her after taking her to ride on a merry-go-round in the park.
She picked up the tissue-wrapped figurine and slowly unwound the paper, revealing a pretty, white carousel pony. In spite of herself, she fingered the cool ceramic, studied the colorful reds, blues and yellows. At one time she’d wanted to throw it away or break it against the wall. But she hadn’t. Instead, she’d stashed it inside her mother’s box, which was a good place for it, she supposed.
After wrapping the tissue around the pony and putting it back into the box, she withdrew what she’d been looking for—the old photograph her mom had blown up from a strip of black-and-white pictures taken at the drugstore in Florida, where they used to live. She looked at it closely for a moment, then replaced the lid and slid the box back where it had been, out of sight but rarely out of mind.
When she returned to the living room, the soft glow of the candles and firelight gave the room a mystical iridescence. Magical. And, she supposed, sensual, if what they were sharing had been physical.
She handed Nick the black-and-white photo, then sat beside him, closer than she’d been before. With the new level of intimacy they’d reached, sitting near enough to touch seemed appropriate.
He took the picture, and as he did so, his fingers grazed her hand. Her breath caught, and her heart paused before going back into a strong, steady beat.
As he studied the only photograph she had of her parents, a lump formed in her throat. Funny thing about crying, she supposed. Years could go by without shedding a tear, and then the floodgates threatened at the weirdest times.
“Your mom looked a lot like you. Pretty. Same expressive eyes. You take after her.” He didn’t comment about her father, which was all right with her.
“They had it taken in one of those little booths at the five-and-dime. They’re both smiling like crazy kids. Happy, you know. It was one of my mom’s most cherished possessions.”
“But not something you cherished,” he said. “You don’t keep it on the mantel with the other pictures.”
He was right. She didn’t place any sentimental value on the photograph or any of the other stuff her mom had saved. She wasn’t sure why she kept any of it, since the box of memories was a solid reminder of her mother’s descent into depression.
Hailey supposed it was a cop’s job to notice the little things and make assessments. “I stashed the picture in a shoebox full of my mother’s personal belongings that I keep under the bed.”
“What else do you have in that box?”
A pretty pony my father gave me, after taking me to the park to ride the carousel. But she didn’t see any point in mentioning it to Nick. “Just a few letters my dad sent my mom, some of which contained cash—never a check. I think she would have kept the money as a memento, but we had a hard time making ends meet.”
“I’m sorry.”
