by Emily March
Hope filled her expression and her voice. “He has? What did he say?”
“He told me you were his wife’s friend.”
“I was his friend too.” Now the tears spilled down her cheek. “I need to talk to him. I need to explain. He never let me explain.”
Explain what? Hannah was curious, but not interested enough to ask. “Well, it’s evident that he’s not going to let you explain right now either. Listen, Ashleigh. Boone has a lot on his plate right now. I think you’d be a lot better off if you wait for another time.”
“There won’t be another time. This is the first time he’s come home, and he probably won’t ever come back again. I only need five minutes. Three! I need to tell him why I did what I did and ask for his forgiveness. This is my only chance.”
“I’m telling you, now is not a good time. Do you know where he lives now?”
She nodded. “A little town in Colorado.”
“If it’s so important to you that you talk to him, go there to do it.”
“I can’t. He told me that if I showed up in Colorado or at the ranch, he’d tell my father that I … that I…” She buried her face in her hands.
Caused his wife to overdose? “You can’t say it?”
“He told you?” Ashleigh appeared crushed at the thought.
“Not the whole story,” Hannah offered, confident of that fact. “I think—” She broke off when the door to the restroom opened and a woman wearing a hotel uniform walked inside. Her gaze scanned the two women, then she met Hannah’s gaze. “Ms. Dupree?”
Surprised, Hannah said, “Yes?”
“A gentleman asked me to give this to you.” She handed over a hotel portfolio with a key and the room number written on the outside.
“Thank you.” Okay, then. She figured it was safe to assume that he wouldn’t be waiting outside the restroom door. Good. Hannah glanced up from the folder. “Ashleigh, you’re not going to be able to talk to him now, but we will be in town for a few days. I’ll talk to him, okay? I’ll see what I can do to help.”
Ashleigh let out a little moan and steepled her fingers over her face. Hannah was relieved to see her nod in acquiescence, and even more relieved to exit the ladies’ room. Her role as a travel nanny didn’t include therapy for broken friendships.
She found her way to the elevators and rode up to the fifteenth floor. At the door to room 1514, she hesitated. Was this her room or his? She knocked. “Boone?”
After waiting a moment without receiving a reply, she slipped the key in the slot and opened the door. “Oh.”
It was a large corner suite with a view of downtown to the north and west. Two bedrooms, she judged, and then—noting the spiral staircase—reconsidered. Maybe three. It was a lovely space that felt decidedly empty. “Boone?”
He wasn’t here.
Hannah sighed and went in search of her bedroom. She found her suitcase on a luggage rack in the first room she checked. A note lay on her bed where it wouldn’t be missed. Boone’s bold scrawl had penned: “Needed a swim. Come join me at the pool. Tenth floor.”
Hannah was hot. A dip in a pool sounded good. She changed into her swimsuit and the cover-up she’d brought, then made her way to the pool deck, where she found Boone swimming freestyle in the lap pool. With steady and powerful arm strokes and controlled kicks, he displayed the form of a competitive swimmer. Bet he’d been on the swim team in high school or college. He had the build for it, with those broad shoulders and long legs. A natural athlete, she supposed. He was undoubtedly candy for the eyes.
“Would you like to order anything from the bar, ma’am? It’s happy hour. Frozen cocktails are half price. I recommend our margaritas and peach Bellinis.”
Tearing her gaze away from Boone, she smiled up at the waiter and considered it. A day like this deserved an umbrella drink, didn’t it? “That sounds good. I’ll have a Bellini, please.”
“Good choice. Ours are excellent. Would you like me to serve you here or at the swim-up bar?”
“The bar is good.” She needed to cool off. Not only was the temperature over one hundred degrees, watching a shirtless Boone McBride cut through the water only made her hotter.
The water felt divine, and once she had her drink, Hannah found a perch where she could keep cool while watching the show.
Boone had revealed a different side of himself today, where Ashleigh was concerned. The gallant gentleman who had interacted with her and his mother and sisters and family and friends had disappeared in a heartbeat. Or more precisely, at the sound of his name. The man had gone cold as ice in an instant.
Now he used exercise to work out his frustrations.
Hannah was glad to see him deal with it that way. Someone else she’d known would have used his fists.
No. She wouldn’t think about Andrew. Just because Boone was wrapped up in a battle with old ghosts didn’t mean she had to follow suit. This was his party. She was simply a bystander, maybe a facilitator if she decided she wanted to mediate between him and his ex-friend. She would not allow herself to be dragged back to a place she’d fought so hard to escape.
Hannah firmly shut that mental door and returned her attention to the Texan swimming laps. He really was delicious to look at, and she couldn’t help but notice the other females around the pool watching him too.
She’d finished half of her drink by the time he ended his swim. With little visible effort, he lifted himself from the pool. Hannah had to smile when she recognized the pattern on his red, white, and blue swim trunks—Texas’s Lone Star flag. When he grabbed a fluffy white towel off a lounge chair and dried first his face, then his broad shoulders, and then his lean torso, Hannah’s mouth went dry as the summer heat. The hollow ache of sexual desire had her shifting uncomfortably. She sucked in a healthy sip of the frozen peach cocktail, hoping to cool off.
Across the pool deck, Boone began scanning the crowd, looking for her, she assumed. She lifted her hand and waved. He saw her and smiled that familiar, cocky cowboy grin.
Good. It looked like the exercise restored Boone’s good mood.
Oblivious to the hungry stares of the women all around the pool, he sauntered toward her. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.”
He sat on the pool deck beside her and dangled his legs into the water. “You ordered a girly drink.”
“Happy hour. Will you join me?”
“Well, hmm.” He eyed her glass as he considered it. “I’d better stick to beer. If I start on the hard stuff now, I might not have the will to quit. I don’t want to be lit the first time I see my son.”
“What kind of beer? I’ll get it for you. I get a kick out of the swim-up bar.” He named a brand, and she handed him her drink, then swam toward the bartender. Returning a few moments later, she traded the plastic pint for her hurricane-shaped glass.
They clinked glasses, and he observed, “It’s not black.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your swimming suit. It’s turquoise. You look great in it, by the way. I’m just surprised it’s not black.”
Hannah glanced down at herself. The suit was a strapless one-piece from her previous life, the one item of clothing she hadn’t replaced with something less colorful. Honestly, she didn’t know why she’d been toting it around in her bag for the past three years. This was the first time since she left New England that she’d had a reason to wear a swimsuit. Undoubtedly, had she gone shopping for one in the last three years, she would have chosen black.
She didn’t want to journey down that mental path, so she deflected and redirected the conversation back to him. “So, Mr. McBride. What next? I don’t think we rushed out of your house this morning to lounge poolside this afternoon.”
“True. I got distracted. I was already on edge. Didn’t expect to get ambushed.” He sipped his beer, then added, “Thanks for coming to the rescue.”
“I’m here to help.” Hannah studied Boone. The exercise hadn’t rid him of the strain around his eyes or the grim s
et of his mouth. It was a different look for him, and she didn’t like it. “You want to talk about her?”
“Nope. Let’s talk about dinner. I told Sarah Winston this morning that I’d get back to her about where we’d meet for dinner. What sounds good to you—barbecue, Tex-Mex or Italian?”
Hannah started to tell him it was his choice. Still, she had been in that place mentally where the need to make one simple decision tripped the switch into overload, and everything shut down. And as she’d told him, she was here to help. “Barbecue.”
“Excellent. I’ll call Sarah and nail down the arrangements.” He rose and sauntered over to the towel hut, where he spoke to the attendant, who then handed Boone his wallet and phone. While he was occupied with his call, Hannah climbed from the pool and walked over to the lounge chair where she’d left her towel, cover-up, and shoes. After drying herself and dressing, she found his warm stare watching her as he spoke into his phone.
Once again, sexual awareness sizzled through her. Whoa. Guess her libido had decided to reawaken with a roar. Luckily, she didn’t need to worry about the consequences of the state overmuch. Experience had taught her that nothing interfered with romance like a baby. As of tomorrow, Boone McBride wouldn’t have time or energy for anything more than taking care of his new son.
Pretending she hadn’t noticed the heated look he sent her, she looked around for a shady spot to wait for him to finish his call. She’d no sooner sat down than the peace of the summer afternoon was shattered by a trio of squealing girls who burst onto the pool deck carrying inflatable toys, a harried woman on their heels. Hannah shut her eyes as a memory of Zoe and Sophia running toward the lake for the first swim of the season floated through her mind.
Lost in memories, she didn’t note Boone’s approach until he spoke. “You okay? That’s a sad smile you’re wearing.”
“I’m fine. The laughter of little girls takes me back.” Then she shook off the bittersweet memories and asked, “So what’s the game plan?”
“Are you ready to get out of the sun?”
“Yes. Definitely. It’s nice while you’re in the water, but the heat is stifling.”
“In that case, I suggest we head up to the suite. My friend has agreed to meet us at my favorite local barbecue joint at five thirty. It’s a ten-minute drive from here. Does that give you time to get ready?”
“Sure.”
Upstairs, they parted with a smile and retreated to their separate bedrooms and baths. Hannah eyed the luxury toiletries the hotel supplied, unscrewed the cap of the shampoo, and sniffed. “Mmm.” Almost as nice as the custom products Boone supplied to the cabin.
After her shower, dressed in the white spa robe the hotel provided, Hannah dried and styled her hair, taking a little more time with it than usual. She was glad she’d brought along the makeup that Celeste Blessing had talked her into purchasing the day she’d bought her dresses for Jackson McBride’s wedding. A week ago, her skin care products were limited to the lotion she picked up at the drugstore. She hadn’t owned makeup of any kind. As Boone’s travel nanny, she wanted to make a good impression on the social worker they would be meeting for dinner shortly.
With her hair and makeup completed, she dressed in her favorite black slacks and the top she’d worn to the rehearsal party. She gave her image one last critical scan in the bathroom mirror, then picked up her handbag and exited her bedroom. Boone stood at the north-facing window gazing down at the city below. He wore jeans, boots, and a long-sleeved white sports shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway to his elbows.
He didn’t turn around when he heard her come in, but he did speak. “Being back here is surreal for me. I look the other direction, and I can see the rooftop of my old house across the river. I look in this direction, and I see the courthouse and the office space occupied by my former law firm. I spent thousands of hours in those buildings, hours that I should have spent at home. I didn’t know what was happening until it was too late. My inability to create that right balance between work and family life was one of my biggest failures. Mary died. Then I overcorrected.”
Hannah didn’t know how to respond, so she simply waited. After a long moment of silence, he asked, “What time is it?”
She glanced at her phone. “Ten minutes to five.”
“Half an hour,” he murmured. He shoved his hands into his pockets and added, “I’ve been running from that overcorrection for five years now. My folks think I left Texas because of Mary. Shoot, even Jackson and Tucker think that’s it. That’s not it. I left because of Rachel Davis, and because I was haunted by pink gel ink.”
Pink gel ink?
“I think I need to tell you about Rachel before I meet up with Sarah Winston, before I meet Trace. I need to get this off my chest. Will you listen to my story, Hannah?”
“I will.” She walked over the sofa, kicked off her sandals, and sat with her legs tucked beneath her.
His voice tight and husky with regret, he said, “It was shortly before the first anniversary of Mary’s death that Rachel’s case first came to my attention. Hannah, she was the bravest little girl I’ve ever met in my life. I won’t go into all the details. You don’t need them running around in your head, believe me. Suffice to say someone abused her horribly, and Rachel was admitted to the hospital.”
“Oh, that poor child.”
Boone continued to face the window, but he removed one hand from his pocket, lifted it, and began rubbing the back of his neck. “The people at CPS expected that I’d eventually end up on the case, so I got called in before she was discharged. I’d witnessed a lot of ugly things in my career, but seeing that pale, hollow-eyed girl lying in that hospital bed got me in a way no other case had.
“When she’d healed enough physically to be discharged, she still wasn’t talking. Her doctors didn’t want to lock her up on the psych floor, and since she had a couple of fractures, I pulled a couple of strings and got her transferred to orthopedics. We wanted to give her some time. As it happened, I was doing rehab on a shoulder injury at that time, so I spent a lot of time there myself. I started visiting her. I didn’t question her. Just sat and talked about my family, primarily. Then one evening, I came in, and she wasn’t in her bed. I found her exiting the physical therapy office with a notebook and a pen. I asked her what she was doing. She shrugged and returned to her room and ignored me for the next half hour while she watched reruns of Bewitched.”
He lapsed into silence, and at length, Hannah decided he needed encouragement to continue. She said, “I always wished I could twitch my nose like Samantha. I just don’t have the muscles for it.”
He glanced over his shoulder and met her gaze with a crooked, sad smile. Gently, she asked, “Did she write you a message?”
He turned back to the window, and his shoulders visibly slumped. “Yep. A detailed account of the abuse. It took every bit of control I possessed not to start bawling like a baby when I read it. If she hadn’t been sitting there watching, I couldn’t have held back.”
“What did you do?”
“Ah, leave it to the pretty lady to cut right to the heart of the issue.” He turned away from the window and strode across the room to the bar. He half filled a glass with tap water and tossed it back like whiskey. The glass hit the black granite countertop with clink when he set it down hard. “I promised Rachel I would get her justice. I sat beside her hospital bed and swore it. I gave her my solemn word—and then I broke it. I failed her.”
The bleakness in his expression caused her heart to twist. Hannah felt compelled to go to him to offer him a comforting touch, but his body language shouted, Stay away. So she tried to offer him comfort with words. “I haven’t known you very long, but I am confident that I know you very well. If you failed her, it was due to circumstances beyond your control.”
“Nope. See, there you’re wrong. I was in complete control of my work life. What was spinning away from me was my personal life, and I allowed it to interfere. That overcorrection I mentioned
. I was distracted and made a stupid, rookie mistake, which ultimately allowed Rachel’s abuser to get off on a technicality.” Boone dragged his hands down his face, closed his eyes, and massaged his temples. “I will never forget the look of betrayal in Rachel’s eyes when I told her the news.”
“Was it a family member?”
“Yep. Age-old story. Her stepfather.”
Hannah didn’t believe Boone would have moved to Colorado without finding another way to make the stepfather pay for his sins, so she asked, “What happened to him?”
“He’s dead,” Boone snapped, his tone flat and angry.
Hannah’s eyes went wide. “Did you…?”
“No. Unfortunately. Less than a week after his case was dismissed, the sonofabitch died in his sleep. Drug overdose. Rachel didn’t get justice.”
And neither did you.
Hannah recognized that she was still missing some pieces here. What had happened to Rachel Davis? What, if anything, did Ashleigh have to do with the situation? Why had he wanted to tell her this before having dinner with the social worker?
Hannah remembered that Ashleigh’s husband had been the one who had facilitated the adoption attempt that ultimately led to Boone’s wife’s suicide. He’d also said it was a story worthy of a soap opera.
Rachel Davis. Ashleigh. The late Mary. The baby. Maybe even the social worker, Sarah. Somehow they were tied together, and that piece of the story, she believed, was what Boone found difficult to tell. She glanced at the clock. They still had twenty minutes before they needed to leave.
Maybe he needed a push to get it out. “What does all of this have to do with Trace?”
“Once again, you cut to the meat of it, don’t you? Trace is—well, it’s highly probable that Trace is Rachel’s son.” Boone told Hannah about the note addressed to him and written in pink gel ink that was left with the baby at the fire station. “I’ve seen a picture of the note. I recognize Rachel’s handwriting. Nobody’s sure about whether or not the baby is her child or if she acted on behalf of the infant’s mother.”
