by Jane Josephs
But his concentration was shot, and no amount of lecturing himself could bring it back.
~ ~ ~
The door of the downtown health clinic slammed open again, and this time a mother with a screaming toddler nearly fell out the door. Alison stepped back to avoid being hit by the child’s flailing arms. All morning, people had streamed in and out of the clinic—pregnant women, mothers with infants, entire families, and San Diego’s homeless population. Alison checked her messages for the third time, breathing a sigh of relief when a text finally came through from Emma saying she was on her way. Alison’s stomach growled. It was nearly lunchtime. Emma would be hungry, as usual. But first, her health needed to be checked.
Huffing out an impatient sigh, Alison moved back near the clinic entrance. With a few taps on her phone, she opened her website. She had resisted the urge all morning, but now couldn’t contain her curiosity. She laughed out loud when she read the “Like” count. Over five thousand hits. Not a bad start. Had Nick heard about her blog, as she hoped? Read it? Alison’s stomach quivered at the thought. She rolled her bottom lip with her front teeth, remembering his concern for her in the elevator. She’d set the trap, hadn’t she? But could she catch her man?
“Okay, I’m here,” Emma called, startling Alison from her thoughts.
Alison clicked off her phone and draped her arm around Emma, determined not to show her annoyance at having to wait over an hour for the girl. “This is a busy place, so let’s get inside and get your name on the list. You’ll feel a lot better once you know what’s going on, don’t you think?”
Emma frowned. “I guess so. I just don’t know why these things are happening to me, you know? I didn’t do anything wrong. I love Travis.”
Alison bit back a retort that would undoubtedly provoke the girl. She wanted to build Emma up, not tear her down. “I know, it’s hard. But you’ll get through this, and then we’ll talk about what we want to do next. I could use some lunch; then maybe we should go shopping for a new shirt for you. What do you say?”
“Well, I’d love a new shirt. But I think I’d rather have my hair done.”
“Really? Well, okay. It’s a deal.” Alison said, careful not to show the full measure of her excitement at a stylist getting a hold of Emma’s ugly streaked hair. “Now, let’s go inside.” She opened the door of the clinic.
It took some maneuvering, but Alison finally made her way with Emma through the crowd in the waiting room to the registration desk. She scanned the list, nearly groaning at the number of patients waiting to be seen. “Looks like we’ll be here for a while. I should have put your name on the list as soon as I got here.” She handed Emma a pen with a silk flower on the top. “I’ll know better next time.”
“There’s always a wait, no matter what time I get here,” Emma said, printing her name on the list in big, elementary school style letters. “At least the nurses and doctors are nice.”
Just then, the door opened to the examination rooms and a nurse called out a name. A family of five stood. But before Alison could do more than turn, the chairs were filled by others. Pursing her lips, she moved with Emma to lean against the wall.
And resumed thinking about Nick.
~ ~ ~
“Let’s move!” Nick commanded from the shore on the bay side of the base. Splashing through the water, the SWCC students hauled the inflatable boats up onto the sand. “Get those boats back to the Schoolhouse.” Nick checked his watch. Just after 4:30. It had been a long day, culminating with races on the bay in Combat Rubber Raiding Crafts, better known as CRRC’s. The races had been designed to assess the students’ teamwork. Nick swiped his hand through his hair as he hurried back to his office. The class was in its first of seven weeks of Basic Crewman Selection, and already three in the class had been dropped. Two more were iffy, by the looks of things today. Hard to say how many more they’d lose before the Tour, four weeks away.
In his equipment cage, he stripped off his wetsuit, hung it up, and put his street clothes back on. He locked the door of his cage, retrieved his backpack from his office, and hurried to his truck.
Dusk had fallen, and the night air had turned chilly. His heart slamming against his ribcage, Nick got in his truck, found Alison’s website on his phone and began to read. He grimaced, immediately annoyed that she had used his first name in her post. Sucking in a shaky breath, he read on. She was a skilled writer, he’d give her that. Her words hinted at the attraction between them rather than spelling it out. But she had captured the tension; it was palpable. Nick clenched his teeth. So, she had felt it, too. Somehow, she understood the feelings he’d stuffed deep down inside since his breakup with Carrie. A moment later, he groaned, unable to control the shock that ripped through him as Alison described a kiss they’d supposedly shared.
Then the rage hit. Hard and ugly. More violent than this morning’s reaction to Tony’s laughter. Nick sucked in a deep breath. She had used him to get attention for herself at his expense. Why? Why would she intentionally embarrass him like this? Nick clenched and unclenched his fists as he fought for control. God, you’ve got to help me, here. You know what’s going on. You know I’m attracted to her. Help me get some perspective. Help me forgive her. But I’ve got to know why . . . why would she do this?
Resting his forehead against the top of the steering wheel, Nick prayed for guidance. And when it finally came, he knew what he had to do.
Blowing out a calming breath, he started his truck and headed into the city.
~ ~ ~
Standing at her kitchen sink, Alison washed and dried half a dozen lemons and put them on the kitchen counter next to a cut-glass pitcher. But her mind raced. Had Nick read her blog? Choosing her favorite serrated knife, she sliced a lemon in half. The intercom buzzed. She startled, her stomach jumping and her heart pounding.
“Yes, Bill?” Alison said, knowing the small microphone in the ceiling would easily pick up her voice.
“A guy named Nick is here to see you. Shall I send him up?”
Yes! Alison pumped her arm in silent triumph. “Nick? Oh, sure, great. Send him up, please.”
Not wanting to cut herself in her excitement at seeing Nick again, Alison put down the knife and went to wait by her door. Nick must have come straight from work. It was almost six o’clock.
She jumped at the sound of his knock. A polite tap, not the thundering, angry pounding she half expected. Her breath whooshed out of her lungs, and she forced herself to count very methodically to five before she pulled open the door.
“Nick, how nice to see you.” She stepped back. “Come in. I was just making some lemonade.”
“We need to talk.”
Alison smiled and turned, leading him into the living room. “Well, sure, I’d love to talk.” He wasn’t quite as in control as his voice made him sound, was he? “I was going to text you to let you know about Emma. I went with her this morning to the clinic.” She smiled over her shoulder as she led him through the room and into a dining area next to the kitchen. “I couldn’t believe the number of patients those doctors have to see in a day. The waiting room was mobbed. Turns out Emma doesn’t have hepatitis, thank God.” She stopped and turned to him. “She was just freaked out because some homeless people died last week from hepatitis. So, she’ll be fine.”
Crossing to the kitchen counter, Alison turned her back on Nick, picked up her knife and sliced another lemon in half. “I’ve got CrossFit in an hour and I need some energy, so I hope you won’t make me drink alone.” She squeezed each lemon until its juice dripped into the pitcher.
“Why’d you do it?”
“Well, because I care about her, of course. And I knew if I didn’t meet her at the clinic, she probably wouldn’t go.” Keeping her back to Nick, she picked up the knife again and sliced two more lemons in half.
“No, not why’
d you go with Emma. Why’d you write those lies about us?”
She turned, forgetting she still held the knife. Nick stood a foot away. Flustered, Alison stammered, “Well, well, uh . . . could you get out some glasses for us?” She pointed the knife at a cabinet.
In an instant he grabbed her hand and took the knife away. Alison gasped. “Oh, I . . . I’m sorry. I wasn’t . . . I didn’t mean to . . . I forgot I was holding it.”
His eyes bore into hers, wary, hard. He released her hand. Alison slumped against the counter.
“That’s more than enough lemons,” he said, his voice strident. “Wash your hands. I’ll finish making the lemonade if you tell me where you keep your sugar.” He put the knife well away from her reach.
Shaken by his brute strength and lightning-fast reflexes, Alison did as he’d commanded and washed her hands. But playing it cool was out of the question with him working in her kitchen as if it was his home. The thought caused a stab of longing to pierce her heart. Would he give her the chance to explain? Or had she blown it?
Drying her hands, she said, “I use a sugar substitute. It’s in the cabinet right above you.”
He opened the cabinet and found the box. “I’ve never used this stuff to make lemonade,” he said, shaking a small amount of the white powder into the lemon juice. “So, this could be undrinkable. But we’ll see, won’t we?” He filled the pitcher with water and set it down to pluck a spoon out of the crock by the stove.
Eyeing him warily, Alison got out two glasses and filled each with ice. Not sure what Nick would demand next, she waited. His calm control unnerved her. Would he agree to what she wanted? Or would this be the last time she’d see him?
The stirring stopped, and Nick crossed to the table by the window with the pitcher. His expression hadn’t changed since the moment she opened the door and invited him in—detached, calm, icy. Setting the pitcher on a placemat, he pulled out a chair for her, then one for himself and sat. “Sit down.”
The authority in his voice sent a shiver of rage down her spine. He might have the right to order his SWCC students around, but Alison was having none of it. She’d been up against tougher guys than Nick. And she’d learned early in life not to back down. If you wanted something, you went after it. And she wanted something from Nick.
Alison brought the glasses to the table and taking her time, poured lemonade into each one before sitting across from him.
“We need to talk.” Nick’s expression softened once she had settled in her chair and met his eyes. “I don’t want you to miss your CrossFit session. With Kayla, right? The woman you used . . . to make sure I’d hear about your blog post.”
Heat rushed to Alison’s face, but she refused to look away. Instead, she picked up her lemonade and took a drink. Satisfied that she had control of herself, she carefully placed her glass back on the placemat and said, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. Kayla went out of her way to make you feel welcome at CrossFit, and Tony’s her boyfriend, who just happens to work with me. So, you used her.” He leaned in, his patience vanishing. “And here I am. Because you used me, too.”
Alison’s heart raced, his words cutting deep. She knew what it felt like to be used. But she couldn’t tell him that. She concentrated on wiping the moisture off her glass with her finger to keep from looking at him. “Nick, really. I would hardly say I used you.” She finally met his stare, determined to defend herself in the only way she knew. “And anyway, what do you care? If anything, I made you look good.”
Nick smiled, a slow stretch of his lips that caused Alison to suck in her breath. “Yeah, you did.” He pinned her with eyes that showed no mercy. “If that’s the kind of guy I want people to think I am. But it’s not. I want you to take the post down, Alison. Now. Tonight. And I think you need to apologize to Kayla.”
Alison bristled. “No way.”
Nick’s gaze trapped her, like a bug under a microscope. Her whole body felt on fire.
He squinted at her, his mistrust and his contempt clear. “Who are you? And what makes you think you can write about me, and I’ll just accept it and go away?” He picked up his lemonade. “You will take it down! Tonight.” He tipped back his head and emptied the glass. With a crack, it landed on the bare table next to his placemat with the precision of a hammer striking a nail. “Now.”
Trying not to squirm, Alison looked away, afraid for the first time that she’d ruined her chances with Nick. She had to tough it out or she’d dissolve into a puddle of shame on the floor. She lifted her chin. “I have a certain reputation, you know? I could lose my following if I start messing with my blog.”
“One post won’t hurt you. If anything, you’ll probably get more readers asking why you took it down.” He leaned across the table. “Now, Alison.”
Alison’s nerves went on full alert. A muscle clenched in Nick’s jaw, but there was a softening in his eyes. Enough of a sign to give her a tiny bit of hope. Schooling her face to hide her excitement, she swallowed hard. He wasn’t as tough as he sounded. She huffed out a sigh. “Okay. You win. I’ll take down the post, but I want something in return for jeopardizing my career.”
Nick cocked his head. “No way.”
“Yes. It’s only fair.” The words spilled out in a rush. “I want horseback riding lessons at your ranch. Sixteen should do it, I think.”
Nick stood up and exploded. “You’re crazy. I’m out of here. And you will take down that post.”
Alison studied him, his face a mask of fury. But she didn’t see the anger, the disgust. Instead, she saw the man who’d offered to help her with Emma. The man who prayed with his friends and laughed at their jokes. Who had offered to share his lunch with her and grieved for her when she told him about Grandma Kate’s death. She nodded. “I’ll walk you to the door.”
But this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Chapter 6
Richie Reid vaulted into the saddle on his horse, Max, in one easy leap. “Let’s go, boy. Time to warm up.” He trotted into the riding ring, circled the corral several times, and coaxed Max into a slow, easy canter. Enjoying the rocking gate, Richie guided Max in a figure-eight pattern twice before coming to a stop. He jumped off and let one of the reins drag on the ground, signaling Max to stay.
In minutes, Richie had rolled a large barrel into the center of the corral and jumped back on Max. “Let’s have some fun.” He walked the horse to the far end of the corral, where the gate stood open, turned him, and shouted, “Hey, ya!” Max galloped toward the barrel. Richie eased him around the barrel, then raced back to the gate. He pulled him up so fast, the horse’s front legs came off the ground. “Good boy, Max, good boy.” Richie patted the bay’s neck several times and turned him in a circle.
In the distance, Spade, the family’s black Labrador, barked. Up at the driveway, Richie spotted a girl getting out of a white convertible. He smiled. “That’s some set of wheels you got there, woman.” Even from a distance he could see her smile as she bent and petted the dog. When she turned to walk down the path to the corral, Spade stayed close beside her.
Richie trotted Max across the riding ring to meet her, barely stopping himself from whistling his appreciation. Her long, brown hair had been gathered into a side ponytail, causing a riot of curls to cascade onto her chambray shirt. Black skinny jeans hugged her long legs and showed off a good-looking pair of black and silver cowboy boots.
Richie rode up to the fence and leaned his arms on the saddle horn. “You must be our new student. Ma said you would be coming this morning.” Max sidestepped closer to the fence. Richie offered his hand. “I’m Richie Reid. Welcome to the ranch.” Her hand was the softest he’d ever touched, her nails a sultry fire-engine red. “Spade, go home,” he commanded, and the dog trotted back toward the house. “What’s your name again?”
“Alison.
”
“Okay, then. Come with me, Alison, and we’ll get started on those lessons.”
Alison didn’t move. “I arranged with your mother to have lessons with a man named Nick.”
“He can’t teach you today. He’s cleaning the stalls and then cutting wood at our neighbor’s. So, you get me.” Richie flashed his best smile. “I hope you don’t mind. I’m a better teacher than Nick, anyway.” He laughed. “And a ton more patient.”
Turning Max, he motioned for Alison to follow him to the barn.
~ ~ ~
Flustered by the change in plans, and determined not to show it, Alison followed the fence toward the barn. She stepped back quickly when Max came through the corral gate, frightened by the sheer size of the animal.
Richie dismounted. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Have you ever been on a horse?”
“Once. A long time ago. It didn’t go well. But I rode a pony at a birthday party when I was four.” Alison cocked her head, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Does that count?”
“Only if you wore a party dress,” Richie joked. Taking hold of Max’s bridle, he led the way. “Let’s start in the barn. I’ll show you the tack room and you can pick out a saddle you like.”
“Will it match my boots?”
Richie laughed, glancing at her boots. “I think we might have something. We’re a class act out here, you know.”
