by Christa Wick
She wasn't. As far as he could tell, she wasn't inside, either. At least not on the first floor. The second floor was living quarters for the residents, so he didn't dare go up there. If Velda had visited the second floor, she was probably there to access the attic stairs. He wouldn’t repeat yesterday’s mistake.
Only it hadn't been a mistake. It had been beautiful, magic. The error was in what had followed. He hadn't measured his words carefully. He had reacted with his heart and, admittedly, his dick.
What the hell had he been thinking to have the first words out of his mouth after the intimacy they had shared be a command for her to come to his hotel room that evening?
Nope, he wouldn't repeat the mistake, he promised as he made another espresso. He would probably commit other errors, but not the same ones. He was already attempting to show Velda that he had changed since they were lovers. The alarm to stop him from working against all distraction was one thing. Not taking her presence for granted would be another.
If he could find her, he amended, returning to the computer room.
Chapter 10
The third time hunting down Velda proved successful. Shane found her setting the tables in the section of the big gym that served as the dining room.
"Wonderful," he said, grabbing a tray loaded with empty plates. "I need something to get the blood pumping before I go back to the computers."
She offered a shaded look then took the tray from him. "Walk the stiff legs off somewhere else then get back to the lab. Both the children and their parents are pestering me on when you'll be done."
Standing his ground, Shane grabbed the utensil cups and started placing them on the tables.
"Tell them to pester me," he suggested.
"One tried," Velda shot back, gaze locked on her work. "He asked if you were deaf."
Feeling his cheeks heat with shame, Shane offered a silent thanks that Velda was refusing to look at him.
"Please tell me it wasn't Stefan."
"Alright, I won't."
"Fu—" He caught himself before the word fully escaped. The stack of volunteer papers Velda had forced him to read had made it clear that he should foster an obscenity-free environment to the greatest extent possible.
"If you see him—"
She cut him off with a shake of her head. "He went back out, staring at his shoes with each step."
Shane knew he deserved the reprimand. Velda was right to be mad at him. He was mad at himself.
"Should I go look for him?"
She rubbed her forehead then pinched between her brows like she was trying to ward off a headache.
"You wouldn't know where to look, would you?"
"No," he agreed, putting the tray down and returning to the lab without a glance back.
Maybe the only truly helpful thing he could do for Velda and the shelter was what he had already done—cut a check.
The thought nagged at Shane as he worked on setting up the Macs. He had done the PCs as a block. Turn them on one-by-one, connect each in turn to the network, initiate updates. By the time he executed the same command on each of the machines, the computer he had started with was ready for the next action.
All through the process, he tried to keep track of the surrounding room. He didn't want a repeat of what had happened with Stefan. But, damn it, if he was going to be alone, it was faster if he focused.
So that's what he did, slipping right back to having the machine and its demands claim his attention. The work went quicker. Tasks were set up and knocked down in neat rows just like dominos. He was in the flow.
Until a soft breath sounded from somewhere near his right shoulder and he flinched.
That's all it was, a flinch. His arms didn't flail, his leg didn't jerk. He flinched. But the reaction sent the child away in a silent scurry. He turned to see a little girl with untamed reddish-blond hair dive behind a recycling can that dwarfed her small body.
First Stefan, Shane thought, now this child. Money be damned, Velda would toss him onto the street before the day was through.
"It's okay," he called out, his voice as low as he could make it and still be heard. "I didn't know anyone was in the room with me."
From where he sat, Shane could just see the peek of her worn brown shoes. They disappeared as his chair scraped over the floor and he stood.
"You're not in trouble," he continued in a soft voice. "I didn't mean to startle you and I promise that I'm not mad."
He walked slowly toward the recycling can, carefully approaching in a wide arc so the girl would see him coming. When he was finally face-to-face with her, he stopped about twice his arm's length away and sat on the floor.
Seeing the fear so clearly stamped on the girl's small features, Shane felt like a total asshole. Not because he had inadvertently scared her. No, the shame stemmed from the fact that his initial reaction had been entirely selfish. He had worried over what Velda would think and do, his mind a million miles distant from the reality that he was in a shelter filled with abused women and children.
"Sometimes," he started in his softest tone, "sometimes I get to working and forget anyone else exists. Miss Pace gets mad at me for doing that."
Feeling his cheeks flush hot again, he rushed to amend his statement.
"And I deserve it when she gets mad about that."
The little girl kept staring at him, her unabated fear visible in the pinched lines of her face and the way she held her knees to her chest.
"I bet you were just curious about the computers, weren't you?"
When she nodded, Shane wanted to do a victory dance. He kept a calm demeanor instead.
"Do you want me to show you what I'm doing? Maybe help me with the work?"
She nodded again.
Cheeks lifting in a broad smile, he stood and extended his hand.
"Okay, but you have to tell me your name."
Standing, she wrapped slender fingers around his and whispered.
"I'm Honey."
Chapter 11
Lunch blurred by as it always did. The only thing that stuck in Velda's memory was the underlying current of optimism, something usually in short supply around the center. Some small sliver of the mood might have been triggered by the roofer's arrival. Except work hadn't started and it was just one roofer there to finalize the contract and accept the downpayment check. Quite possibly, Velda was the only one aware of the man's visit.
She knew the bulk of the ebullient mood was due to the new computers, espresso machine and a couple hundred pods she couldn't justify replacing after they were consumed.
Velda didn't see Shane at lunch. Knowing she couldn't keep a smile on her face while he was around and not wanting her own foul mood to dampen the joy of others, she left as soon as the plates were loaded. She returned when she knew cleanup would be underway.
With that task complete, a preternatural silence filled the dining area and kitchen.
She thought about sneaking back to her room. Hell, nothing was on fire and everyone was acting like they didn't need her. Maybe she could squeeze in a nap. Even better, she could call up Frank Delvecchio and ask what his wife Connie was cooking for dinner. Socializing with the couple would do her good and maybe soften Frank up in case she truly needed him to supervise the shelter for a few days.
"I thought you'd be in the computer lab with everyone else," Melanie Adams said as she walked a quick line toward the espresso machine.
"Is that where they all are?" Velda asked. She had half suspected as much.
"Well, a couple of the older kids and their moms are at soccer practice."
Melanie popped a pod into the machine and started it brewing. Every few seconds she waved her hand over the steam and drew a deep, satisfied breath. When the cup was filled, she took a sip and sighed before looking at Velda.
"I don't know how, but you brought us a real angel, Miss Pace."
Right, Velda thought. Shane was the angel in the current equation.
Melanie gestured at th
e machine. "Have you had a cup yet?"
Velda shook her head.
"No point getting hooked on something temporary," she said, leaving the kitchen and heading toward the computer room.
Instead of going into the lab, she ducked into the laundry room. The position gave her a clear line of sight. She counted more than a dozen people scattered around the computers.
The small crowd was mostly teens, plus Shane, Honey Grier, and Georgia Carter. Velda only realized after sorting all the bodies that nine of them were at computers. Before Shane's arrival, there had been just five machines, all of which were PCs. Counting three Macs and three new printers, she wondered what else Shane had added. A better router, she figured. Otherwise, someone would be complaining about internet speed.
Shane stood tall among the crowd. He moved between the workstations, fixing minor issues as Georgia and the kids stress-tested the machines.
Alone in the doorway, Velda watched as Honey turned around in her chair and called Shane's name. He looked. The little girl confidently waggled her fingers in summons.
Velda's mouth dropped open at the exchange.
Next to Honey, Stefan turned in his seat. The teen didn't need to say anything. Shane sensed the attention and faced him. They exchanged words. Shane would say something, Stefan would type or mouse. They went back and forth a couple of times and then Stefan raised his hands like he'd just scored a touchdown.
Smiling, Shane patted the boy's back then moved on to helping Reggie load fresh paper into the printer.
Velda slipped down the hall, retreated to her room.
Clearly, when it came to Shane Wehr, she was the only one who couldn't hold his attention.
Chapter 12
Shane spent the next two days wondering what he did wrong. Wednesday, when the computers came in and he finished setting up the lab, there had still been a spark in Velda's eyes. Mostly it was irritation, but her beautiful face had been alive. Now the emerald gaze was flat, the expression waxen.
Faced with the reality that she wouldn't remain in one spot long enough for Shane to talk to her, he played a game of cat and mouse Friday afternoon. He signed out at the front desk, climbed into his rental then drove a couple blocks away to a secure parking lot. He waited half an hour then returned to the shelter on foot.
He didn't have to look hard to find Velda. She was relieving someone at the front desk for a few minutes. So he not only had her in his sights, but maneuvered her into a private conversation.
"This had better be legitimate," she said, closing her office door.
Nodding, Shane suppressed the urge to fold his arms across his chest. But he indulged in planting his legs in a wide, immovable stance that communicated he wouldn't back down from what he was about to say.
"Your attitude is hurting morale at the shelter."
Her head snapped in his direction. The first bit of real emotion in two days flashed at him. Unfortunately, the emotion was fury. But he had expected it, considered it only a minor encumbrance to the discussion they needed to have.
"You're acting like you don't want to be here," he continued. "Like you no longer care about the people you've been helping for the last decade."
The emotion warped from anger to hurt. The threat of tears suddenly glittered in her eyes.
Ignoring the impulse to comfort Velda, he forged forward.
"It's not just me you're treating with a listless indifference, it's everyone—even the kids."
She shook her head.
He raised his brows in silent challenge.
"So, are you sick or something?"
"Does an allergy to you count?" Velda asked, her tone as crisp and cold as dry ice as she took refuge behind her desk.
Shane perched on the desk's edge. His legs extended in front of him but didn't block her. She could go around the other side if she wanted to escape his presence.
"No," he answered. "That would cover the first three days. This is wholly different."
Her gaze dropped to the oversized monthly calendar on her desk. Some of the annotations were decipherable by anyone. Soccer meets, free clinic screenings, weekly library trips. Others were cryptic and in bold marker. He imagined those were financial deadlines.
"We aren't going to have a conversation here that resolves anything," Shane sighed. "Come to dinner. We'll go someplace public. Use separate vehicles. If you don't want to talk about what's wrong, we can talk about how I would like to do more funding for the shelter."
When her eyes drifted shut, Shane figured she was going to order him out.
"There's the Pier Cantina and Sandbar," she said. "Seven o'clock."
Shocked at Velda's capitulation, he was slow to respond.
"Sounds great."
She looked up at him, the beautifully expressive eyes full of disagreement.
"If I see you anywhere before then, I won't show."
At five past seven, Velda slid into the booth on the bench opposite Shane. She placed a folder and a notepad on the table then grabbed one of the menus the waitress had left behind.
"Did you order?" she asked, the words neatly clipped.
"Waited for you."
His hands twisted out of view. All week long, since he had found her hurt in the kitchen, he had wanted nothing more than a civil conversation.
Okay, he thought, wiping his palms against his jeans. He had wanted a hell of a lot more when they were up in the attic. But the core of what he wanted was communication.
A decade ago, they had been so much more than lovers. He had planned on spending the rest of his life with her, had wanted to build something that would ensure he could take care of her, that she would never suffer the poverty they had both experienced as children.
Shane ran the numbers back in college, computed them over and over. He scrutinized how many months or years it would take before he could place a down payment on a home, when they would be able to move out of the house they rented with a bunch of graduate students, how much of an engagement ring and honeymoon he could afford. When he had the answers—all the answers—he would propose.
Then he came home one day and there was no one to propose to. Even if she protested otherwise, Velda had left him.
"Ladies first," Shane growled at the waitress when the woman bounced up to take their orders, her bright gaze glued to him.
"Shrimp enchiladas and a Coke," Velda said.
"Diet Coke?"
"Coke," Velda repeated before turning to look out the window.
Shane rattled off his order, pushed the menus toward the waitress then occupied himself with studying Velda's profile until they were alone.
"Is there a dire need or wish list in your folder?"
"My wish is that I didn't have a dire needs list," she answered with a flat tone, her gaze still on the surf visible through the big glass windows.
He kept his patience and his tongue in check. After a couple more minutes of silence, Velda pulled a paper from her folder and placed it on his side of the table.
"Items funded have to be practical," she said. "And not require constant resources devoted to them."
"Naturally," he answered, glancing over the list of needs and their estimated costs.
"Naturally," she echoed with uncharacteristic tartness.
He mulled over the change in tone.
"Is that a dig at the espresso machine?"
She flashed a smile, its lines mostly flat except for the outermost corners of her mouth.
Shane returned his attention to the sheet, added up the numbers. Quarter million dollars. It wasn't as if she was asking him for that much. She hadn't asked him for anything. It was just a list of what he could fund if he were so inclined.
And it came to less than the cost of a Ferrari.
"I'll arrange the check on Monday," he said, returning the sheet of paper to Velda's folder. "Now can we discuss…"
Trailing off, he gestured between them.
"There's no 'us' to discuss," Velda warned.
<
br /> "I meant your demeanor around everyone the last few days. Wednesday night, the kids and moms were all smiles. Now they're walking around like a hammer is about to drop." He paused, took a rough swallow as he worked up the nerve to push a little necessary guilt in Velda's direction. "Given the history of abuse, I imagine they are highly sensitized to the stress of others."
Another pause, another rough swallow.
"Especially when it comes to people who have power over them."
She stared at him, the green gaze boring holes into his skull. He leaned across the table, one hand dancing dangerously close to her arm.
"I get that it's me you're upset with and that…encounter—"
His tongue froze when she grabbed the folder and notepad.
Shane pulled away, both hands raised in surrender. A second later, the waitress slid their plates onto the table, warning that the stoneware was still hot.
"Can I—"
"No," he said, waving the woman away before she had a chance to further foul Velda's mood.
Grabbing a fork, he shoveled meat onto a flour tortilla.
"Smells wonderful," he offered.
She made no move to touch her food or drink.
Certain she would leave whether he said anything, Shane decided to get one last point across.
“I’m trying to make up for our history, Velda. I really am. I set timers while I put the computer lab together, but I still managed to screw it up with Stefan. And I screwed it up even worse with Honey Grier. But looking into her eyes, I knew I had to…"
He picked that moment to meet Velda's gaze.
What he saw ripped a hole in his chest.
Chapter 13
Tears. Not just the threat of them, but a numb stream was flowing down her face. And the sight was gutting him alive.
Clutching the folder, she slid out of the booth and power walked to the front door. Shane gave chase, shoving a hundred-dollar bill at the waitress and telling her to keep the change.
