by Dara Girard
But things were different now. The Sheppards believed in her. They had taught her what a family was. When she’d had to have a minor surgical procedure they’d visited her in the hospital every day and had even bought her a beautiful bouquet of flowers. No one had ever done that for her before. For the first time she knew what home and family was about. They’d never mistreated her or hurt her, but over the years she’d been hurting them. It hadn’t been intentional at first, she just thought it was a dog-eat-dog world. But they’d shown her otherwise. Now, as she sat on the edge of her bed in the mother-in-law apartment, she thought about what she might lose. But she wanted to stop Mrs. Sheppard’s tears and knew the sacrifice would be worth it.
Chapter 7
Trenton woke to the sound of Layla barking. He went downstairs and looked out the window and saw a familiar car coming up the driveway, but not in the front, the back. He swore. She was good. She’d obviously convinced someone to give her the new directions. That was quite a feat because the townspeople were usually wary of outsiders but he could imagine her using those big brown eyes and enticing smile to get past their defenses. He swore again then ordered Layla to stop barking. He glanced at his watch. It was too early for this crap, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with her so he wouldn’t. “It doesn’t matter. She’ll discover I’m not home.” He returned upstairs to his bed. He heard the doorbell ring and then a knock. He just pulled up the sheets, shut his eyes and soon it went silent.
Two hours later, Trenton got up, jumped in the shower and got dressed, then went downstairs and made himself some coffee. Layla barked.
He gave her an affection pat. “I know I’m running late, but we’ll go out in a minute.”
She barked again. He gave her a stern look and she quieted. It was a beautiful morning. Trenton was glad it was the weekend. He would drive to his favorite scenic location and go for a walk with Layla. He poured his coffee then went out on his porch and leaned on the railing, inhaling the aromatic scent of fresh evergreens. Layla barked again. “Quiet, Layla. It’s not like you to be impatient. We’ll go walking in a minute.” He took a sip of his coffee.
“It’s a perfect day for a walk,” a feminine voice said coming up behind him.
Trenton jumped, spilling coffee down the front of his shirt. He swore fiercely, making up words of his own.
Daniella rushed toward him. “Are you all right?”
He took a step back. “What are you doing here?”
“I hope it wasn’t scalding hot,” she said, looking at the stain on his shirt.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He slammed his mug down on the side railing, tore off his shirt and threw it on the ground—angry at her and angry at himself for being happy to see her again. She was just as lovely and fresh as a spring morning and he could imagine spending the day with her, but he couldn’t and he didn’t want to. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“I wasn’t frightened,” he ground out.
“You jumped nearly a foot.”
“Stop exaggerating. Why are you still here?”
“So you knew I was here?”
“I saw you drive up. I thought by ignoring you, you’d go away.” He picked up his mug and headed for the door. “Let me try it again.”
“Don’t forget your shirt,” she said, holding it out to him.
“Keep it.”
“Wait, I just want to talk to you.”
He opened the door. “Come on, Layla.”
Layla glanced at Daniella with a longing glance then did as she was ordered.
“Fine, you don’t have to talk to me, but I do have a message for you.”
He walked inside.
“Keep the flag flying.”
He shut the door.
* * *
Strike two. Daniella stared at the closed door then the soiled shirt in her hand and sighed. It was now time for plan C. Unfortunately, she’d have to come up with it first. She was about to turn when the door opened again.
“What did you just say?” Trenton demanded.
“I want to talk to you.”
“No,” he said with an impatient shake of his head. “After that. You said you had a message?”
“Yes. ‘Keep the flag flying.’”
“Who told you to say that?”
“Your mother.”
Trenton’s gaze grew menacing, as did his voice. “You spoke to my mother?”
Daniella swallowed hard and nodded. She would stand her ground and not be intimidated. “And your father, too. They really miss you.”
Trenton stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind him with controlled anger. “What game are you playing?”
“I’m not playing a game.”
He grabbed her arm. “You saw their fine house and nice things and thought you could get some money from them, right? Like the psychic who told them I’d died. Or the investigator who told them I’d changed my name and moved to Cleveland. You saw simple, honest folks you could manipulate. How much money do you want?”
“I don’t want any money and I only found them because I wanted to find you.”
“How did you find them?”
She chewed her lower lip. “Your father found me.”
“How?”
“I asked about your tattoo.”
He froze. “You lured him.”
“No, I just wanted to find you.”
“How much do you want? You didn’t strike me as the type, but I don’t put anything past anyone, especially when it comes to motivation.”
“Look, my first motivation was just to tell your story. You know, the man behind the hero type of thing, but then after I talked to your parents I sort of made a promise to them that I’d find you and make sure you were all right and give you the message.”
“So just out of the kindness of your heart, you spend time and money to track me down to give me my mother’s message.” He shook his head. “No one’s that noble.”
“I’m not being noble. I can help you, Trenton.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? It’s your name and it suits you better than Richard, even though Richard is a nice name. I just—”
“What do they look like?” he cut in.
“Well, they’re black.”
He frowned at her attempt at humor and tightened his grip. “You have one minute to convince me you spoke to my parents.”
“I gave you the message and it obviously meant something to you.”
“That’s not enough. What did they look like specifically?”
“Well…your father is tall with a pepper-gray beard and suspenders and your mother is a stocky woman with curly gray hair. To be honest they looked more like Father Christmas and his wife, and their house like a gingerbread castle.”
“And I bet you felt right at home,” he grumbled, sizing her up in a swift glance. “You’d fit right in.”
“Excuse me?” Daniella said, acutely aware of his grip on her arm. He held her with a casual strength. He didn’t hurt her, but she knew she wasn’t going anywhere.
“Forget it.” Trenton released her as if she’d become too hot to the touch. He took a step back and folded his arms.
Daniella took a step forward, desperate to close the distance—both physical and psychological—that he was trying to put between them. She had to gain his trust. “When I first met them I thought there had been a mistake. How could such a lovely couple have ended up with a mean son like you?”
He nodded. “I’ve asked myself that many times.”
“Why are you hurting them like this? They love you so much. At least send them a recent photo or letter.”
“Do your parents know
what you’re up to?”
“Probably.”
“And they approve?”
“I’ll have to ask them, the next time I visit their graves.”
He sighed and his voice softened. “I’m sorry.”
“So you see why I’m jealous. You have yours and you won’t even see them.”
“It’s better this way.”
Daniella shook her head in frustration. “But you’re all hurting. I can feel it and I—”
“You need to leave.”
“Let me help you.”
“Why?”
“I can get to the truth.”
“What truth?”
“About the accident. I did some research and read all about what happened. The crash, the lawsuit…”
Trenton gave a low whistle. “You have been busy. Did you also find out what my grades were in elementary school?”
“I wish you’d stop trying to be funny.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“I know that you were involved in a crash that killed a woman and that you were charged with negligence because they found drugs in your system.”
He turned to the door. “Good, you got the whole story.”
Daniella grabbed his arm. She knew it was a useless attempt; her hand looked like a child’s against his large form. If he wanted to leave, he could and she couldn’t stop him, but she’d still try to get him to listen. “No, I don’t think so. Your parents don’t believe you are guilty and neither do I.”
“Why not? My wife certainly did, as did all my friends and colleagues.”
“They were wrong.”
Trenton glanced down at her hand on his arm, a pointed look as powerful as a touch. “How do you know?”
Daniella yanked her hand away and rubbed her hands together wishing he didn’t have such a visceral effect on her. “Because I know you.”
He flashed a cruel smile. “You don’t know anyone. Trust me, I’ve made that mistake before.”
“So somebody betrayed you?”
“This conversation is over.”
“I trust my instincts. You’re not a man to do drugs.”
“I bet you still believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.”
Daniella gripped her hands together as though in prayer. “Please let me help you.”
Trenton’s face softened and he reached for her then withdrew his hand and grasped it into a fist. “You’re sweet, but you don’t know what’s at stake. Go home. Thanks for the message.”
“Trenton, please.”
He looked at her for a long time, letting himself admit that he was more than happy to see her. He was relieved. She knew about his past and still believed in him and wanted to help. He tightened his fists, resisting the urge to touch her and make sure she was real. It all felt like a dream. This sweet, sexy woman had tracked him down and used his name as if he mattered, as if he was important. It had been so long since he’d been called by his given name with any kind of interest. She said his name without disgust or judgment and he liked the sound. He realized how much he’d grown tired of being alone. How good it felt to have someone believe in him again. It amazed him that she knew about his past and still wanted to help him. Could he trust her? He wanted to. That tender touch and care she’d shown Layla was something he wanted for himself. And he wouldn’t limit her, she could touch him everywhere. He knew she’d be smooth and soft in all the right places. He could just imagine her wild hair spread out on a pillow, those big eyes filled with pleasure that he’d given her. “Where are you staying?”
She furrowed her brows. “You’re changing the subject.”
“I know.”
“I’m staying at Country Time Bed-and-Breakfast.”
He nodded. “Good. If you’re in the mood to do anything besides talking, call me.”
She blinked. “What?”
Her bright-eyed naïveté was the sweetest of all. “Fine. Let me make it clear.”
He drew her close and covered her mouth with his, hungry to taste her again. She was as delicious as she had been the first time he’d kissed her. He had never kissed a woman who made him think of his mother’s home cooking. She was soft like a freshly baked loaf of bread, smelled like the cinnamon rolls his mother loved to bake on the weekends and yet dangerous and satisfying as his many salacious thoughts he’d dreamed about engaging with her.
Daniella felt just as at home as her hands cascaded over his bare chest. Her fingers tingled at the touch of him. She didn’t remember dropping his shirt and arching into him. She just savored the assault of his mouth on hers in a reckless possession.
“Just as sweet as I remembered,” he murmured.
“You, too,” she whispered.
“I’m sweet?” he said doubtfully.
“More than you know.”
His eyes clung to hers, searching. “Do you understand me now?”
“I don’t think I can ever understand you.”
“Come on, Ginger.” He pressed his lips against her neck. “I’m not that complicated.”
She felt her body grow warm and her skin tingled from the contact. His intentions were very clear and so were her emotions. She fought to stay focused on her goal. “Why don’t we do an exchange?”
He looped his arms around her and smiled, intrigued. “I’m listening.”
Daniella paused again, amazed by how a smile changed his face. It was unguarded, young and carefree. She saw the man he used to be and the man she wanted him to be again. “Not that kind of exchange.”
His gaze dropped to the front of her shirt. “I’m not interested in any other kind.”
She lifted his chin. “Are you really that lonely?”
“Stop selling yourself short.”
“I’m not—” She stopped when she saw his grin widen and her heart jolted at the sight of the gleam in his eyes—the distrust and hurt gone. And in an instant she realized her true purpose. She wasn’t there just for a story or to reunite him with his parents. She wanted him to be redeemed. This man deserved to get his life back. This was the man she’d been searching for all her life: a man of honor. “Please let me help you.”
Trenton’s grin faltered. “I’ve just told you how you can help me.”
“Let me help you in another way.”
“I’m not interested in any other way.”
“I could tell your parents where you are.”
He drew away, his playful mood gone. “Go ahead and break their hearts. By the time they get here I’ll be gone and you’ll regret it. Don’t lift their hopes up for no reason.”
“I don’t understand—”
“Exactly.” He threw up his hands. “That we can agree on. You don’t understand anything. You don’t understand the damage you’ve done just by coming here. If you want to help me, you’ll go back home and leave me and my family alone.” He pulled her to him, captured her mouth in one knee-melting, velvet kiss that promised a lot more. “That offer is always open,” he whispered, his breath hot against her lips. Then he went inside and closed the door.
Daniella kicked the door. The man was impossible. She turned and leaned against the door trying to get her heart rate back to normal. She did want him and sleeping with him would be amazing. She closed her eyes and slid to the ground, her legs no longer able to support her as she thought of one night with him. She could imagine how his body would feel against hers, his mouth exploring every part of her, and she could picture herself wrapped around him. Her body craved every inch of him, his kiss had made her hungry for more, but a night with him wouldn’t be enough. It wouldn’t change the fact that she’d failed. She’d failed to get his full story—at least his side of things. Yes, she did know more about him than most, but what should she do next? She’d emailed some mor
e of her notes to Pascal and he’d again been impressed with the information she’d been able to gather. He told her he could help her. She’d gotten further than he’d ever thought she could. She’d proven herself, but she didn’t care about that. In the end she’d struck out. She’d run out of options. Trenton didn’t want her help. Mentioning his parents had gotten a reaction, but not the one she’d expected. Perhaps if she came up with something more substantial he’d know he could trust her. Obviously he’d been hurt and betrayed in the past. She didn’t blame him for his reluctance, he didn’t know her. She’d have to find another way to gain his trust.
Inside the house Trenton let out a long, deep breath as he watched her go. Good, this time he’d gotten rid of her, but he’d never forget her. Damn. For a moment she’d made him think of his life before the accident. He wanted to ask her if his mother looked well. He missed the sound of his father’s voice and the scent of his mother’s chamomile tea. Damn it. She shouldn’t have gotten their hopes up. What had hurt more was she’d gotten his hopes up, too.
Chapter 8
“Did you get my notes?” Daniella asked Pascal that evening.
“Yes, great stuff.”
“I’ve reached a dead end. He refuses to talk and I still need more.”
“Talk to the people involved with the case. They’ll give you a different perspective.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“I know. And talk to his parents again and see what more they can tell you.”
Daniella returned to the Sheppards’ house a few days later. “He’s safe,” she told them. “He’s living in a small mountain town and he looks healthy. I gave him your message.”
