A Long Way Home

by Wendy Vella

  “He lied to me… and then r-ruined me.”

  “In what way did he ruin you?” Newman took the hand she held out to him. Another first. Hope never touched or reached for people. She’d been raised by a mother most of Howling called Militant and who could double as Medusa. The woman was about as warm as a frozen Twinkie.

  “H-he set me up. He incriminations me!”

  Newman watched her grapple with the words. “Incriminated?”

  She nodded.

  “He took my job, money, and ruined my reputation.”

  Leaning closer, he pushed her hair off her face.

  “What did he do?”

  She had her eyes closed and he could see she was falling asleep. He’d have to wait till morning for the answers.

  “D-don’t do dr... drinks or drugs.”

  “Oh now, I beg to differ,” Newman said, backing off as she puffed out an alcohol-laden breath.

  “H-he lied about everything.”

  She whispered the words and then a tear rolled down her cheek, and the sight affected him way more than it should.

  “It’s all right now, Hope.”

  She didn’t respond and he realized she was under. Or so he thought. Her eyes sprang open and she tried to focus on him once more.

  “I-I wanted to h-help the whooping crane.”

  “Who wouldn’t,” Newman said, clueless as to what she was talking about but wanting to keep her calm. Seconds later her eyes closed again.

  Newman pulled up the covers, then got out his laptop. Firing it up, he searched for Jay Herald. Who knew there were so many? He found one that had possibilities. Jay Herald, member of Wildlife. This was the organization he knew Hope was part of, because her mother had told Jake’s mother, who’d told him. Digging deeper, he soon had more of a picture of the man who had supposedly ruined Hope. Young, ambitious, he was now one of the head photographers for Wildlife. A position Hope had once held, but he didn’t see her name on their site anywhere.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Thousands of tiny, sharp needles were piercing her scalp. Hope forced her heavy lids open, then inhaled a shaky breath. God, the pain was fierce. She slowly scanned the room from left to right, but nothing was familiar. She tried to move her arm, and encountered an obstruction. Rolling over, she found a man lying beside her on the bed.

  Mother of God, it all came back to her with painful clarity.

  Paul Theodore Newman slumbered, his big, solid body relaxed on top of the covers. Hope eased herself upright. The movement caused her stomach to roll, but it steadied enough for her to look at his face. One of his eyes was black and swollen, and Hope knew she was the reason why.

  She’d gone into that bar to get drunk, and ended up singing on a chair. Things were a bit vague after that, but she knew this man had arrived at some point and carried her out. What happened before and after, however, was unclear.

  What she did know was that this was bad… very, very bad. Easing herself out of bed, she looked at the shirt she wore. It was Newman’s. Pulling the front forward, she saw her underwear was gone.

  A shower, she remembered that part too. She walked into the bathroom, the smell hit her, and shame washed over her. She’d thrown up all over Newman. Closing the door, she slumped onto the toilet.

  “You are a disgrace, Hope Lawrence. Jobless, penniless, and now you can add drunk to your outstanding credentials.”

  Standing, she gritted her teeth as pain stabbed viciously through her head.

  “No more than you deserve,” she muttered. Picking up the pile of stinking clothing on the floor, she threw it in the bottom of the shower, and turned it on. Stripping off the shirt she wore, she stepped in and scrubbed everything. The bathroom was thick with steam when she’d finished. Drying herself, she pulled Newman’s shirt back on and then hung her clothes on the heated towel rail. Newman’s very expensive shirt and trousers, she put over the shower.

  “Pretty boy.”

  They’d not seen a great deal of each after Hope left Howling to pursue her dream of becoming a wildlife photographer, and Newman became some kind of troubleshooter for failing businesses. They had nothing in common, and if she was honest, they never had. Even at school his sandwiches had been perfectly cut diagonals, and as fresh as when his mother had lovingly put them into his lunch box, and hers had usually ended mushed in the bottom of her bag, where she’d thrust them after making them hurriedly that morning.

  Looking at the door, she wondered how long she could stay in there. Maybe he’d be gone by the time she left?

  “You’ve never been a coward, Hope.” But now would be a good time to start , she thought, looking in the mirror.

  She squeezed some of his toothpaste onto her finger and ran it around her teeth, then used his brush to attack her hair. She had no band to tie it up, so it had to be left to go wild and curly.

  “I should just cut it and be done with it.”

  The problem was, if she cut it short it frizzed out. It hung to her shoulders and was better long, so she could tie it up and get it out of her way.

  Searching through Newman’s expensive leather toilet bag, she found his deodorant and used it. At least she was clean now. Ignoring the rock band playing inside her head, she inhaled deeply four times, then left the bathroom.

  He was awake, and sitting against the headboard, blond curls mussed, one pale blue eye clear and focused on her, the other swollen nearly shut. He wore a gray T-shirt and jeans, big body seemingly relaxed, when he must be pissed off as all hell with her.

  Newman always had that the ability to roll with whatever life threw at him, unlike her. He handled the notoriety of his name by shrugging at the taunts and letting his friends defend him. He was rarely riled unless she was nearby, and that rankled Hope, as some things deserved getting riled up over. She doubted he’d ever been passionate enough about anything to stand up for it. He was a serial people pleaser too, which was the exact opposite of her nature, and just another black mark against him as far as she was concerned.

  “Morning,” he drawled.

  Hope nodded. He’d been one of the cool kids in school, and as an adult he was still in that league. He and the others who lived in Howling. Good-looking, athletic, and damned annoying. She’d never been cool, more a nerd and uncool, not that Hope cared. Fashion and wearing the latest trends had never been a big deal in her household. Possibly because they couldn’t afford new stuff, but more likely because their mother had hammered home the fact that there were plenty of people in the world worse off than you, so be grateful for what you had.

  “How’s the head?”

  “I’m sorry,” Hope said quickly. “Shall I get you some ice?”

  “Done that already, didn’t seem to do much good. Thanks anyway.”

  Silence stretched between them.

  “I… ah, thanks.”

  “For?” He raised a brow, then winced.

  “Ah, well for things,” Hope said, unsure where to start.

  “Which ‘things’ do you remember?”

  “Most of them.”

  “I’m guessing by the green tinge to your face that you’re probably suffering enough.”

  “I-I didn’t need help anyway.” Hope wished she’d kept those words in her mouth. But he’d always made her react this way, like she was still ten. The need to be defiant rose inside her, just like the need to see those blue eyes cloud with anger had often had her tormenting him.

  “Really? So I should have just left you up there on that chair, singing like a scalded cat, with those men yelling, ‘show us your tits’?”

  “I could have handled it.”

  “How exactly?”

  “All right!” she exploded. “I needed help because I was inebriated and out of my depth. Happy now?”

  “I’m not sure that happy describes my state of mind, but your apology, if that was what it was, helped a little.”

  Hoped stomped to the bed, then wished she’d walked softly as pain vibrated through her skull.


  “God, you are an annoying man!”

  “Let me get this straight,” he said, lifting a hand as she opened her mouth to continue. “I’m annoying, when it was me who had to fight his way out of that bar, then have you puke your guts up all over me. And let’s not mention the fact that my eye is throbbing like fuck!”

  Definitely riled now. Interesting , Hope thought as she tried to dial back her own anger.

  “That shirt was tailor-made, as are those pants. You owe me a shitload of money, because they’re ruined.”

  “I washed them,” Hope muttered.

  “With hotel soap? Are you shitting me?”

  His voice was definitely raised now.

  “They’re just clothes, Newman. You’re so shallow.”

  “I’m shallow because I like to dress nice! Unlike you, who is still going for that grandma-meets-bag-lady look. Which, by the way, you should have grown out of by now.”

  “Oooh, sorry, I’ll just nip down to Alexander McQueen and charge up a nice little suit and bag.” Hope used a snooty voice. “I have more important stuff to spend my money on.”

  That eye was definitely narrowed now. He climbed off the bed and came toward her, and before she could stop herself she’d stepped back. But he bypassed her and headed to the bathroom. The door slammed behind him.

  Damn, her clothes were in there, and she didn’t have the money anymore to replace them, or she’d leave.

  When he came out minutes later, his hair was wet, and dressed in jeans and no T-shirt. Hope dragged her eyes from his broad chest. Muscles defined, six-pack front and center.

  “You need to take better care of yourself, Newman.” It was sarcasm pure and simple, but at that moment it wasn’t beneath her.

  Ignoring her, he asked a question of his own.

  “So last night you told me that someone named Jay Herald set you up somehow. You then rambled about his duping you, after using you. Mind clarifying?”

  Hope had no time to hide her horrified expression. How could she not remember saying all that?

  “Wh-what?”

  “You said this limp dick made you lose your job and your reputation. How?”

  Suddenly he was calm again. The nonbloodshot eye stared at her intently.

  “Limp dick… really? Surely you’ve grown out of words like that?” She turned away and reached for her bag.

  “Hope, talk to me.”

  He was beside her suddenly. His hand was on her arm, turning her to face him. Hope made herself look up at him. Made herself ignore the fierce tug of attraction she’d always felt for him.

  “There is nothing to say. I was drunk and rambling. So don’t try your Mary Poppins act on me.”

  “Mary Poppins act?”

  “Do-gooding. Always being polite and helping people. What’s with that anyway?” Hope said, wanting to deflect. “You didn’t get enough attention at home, you have to make up for it by being Mr. Nice Guy? The go-to man?”

  She’d been attempting to distract him from the subject of Jay and how because of him her life had imploded, and maybe she was also needling him a little. After all, that was how they worked. Never miss an opportunity to poke at each other. She hadn’t meant be cruel, but the look on his face told her she had hit a nerve. His face tightened and he looked troubled, and then it was gone.

  “Newman—”

  He cut through her words. “Helping people makes you feel good, you should give it a shot sometime.”

  The quiet words were more cutting than if he’d yelled at her.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude after everything you’ve done for me. It’s just that I don’t usually….” Her words fell away because she wasn’t entirely sure how to finish the sentence.

  “Don’t usually have people around who help you? Don’t have friends? Don’t communicate with anyone like a normal human?”

  “I’m normal!” His words stung, and Hope thought payback was a bitch. It seemed they could no longer just fire barbs at each other like they once had, and remain unscathed.

  “I’m sorry, that was unfair. Of course you’re normal.”

  She didn’t answer that, but saw by his look that she hadn’t needed to. Hope hated pity, hated it more than anything, because she’d had enough growing up to last her through this lifetime and the next.

  “So tell me about this Herald? I know you were scared and telling the truth when you talked about him and what he’s done to you. Even if I could only make out every second or third word. You don’t make a good drunk, FYI.”

  She shook her arm free.

  “My life. My business.”

  “Try again,” he said.

  “I have to go.” Hope went into the bathroom and closed the door, then locked it in case he decided to follow her. She pulled on her underwear, then wriggled into her wet clothes, which was unpleasant as they stuck to her like a second skin. Bracing her hands on the vanity, she looked in the mirror. You can do this. Walk out there, collect your things, and leave. Tough girl act, remember. It’s what you do best.

  He’d pulled on his loafers, and was strapping on an expensive-looking watch.

  “That would probably feed a third world country.” Hope went on the defensive when she was off-balance.

  “Nah, not this one. But the gold one, now that would probably feed two third world countries,” he drawled.

  “It’s important to care,” Hope snapped. “There are so many issues we are dealing with that need funds. This is the only planet we have, you should want to save it.”

  “I read that on a billboard the other day.” He was pushing his wallet and phone into the back pocket of his jeans. Jeans that sat low on his hips, and hugged all the right places, Hope couldn’t help but notice.

  “How can you be so cavalier about this, Newman? The issues are real.”

  “I do my bit, Hope, so get off my case. I reckon you owe me breakfast after last night. Let’s go.”

  “I don’t have time for breakfast.” Hope pulled the strap of her backpack over her shoulder. “See you round, Newman.”

  “Nope.” He opened the door and grabbed her arm. Towing her he headed for the elevator, her bag now on his shoulder.

  “Give me that back and let me go, or I’ll scream.”

  “I carried you through here drunk last night. I doubt anyone’s going to care much if you scream this morning.”

  “Y-you carried me?” The thought was a humiliating one.

  “Yup, and everyone saw your boy panties.”

  “They’re not boy panties,” Hope hissed as he urged her into the lift.

  “Well they sure as hell are not girlie ones.”

  “Not everyone is consumed with how they look.”

  Hope was subjected to a look up and down her body. He then grabbed a handful of her skirt.

  “That’s dripping wet and you’re shivering!”

  “Well excuse me, I didn’t have a change.”

  “You,” he said, backing her into the wall, “should be nicer to me, considering what I did last night. I could have left you in that place with those men.”

  He caged her in with both hands braced on either side of her.

  “I don’t do nice, you know that.” Hope felt the breath lodge in her throat as he leaned closer. She felt that little zing in her belly as he crowded her.

  “You’re an adult, maybe it’s time you tried.”

  The problem was she’d grown up with men like Newman. Men who had been raised to look after women, especially those they knew. Just because none of the people who had come into her life since she’d left Howling gave a damn about her, which was probably more her fault than theirs, it shouldn’t surprise her when others did. Leaving her in that bar would have gone against every belief in Newman’s body. Howling menfolk were ridiculously well-mannered. Hope was sure there were others outside Howling like that too, she just hadn’t come across that many.

  Given the fact she had always annoyed Newman, he was right, she should be nicer.r />
  “All right, I’m sorry… again. How many more times do I have to say it?”

  “Another ten should do. How about adding, ‘thank you, Newman, you big strong hunk, for coming to my rescue.’” He was laughing at her now.

  “Don’t push it.”

  “Are you wearing my deodorant?”

  He leaned in and sniffed.

  “I didn’t have mine.” Lord, he smelled good. How was that possible, when he wore what she did?

  “So you just used mine, and my brush, because I found a long black witch’s hair in it.”

  “Stuff you, now move back. I can’t breathe with you all up in my face.”

  He leaned closer, his chest brushing hers, and suddenly she couldn’t draw a breath in.

  “I think the problem here is you’ve always secretly fancied me.”

  “Ha.” Hope’s word came out a squeak. “Who even says fancy these days?”

  “All the hip kids,” he mocked her, and then his smile fell away as he studied her, his eyes running over her face and settling on her lips.

  “Wh—”

  He kissed the words from her. Soft, sweet, and devastating, his lips obliterated every thought from Hope’s head but one. More!

  CHAPTER THREE

  Newman had been messing with Hope, and then suddenly he’d looked at her. Really looked, and seen the creamy soft skin, and pouty, pink lips. Her eyes were darker than any he’d ever seen, the pupils almost invisible, wide and uncertain at the moment, and he was shocked to realize he wanted to kiss her. The shock should have been enough to make him step away from her; instead he’d stepped closer and kissed her.

  Mistake! She had soft lips, lips a man could get used to kissing. Cupping her cheek, he stroked his thumb over her skin, holding her face still while he took her mouth deeper. His head spun, his body was hard in seconds, and he needed to stop. His brain wasn’t about to follow that order.

  “No!”

  She broke the contact, turning her head away. Newman stepped back, shocked that what they had just shared was one of the most arousing kisses he’d ever experienced.

  “Hope—”

  “W-we…. That should not have happened.”