by Judy Duarte
It had been a long time since she’d been intimate with a man, too long, probably. In college she’d found herself attracted to the wrong kind of guy, the kind who promised sexual fulfillment but couldn’t offer anything long-term. When she realized her penchant for falling for the devil-may-care type, she’d made it a point to look for the right kind of mate, even if he didn’t sweep her off her feet.
She’d worked hard to make her world predictable and stable. And she intended to choose a husband in the same way she’d selected the little house and the dependable car she drove—with a great deal of care and foresight.
Steven was her soon-to-be fiancé, although he didn’t know it yet. There weren’t too many men like the brilliant accountant. Handsome. Gentle. Honest. Loyal. He was a good neighbor, as well as a friend. His smile might not make her heart soar or do flip-flops, but it did warm her soul. And she had no qualms about pursuing a physical relationship with him.
A glass or two of wine would take the edge off her nervousness. Any more than that, and she just might lose her head. Visions of Lois Lane removing Clark Kent’s glasses and kissing him senseless crossed her mind, and she quickly pushed it aside. This evening was more than a romantic game.
A knock sounded at the door, drawing her from her daydreams. It was probably little Tommy Kuehn looking for his cat again or Mrs. Billings, the elderly woman who lived next door, wanting to share a cup of coffee. Those were the kinds of visitors Hailey had grown to expect in the small community in which she’d chosen to settle down and make a home.
She opened the door and bit back a gasp when she spotted the rugged detective on her stoop, the man who had apprehended the mugger and returned her purse. Her heart began to race.
He seemed nearly as surprised to see her as she was to see him, but he smiled, masking his thoughts, so it seemed.
What was he doing here? Had he taken her name from the police report? Was this official business? Would she need to go to court?
“Yes?” She leaned against the door, blocking him from entering the house, from getting too close, and scanned his broad length. Her gaze focused on a snow-speckled head of unruly dark hair that curled at the collar, a strong, aquiline nose that had probably been broken a time or two, a small but jagged scar that marred the left brow.
“Hailey Conway?”
She merely nodded, not trusting her own voice.
“I had a tough time finding your place.”
She didn’t doubt it. Some of the graveled streets didn’t have signs. “I guess you’re not from around here.”
“I’m not.”
That didn’t surprise her. But she figured it might be a good idea to take a look at the badge he’d flashed the police officer earlier. “Do you have some ID?”
He showed her his badge, and she looked it over this time.
A detective. From San Diego.
“You’re a long way from home.”
“Hopefully I can get back to the airport soon. Weather’s a heck of a lot nicer where I come from.”
His stance mimicked that of a private eye, the kind seen on television. The kind women tuned in to watch on a lonely Saturday night. She could imagine him as a star.
The Nielson ratings would probably skyrocket for his show, particularly with the female fans. He had a fearsomely attractive way about him, as though he’d just stepped off the set of On the Waterfront and “could’a been a contender.”
“I came to check on you,” he said. “See if you’re all right after that tumble you took.”
He was going above and beyond the call of hero duty, and Hailey hoped he’d leave before Steven arrived. She had half a notion to close the door in his face, but the guy had gone out of his way to chase down her mugger. She owed him some courtesy, to say the least. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Can I come in? It’s cold out here, and I’d like to talk to you.”
No, she wanted to say. But she figured he’d come to ask her something about the purse snatching. She loosened her hold on the door and stepped aside.
Nick entered the warmth of Hailey Conway’s house, and even though he wanted to cut to the chase and tell her why he was here, why he’d come all the way from California on a moment’s notice looking for her, he held his tongue.
He hadn’t expected her to be easy to convince. After Harry had tracked her down, found her phone number and gathered the courage to call, she’d given him what Harry referred to as “a well-deserved” piece of her mind and then promptly hung up.
Nick had expected Hailey to be older, especially since Harry and Kay had been married for forty years and had three sons, one of whom had been killed during Desert Storm.
Her age—mid-twenties—had surprised him, since he’d assumed she’d been the child of a previous marriage. But she’d obviously been conceived during the Logans’ marriage. That surprised him, too, but it wasn’t Nick’s place to judge Harry about an affair.
“I lost touch with her twenty years ago,” Harry had said. “And I’m not sure I can fix things now, but I’ve got to try. I’ve got a lot of explaining to do, and not much time to do it.”
Nick slid the small brunette an assessing glance. As a detective, he’d learned to read people, their body language, their surroundings. He’d learned to keep a poker face, to hide his emotions and his assumptions. But recognizing the petite, dark-haired beauty with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen had knocked him for a loop.
Apparently, she was angry enough at Harry to hang up the phone, rather than try to establish a relationship with the father she hadn’t seen in years. Nick supposed there was more to the story than met the eye. But that didn’t negate the promise he’d made to his friend and mentor.
Maybe Nick needed to play good cop for a while, before dropping Harry’s name.
Still, he couldn’t stifle his curiosity, and studied the pretty young woman who bore little resemblance to Harry.
She’d changed her clothes. Instead of winter wear, she had on a simple black dress. Not too revealing, but a hell of a nice fit.
“Have a seat,” she said, indicating an overstuffed, floral-print sofa.
He sank into the cushions, his knees hitting a glass coffee table where a copy of Better Homes and Gardens rested next to an issue of Modern Brides. He glanced at her left hand, noting the absence of a ring, diamond or otherwise.
“Getting married?” he asked.
“No.” A blush on her cheeks indicated embarrassment. She quickly broke eye contact, suggesting a lie or a reluctance to let him in on her private affairs. Still, the knowledge of those condoms lay before them in the awkward silence.
The aroma of pot roast filled the room. A small table in the dining room was set for two, along with wineglasses and new, red tapered candles. Nick slid her a slow smile. “No wedding bells, huh? Maybe the groom just doesn’t know it yet.”
She quickly stood, crossed her arms and flashed him a look of annoyance. The flush on her cheeks deepened, suggesting his comment had struck a chord of some kind. Then she scooped the magazines from the tabletop and placed them in a wicker basket that held other publications. “Did you have something to discuss with me?”
At this rate, Nick had better work on his manners and his ability to reason with her. Maybe he ought to turn on the charm, make nice, then hit her with his plan to take her to California. He’d leave Harry out of the discussion for the time being. “It looked as though you landed on the sidewalk kind of hard. Head injuries can be deceptive.”
She crossed her arms under her breasts, drawing his attention to the way they would fill a man’s hands.
Hell. Where had that misguided thought come from?
“My head is fine. And I bruised my…hip. Nothing’s broken.” The phone rang, interrupting the rest of her words. “Excuse me.”
She turned and walked toward the kitchen. The hem of her black midlength dress brushed against shapely calves. She was a striking young woman, Nick realized. And stubborn. He wondered whether he could
break down her defenses. Touch some tender spot in her heart and make her agree to see Harry.
Not if he didn’t stop thinking about her as an attractive woman. A man didn’t hit on his friend’s daughter.
Nick scanned the small living room of the house she’d made into a home: floral-printed cotton, coordinating plaid pillows with ruffles, light oak furniture. Sheesh, Hailey was a nester—just the kind of woman Nick tried to avoid.
If there was one thing he didn’t need, it was a woman who expected a guy to be home by five and spend weekends doing fix-it projects. Nick wasn’t Ward Cleaver or Tim the Tool Man, nor did he want to be.
On the fireplace mantel, delicate picture frames—some silver, some crystal—displayed photographs. The feminine touch revealed a romantic side of the young woman, an emotional side he hoped to tap into.
He glanced to the kitchen, where she stood talking on the telephone. He figured she was going to ask him to leave. Well, what did he expect? A dinner invitation? His stomach grumbled like a small kid in the back seat clamoring for attention.
After talking to Harry at the hospital late last night, he’d gone home, packed his bags and headed for Lindbergh Field, hoping to catch an early-morning flight. He probably should have picked up a burger and fries along the way, but he’d been intent upon finding Hailey before checking into a hotel or grabbing a bite to eat. That might have been a mistake, he realized, as his stomach rumbled again. He should have eaten more at the airport than a sweet roll and black coffee, but he had been determined to reach Walden before the storm hit.
While Hailey talked quietly in the kitchen, Nick stood and made his way to the fireplace. He lifted a silver, heart-framed photograph from the mantel. A picture of a dark-haired girl in pigtails, missing a front tooth and straddling a two-wheeled bike, smiled at him, begging him to get to know the daughter Harry had let down.
He glanced at Hailey, who stood in a tidy, well-stocked kitchen. She had those cupboard doors that were mostly glass, the kind you could see right through. Every plate, cup and glass had been neatly stacked. Each can of vegetables lined carefully in a row. He thought of his own kitchen back home.
Thank goodness no one could see how he’d shoved his junk in each cupboard. And the drawers seemed to collect stuff he wasn’t ready to throw away yet. It was a man’s place, he noted. Just the way a guy liked it.
“Well, sure,” Hailey told the person on the other line. “I understand. I’m disappointed, but I’ll save you some leftovers.”
The guy who was going to have a candlelit dinner of roast beef? Too bad. Fast food, Nick’s usual dinner fare, wouldn’t taste half as good as this meal smelled. He actually felt sorry for the guy. Sort of.
He looked at Hailey again, watched as she balanced the phone on one shoulder and checked the pot in the oven. She looked at home in a kitchen. Competent and capable. A real homebody, the kind Nick steered clear of ever since that time he’d let Carla move into his apartment—a big mistake on his part.
Carla had questioned his every move and never understood why he couldn’t leave a stakeout to be home by the time dinner was ready. Nope, a cop needed a different kind of woman. One that didn’t expect promises a guy couldn’t keep.
“When do they expect the storm to let up?” Hailey asked the caller.
So Hailey’s dream date wasn’t going to make it at all.
She twirled her finger around the phone cord, then glanced Nick’s way. When their eyes met, something unspoken passed between them. An awareness, he supposed, of each other. The attraction he’d felt earlier and shoved aside muscled its way back—front and center. It caught him off guard. Her, too, he guessed, because she quickly turned her back to him.
“Take care, Steven. Bye.” The telephone clicked against the wall mount as she hung up the receiver, and several moments of silence followed.
“Does Steven have a last name?” Nick didn’t know why he asked.
“Not one that matters,” she said. “If you have something to talk about, you’d better get it said. The storm has hit hard just south of here, and at least one road is closed.”
He needed more time with her, time to figure out a good way to broach the subject and explain why he was here. And he needed time to understand why she wouldn’t speak to Harry and how Nick could persuade her to change her mind.
When he didn’t respond, she shook her head, then walked to the window and gazed out. She sighed heavily. “It’s snowing. You’d better get out of here before it’s too late to get back to your hotel. Where are you staying?”
“I haven’t gotten a room yet. I wanted to check on you first.”
“Didn’t you hear the storm warning?”
“I hadn’t planned on flying to Minnesota until late last night. I’ve got a change of clothes in a duffel bag in the car, along with a shaving kit. I’m not really prepared for a long, winter stay.” Nick joined her at the window. He didn’t get much chance to see snow, other than a couple of trips to the mountains near Julian.
“Well, you’re in one heck of a fix, then. It’s coming down hard and fast.”
“Where’s the nearest hotel?” he asked.
“South of here. Ten miles down the closed road.”
“And the nearest hamburger joint?”
“Next door to the hotel.” She leaned against the windowsill and crossed her arms, again lifting her breasts into mounds begging to be touched. “It looks like you’ve got a big problem.”
Nick nodded, feeling a bit smug about the predicament that had forced Hailey’s hand. She couldn’t very well send him away now, could she?
Getting snowed in would definitely work in his favor, though. He would use the time to convince her to return to San Diego with him, to talk to Harry. He flashed her a smile that seemed to bounce off the rim without scoring a point.
She stepped closer, arms still crossed. The light, powdery scent of lilac accosted him with a frightening awareness of her femininity, of her proximity. He shook off the unwelcome temptation. Hailey Conway was off-limits, as far as he was concerned. But being stranded with her for a few hours might be the break he needed.
Her eyes sparkled, but not in pleasure. “I can’t believe you’d drive all the way out here without checking the weather report, without having winter clothing. Don’t you plan ahead?”
The only plan he’d had this morning was catching the first possible flight to Minneapolis. And he’d heard the damn weather report. But his goal had been finding her as quickly as possible, so he could take her back to California. Getting holed up in a motel wasn’t part of his game plan.
Of course, getting stranded in a small house with a pretty but spunky brunette hadn’t been part of the plan either, but he’d make it work. “I don’t suppose I could pay you for a serving of roast beef? And maybe bunk out on your sofa?”
Those sky-blue eyes opened wide, as though he’d suggested they have a brief, meaningless love affair. The idea, he realized, was far more tempting than it should be.
Her arms dropped to her sides, and her lips parted. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Nope. Passed my psychological evaluations with flying colors. Or at least passable colors.” He smiled, trying to lighten her mood.
It didn’t work.
At least he hadn’t told her his real reason for coming. Mentioning Harry right now would probably get him tossed out on his ear.
And it was too damn cold to risk that.
“It’s either your sofa or my car,” he said, hoping the pretty woman would have mercy on a well-meaning cop. “What do you say?”
Chapter Two
Hailey wasn’t about to be taken in by a slick, fast-talking stranger.
If Detective Granger thought a badge gave his honor some kind of validation, he was mistaken. She wanted to boot him out the door, then sit at the window and watch him turn blue, although she wasn’t entirely sure why. Partly because he was a cop.
But more than likely she was feeling testy because her plans
to seduce Steven had run amok, and it seemed to be Nick Granger’s fault.
“I’m hungry. And stranded.” He slid her an easy smile, one she suspected was meant to disarm her anger and gain her trust. “If you have a spare blanket, I could sleep in the rental car.”
She couldn’t believe he’d suggest something so stupid. Or was he playing on her sympathy? She couldn’t be sure. “You’d be a human Popsicle before midnight.”
“Does that mean you’ll do the humane thing and offer me dinner and a place to sleep?”
Hailey glanced at the table she’d set especially for Steven. She’d had big plans for this evening—plans that didn’t include a stranded detective.
Of course, she’d deal with her disappointment, as she’d long grown accustomed to doing, but did she want to offer lodging to a man she didn’t know? A man she shouldn’t find so darn attractive?
She wasn’t afraid of Nick Granger, although she wasn’t sure what made her think he was trustworthy. The fact that he was a cop? That part worked against him, although he probably didn’t know it. Still, she couldn’t very well send him out into a snowstorm with no place to go. “You can sleep on the sofa.”
“Thanks. I’ll get my bag out of the car.”
She looked at the worn leather jacket he wore. It wasn’t enough protection from the cold. “You get the roast out of the oven. I’ll get your bag.”
“You’re not going outside in the storm. It’s my stuff, I’ll get it.”
So his heroic side masked stupidity. She sighed heavily. “I’ve got a down-filled parka and boots. I doubt you’d make it back to the porch.”
“I’m tougher than you obviously think,” he said.
“And much bigger than me. I’d have a tough time dragging your dead weight back inside.”
He flashed her a bad-boy grin. “Then leave me on the porch.”
“Now that’s an appealing thought, but it would prey on my sense of decency to let a defenseless stranger from sunny California freeze to death.”
