If You Hear Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

by Walker, Shiloh

  Ezra had been raised to appreciate the value of hard work—he’d hated it at the time, but now it served him well. Nothing worth having came for free. A guy wants something, he works for it or pays for it. Otherwise, he doesn’t get it—doesn’t deserve it. That was life.

  Like this deck. Ezra wanted it, he wanted it done his way, and he didn’t want to pay somebody else to do it for him—he might have some money tucked away, but if he wanted it to last, he had to be careful. So here he was, doing it himself. But damn, he’d be glad when it was done.

  Around lunchtime, he stopped, but only because his stomach was growling so loud he could hear it over the hammer. After a messy BLT and half a pitcher of iced tea, he headed back outside and once more fell into a rhythm, hammering nails into the wood, fetching another, and another.

  He lost track of time, his mind blanking out on him.

  Stripped down to a pair of low-slung khaki shorts and tennis shoes, he worked. A red bandanna held his sweat-dampened brown hair back from his face and sunglasses hid green eyes.

  He had a pretty face, a fact he’d been told more than once in his life. Back in school, he’d gotten into more than a few fights because of it. It was just a face, his dad’s face, with his mom’s green eyes.

  Having that face was both a curse and blessing, as far as he saw it. Girls had been flirting with him for as long as he could remember, even before he was old enough to really understand what flirting was. As he got older and started school, all the pretty little girls who flirted with him ended up catching the attention of the boys in his grade and more than once, that had gotten him into trouble.

  Eventually, he got to the point where he enjoyed all the flirting enough to ignore the teasing that was directed his way. At least, most of the time.

  In his junior year of high school, he got into a fight with one of the other players on the basketball team. His nose was broken in that fight and he was also forced to quit the team after his folks got the call from school. It had seemed harsh at the time, but looking back, he was glad he had parents who loved him enough to be strict, who loved him enough to enforce their rules, even when it hurt.

  To his mother’s dismay and his own delight, his nose hadn’t healed perfectly straight. That slight crook to his nose made his face just a little less pretty.

  Over the years, Ezra hadn’t changed much. The dimples in his cheeks had deepened to slashes. He shaved in the morning, but come late afternoon, that five o’clock shadow made its appearance. He was still long and lean, although he’d finally put some weight on in college, thanks to lifting weights.

  Now, those muscles were warm and loose. Even the screwed-up muscles in his right thigh. He’d taken a bullet in that leg six months earlier, which was why he was living out here in Ash, Kentucky. He’d walked away from his job, from his badge, and he didn’t think he wanted to go back.

  He knew his leg would hurt like a bitch later once the muscles tightened up on him. It would be hell come nightfall. But he’d deal with it then.

  The deck was shaping up pretty damn good, he had to admit.

  He took another short break around three when he heard the familiar rumble of a jeep. The rural mail carrier had bills for him and a box. As the jeep headed off, Ezra jammed the bills in his back pocket and tore into the box—books … and hot damn, one of them was a book he’d spent the past few months trying to track down.

  Ezra didn’t open it, though. He was tempted, but he made himself tuck the book back into the box. For now. If he started reading now, he wasn’t going to finish anything else but the book today and damn it, he wanted to get more done on the deck.

  After stowing the mail in the kitchen and refilling his thermos with iced tea, he headed back outside, going through the side door.

  He heard the purr of an engine and glanced up toward the highway in front of his house. The sight of the long, black stretch limo made him pause.

  Scowling, he unscrewed his thermos and drinking, watched the limo until the gleaming black car disappeared around a curve.

  He knew where it was going—Running Brook Inn. When he had visited Ash as a kid, the big old house had been run-down and just this side of ugly. After the owner had died, one of the heirs had the brilliant idea to turn it into a bed-and-breakfast, and the idea took off.

  But now it wasn’t just a B&B. It had a small restaurant and they also did “boutique” weddings—whatever in the hell that was.

  And it all added up to a fairly steady amount of traffic going by his place on a regular basis. He’d come out here seeking the peace and quiet he’d remembered from his youth, not a steady string of cars and limos and traffic.

  “Hell. It’s not like they’re driving through the front yard,” he muttered, brushing his irritation aside. Pushing the limo out of his mind, he got back to work. He didn’t stop until he began to lose the light.

  By that time, the muscles in his injured thigh were screaming, and his head was pounding along, too.

  A hot shower, a sandwich, then he’d crash, and he’d be as good as new.

  But after the shower, Ezra realized he wasn’t in the mood for a sandwich or a microwave pizza, or any of the other fast, cheap crap that currently filled his freezer or fridge.

  Not that he had a lot of choices in Ash, but he wanted real food. Since he couldn’t cook worth shit, that meant leaving the house.

  Since it was Friday, the café on Main Street would still be open. Plus, there was the Turnkey Bar and Grill.

  But instead of heading into town, Ezra found himself turning right, heading toward the bed-and-breakfast.

  Of course, it was nearly ten by the time he got there.

  And as he settled down at the long, sleek sprawl of mahogany wood, he noticed something.

  He was kind of underdressed. His jeans and T-shirt did not fit in with the khakis and Dockers and polo shirts.

  He couldn’t care less. As long as he had some food.

  He could smell something mouthwatering. Garlic. Spice. Lasagna, maybe …

  “Hey, can I get a menu?”

  The bartender gave him a friendly, apologetic smile. “Sorry, but the kitchen closed at nine-thirty. We’ve got bar food, if you’re interested. We serve that until eleven.”

  “Closed,” he repeated. His stomach growled demandingly and he wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been drooling … whatever had been on the menu? That was what he wanted. Not bar food.

  “Yeah, afraid so. Sorry.” He glanced at his watch and grimaced.

  Blowing out a sigh, Ezra asked, “So what kind of bar food?”

  One good thing—the beer was cold. Five minutes later, he was watching the TV mounted over the bar when he caught a glimpse of somebody from the corner of his eye. He also heard the oddly familiar clack of nails on hardwood. Frowning, he turned his head.

  The clacking wasn’t coming from her, that was certain.

  She was a looker.

  For the first fifteen seconds, Ezra didn’t notice the dog at her side or anything else, because he was too busy staring at her.

  Damn—

  She wore a pair of sunglasses, despite the low lights used in the bar. Her hair, dark red and gleaming under soft lights, was short. The ends curled under, framing a narrow, feline face and a wide mobile mouth that just about screamed S-E-X.

  Her skin was pale and creamy, the kind of skin that either got slathered with sunscreen religiously or just never saw the sun. Tall—he pegged her at 5′9″ and most of it was probably leg.

  Damn. She was definitely something worth looking at, too. Actually, she was probably the best thing he’d looked at in quite a while. Did she live here? He didn’t remember ever seeing her during his infrequent visits in the years before Grandma died, but granted, he hadn’t left the house that much except to go fishing or take her to church.

  He heard that weird clacking again and glanced down. That was when he saw the dog. A big, beautiful yellow retriever—wearing a rather distinctive vest. The dog walked
alongside the woman, keeping pace with her perfectly, and with each step, his nails clacked on the hardwood floor. The redhead walked as she stood—looking neither left, nor right, shoulders back, chin up.

  Blind.

  Ezra frowned, watching her every step as she neared the bar.

  “Hi, Paul. How’s it going?”

  “Going just fine, Lena. You want a drink while you wait for Carter?”

  She reached out a hand, brushed it against the back of one chair at the bar. “Yeah. Rum and Diet Coke, I guess.” With a slow, easy grace, she settled in the chair.

  Ezra found himself staring at her mouth.

  Staring … and wondering how she’d taste.

  Her head turned toward him, cocked to the side. “Hello?”

  “Ahhh … hey.”

  The bartender glanced at him, grinned. “She’s got ears like a bloodhound.”

  The woman made a face at the bartender. “I do not. I just felt somebody looking at me.” A faint smile curled her lips. “Apparently he’s never seen a blind woman.”

  “It’s not that,” Ezra said, scowling, a little disgusted at the way she talked about him like he wasn’t there.

  She shifted in her seat, turning to face him. She rested an arm against the gleaming wood of the bar and cocked a brow. “Okay, so if it’s not me, perhaps it’s Puck.”

  “Puck?”

  “Puck.” The dog at her feet perked his ears and lifted his head. “My dog. Sometimes people don’t like seeing him in restaurants.”

  “Gotcha. No, it’s not your dog. Nice-looking animal, but no. And unless he starts trying to eat my food, I’m not worried about him being here.”

  He had the sexiest damn voice, Lena thought. Sexiest voice … and he was still staring at her, too.

  She could tell, all but feel the warmth of his gaze. Feel it, almost like a ray of light traveling over her body, leaving seductive warmth in its wake. She fought the urge to squirm in the chair, settled for petting Puck. Normally, she’d have the dog lying at her feet, but right now, she needed the comfort of touching him.

  “Well, if you’re going to keep staring at me, then maybe you should introduce yourself.”

  “Ezra King. And you are …?”

  She held out her hand. “Lena. Lena Riddle.”

  A warm, rough palm pressed against hers. Strong. Callused, like he spent a lot of time working with his hands. His skin didn’t have the crepey feel of an older person. Damn, better and better. Her libido was going to be hard to control here in a minute, especially if he kept staring at her.

  “So, Ezra King, why are you staring at me?”

  “Because you’re beautiful.”

  Lena didn’t blush often. She rarely felt self-conscious. But in that moment, she could feel the rush of blood to her cheeks and she had to fight the urge to squirm around on her seat and fidget.

  “Ahhh. Well, thank you.” Behind her, she heard the squeak as the kitchen doors opened and she could have heaved a sigh of relief.

  “Here you go, Lena.” Mike, the assistant chef, set down her lasagna. Her mouth watered at the smell.

  “Thanks, Mike.”

  “Sir, you had the wings?”

  “Yeah.”

  As Mike retreated into the kitchen, Ezra muttered, “I’d rather have the lasagna, though. How come you could still get it?”

  “Because I made it and set it aside until I was done with work.” She shot a smile in Ezra’s direction. “I’m one of the chefs here at the Inn.”

  “Really?”

  She heard him shift, then his voice murmured from just a few inches away. “I really need to come out here the next time you have lasagna.”

  Man, that voice … “Hey, Paul, can you get me a plate?”

  As Paul set a plate on the counter, she pushed hers toward Ezra. “Tell you what, go ahead and try some. I won’t eat all of it anyway.”

  He hesitated and Lena smirked. “Come on, you were sitting there griping about not getting any lasagna, so take some. And if you like it, you’ll just have to come back before the kitchen closes next time.”

  “Well, if you put it that way.”

  She sipped from her rum and Coke while she waited for him to finish. She almost choked on her drink when he asked, “So, the next time I’m out here, maybe you could have dinner with me.”

  Is he asking me for a date?

  She stalled for time by taking another sip from her drink and then set it down. “You want me to have dinner with you?”

  “Well, that’s kind of what I just said.”

  “Why?”

  She looked cute when she was confused. But then again, Ezra was pretty sure he’d like how she looked no matter what expression she had on her face. “You always question a guy when he asks you out on a date?”

  “You’re asking me on a date?”

  From the corner of his eye, he could see the bartender listening and not pretending not to. The kid barely looked old enough to be out of college—hell, high school.

  Tuning the kid out of his mind, he focused on Lena. “Yeah, I’m asking you on a date. At least, I’m trying to. It’s been awhile since I’ve asked a woman on a date, so maybe I’m doing it wrong.”

  “Well, it’s been awhile since a guy asked me on a date, so maybe I’ve just forgotten how to recognize the clues.” That pretty, wide mouth curled up in a slow smile.

  She had to say yes. Because he really, really wanted to kiss that mouth. He wanted to fist his hand in that dark red hair and he wanted to press his face between the slight swell of her breasts and nuzzle the soft skin there.

  He was a pretty good judge of people—he knew how to read them. Under most circumstances, at least, and he didn’t think he was reading her wrong.

  If he was reading her right, then she was feeling that same, subtle tug that he felt. Banking on that, he reached out and skimmed his fingers down her forearm. “Well, now that we’ve figured out what we’re doing here, maybe we should try it again. I’d like to have dinner … with you. Would you be interested?”

  “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had a guy ask me out on a date within five minutes of seeing me.” The smile on her face took on a bitter slant as she absently touched the dark glasses that shielded her eyes. “Usually, within five minutes of seeing me, they’re either on the other side of the room or they’re trying to cut my food for me.”

  Ezra glanced at the lasagna on his plate. “I figure if you can make it, you can cut it just fine on your own. And you haven’t answered me.”

  “No. I haven’t. I’m still thinking … hell. Screw it. You know what, Ezra? I’d love to have dinner with you.”

  “When?”

  “If a late dinner works well enough for you, we can try tomorrow night. I’m in the kitchen until ten. There’s no lasagna on the menu, though. Just be here around this time, and I’ll make sure I save you a meal. How does that sound?”

  “Like a plan.”

  On the drive home, Lena could feel the weight of Carter’s gaze every so often. Knowing she’d be getting it from him or Roz sooner or later, she finally said, “Out with it, buddy.”

  He chuckled. “Was just wondering about the guy you were eating with in the bar.”

  “Hmmm. That would be Ezra King.” She smiled to herself. Just saying his name had her heart racing a little bit. It had been a long, long while since a guy had made her react that way. She couldn’t even remember the last time it had happened.

  “Ezra King.” Carter said the name a few times, an annoying habit of his, not that she’d tell him. Roz thought his absentmindedness was endearing. “King … wonder if he’s related to old June King.”

  “Wouldn’t know.”

  Carter glanced over at her, saw the smile on her face, and laughed again. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re still fairly new.”

  “Am not.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “I’ve lived here for years. Just because I don’t have family that lived here back when Noah walked the earth doesn’t
make me new.”

  “Hey, now. The Jennings clan hasn’t been here that long. Maybe since Moses. But not Noah.” Scratching his chin, he tried to think through the names he could remember of June King’s surviving kin. He couldn’t quite do it. She’d had some children, but they hadn’t stuck around. Grandkids, too. But he couldn’t remember much about them, either. “Well, if it’s her grandson, he’s probably the decent sort.”

  “I’m so glad he meets your approval.” Lena rolled her eyes.

  “Smart-ass.” He hit the signal as he drew close to her drive. “So. Are you going to see him again?”

  “Technically, I haven’t seen him at all. This wasn’t really a date. We just met. He was drooling over my dinner—I liked his voice and I liked him, so I shared it. But yeah. We’re meeting for dinner tomorrow at the Inn.” She turned her face toward him, a look of mock, hopeful innocence on her pretty face. “Is that okay, Daddy? I mean, he’s really nice and all and I’ll be good …”

  “You’re such a pest.” He stopped in front of the house. “But the Inn’s a good place. We can make sure he’s treating you right.”

  “Oh, please. Like Puck or me would let him do anything else.”

  Ezra was back at the Inn at 9:30, and this time, he wasn’t wearing jeans. The khaki pants he could handle and he’d found a somewhat faded, but mostly unwrinkled polo shirt tucked in the back of his closet. It was the best he could do, but he did shave and it wasn’t until he was sitting down at the bar and waiting for Lena that he started to get nervous.

  And he got nervous because he let himself think about what he was doing.

  He was waiting on a date.

  A fucking date.

  What in the hell was he doing?

  He didn’t need to be dating right now … did he?

  Head was too fucked-up, and too often, he spent time lost in some black, black moments.

  Bad date material. Very bad.

  But even as he tried to convince himself of that, he couldn’t get up and leave. It was dinner. A meal, right? A meal with a pretty lady, and obviously going by the lasagna from yesterday, a pretty lady who could cook. They could share a meal, some conversation—should be easy, he figured.