No One But You

by Jillian Hart

  The slam of the neighbors’ door cut through her thoughts. She closed the album and slipped it onto the shelf as the muted sound of voices shattered the peaceful silence of her home. Her stomach tightened. She remembered similar evenings when Jasper had been itching for a fight, jumping all over the tiniest things, perhaps needing a way to vent his self-hatred and self-anger.

  Mariah rose to her feet, listening to the raging male voice. The exterior wall of the house greatly muffled his words, but the tone came through in a low, furious growl that reminded her of Jasper when he’d been working up to an episode. She snatched the cordless phone on her way to the sliding door, flipped on the outside porch lights and snagged a sweater she’d left on the arm of the couch.

  Cold air fanned over her as she stepped into the night. A distant slam of a car door told her she was too late. A pickup engine roared and tires squealed as Roland Lindstrom gunned out of his garage, careening into the street. A woman’s thin sobs sighed on the wind.

  “Lyn? Are you all right?” Mariah padded to the edge of her patio. The downward slope of the lot allowed her to see the shadow of her neighbor sitting on her side doorstep, hands to her face, elbows on her knees.

  Mariah remembered how lonely it felt to be in those shoes. She waited, not wanting to push, but to be the friend Lyn so desperately needed.

  He neighbor drew herself up with a final sniff, wiped her eyes, trying to hide the fact that she’d been crying. “Oh, I’m fine. Just tired.”

  “It’s been a long day?”

  “Something like that.” Self-conscious, the slender woman gave a strained laugh and stood. “How’s things with your boy?”

  “Fine. Busy.” Mariah let her change the subject, remembering how embarrassing it could be to have curious neighbors witness her marital problems. “Jake had a game tonight. The other team gave them a run for their money. They had to work hard for the victory. Jake made the scoring shot two seconds before the whistle blew.”

  “Sounds like a thrilling game.”

  “It really was. How’s your daughter?”

  “Emily’s doing better in school. She has a new reading teacher and that’s made a lot of difference.”

  “Good. My best friend growing up had dyslexia, too, so I know how challenging it is.” Mariah eased open the gate, stepping into her side yard and across the property line. “I had a crazy day today.”

  “I saw you on the news. Some fund-raising drive at the mall.”

  “Yes. We’re doing it again tomorrow. It’s one of our more successful campaigns.” She didn’t add that government grants didn’t come close to meeting all the needs of their shelter, so raising money was a huge part of her job. Making sure Mary’s Place had the resources to help anyone who needed them was a responsibility she took seriously. “Looks like you have a swollen eye.”

  “I walked into the door. Dumb me.” Lyn shrugged self-consciously. She was a sweet young woman, maybe in her mid-twenties, with soft golden curls framing a pretty, oval face. Shadowed blue eyes blinked, as she obviously tried to hide her sorrow. “I’m such a klutz. Always have been. It’s annoying. I hope Roland didn’t disturb you.”

  “It was pretty hard not to hear him, but I’m more worried about you.”

  “Me? No, I’m just fine. Times are tough for him right now. He’s not always like this. It’s just that his new job isn’t going well. The economy.”

  “Sure.” Mariah didn’t want to argue. Issues with authority and control had caused work problems for Jasper, too, regardless of the economy. “You moved all the way from Michigan for this job. You must miss your family.”

  “There are issues.” Lyn shrugged, trying to hide the sadness shadowing her.

  “Roland?” she asked gently.

  “He’s really a good guy down deep. He has problems just like anybody.”

  “Yes, we all have problems,” she agreed, wondering how much she could push before Lyn pulled away. The woman looked fragile tonight, shivering in the cold without a coat or sweater. “Did you want to talk? I’ll make us some tea. I found this delicious blend of chamomile and lavender—“

  “No, but thanks.” Lyn almost reached out, as if needing the comfort of a friend, but drew back at the last moment. She stepped into the deeper shadows against the house, and it was impossible to read her expression, but apology rang in her voice. “Maybe another time. Tonight’s not a good night.”

  “If you don’t want to be alone when he comes home—“

  “No, that’s not it.” Lyn’s defenses went up. That was clear from her tone. The door creaked open and she escaped inside. “It’s just not a good night.”

  “I understand.” Mariah understood just how it felt to stand in the shadows, fighting hard to make things better with the circumstances life had dealt her. But Lyn didn’t have to do it alone. “I’m right next door. You have my number. My offer of tea and friendship is good. Anytime.”

  “Thanks, Mariah.” Lyn hesitated again, clearly in need, but the door hinges squeaked as they closed. “Good night.”

  “Good night.” There was a click, and Mariah was alone in the chilly night. The shadows clung to her as she made her way back to her warm, safe house, her sanctuary.

  Just the way home should be.

  Chapter Three

  “We’re waiting on the appraisal.” The banker’s voice came over the line, along with the shuffle of papers.

  Perhaps his desk was as piled with work as hers was, Mariah thought as she leaned forward in her chair, tugged a folder out of her ready-to-topple in-basket, then wedged the phone between her shoulder and her ear. Now her other hand was free to catch the pile of papers before they spilled over. Deftly, she opened the file marked Land Grant. “The appraisal? I thought that was done last week.”

  “We don’t have the paperwork in house.”

  “Of course you don’t.” Typical Monday. What can go wrong will go wrong. “I’ll follow up right now.”

  “Great. We’d like to wrap this loan up for you on time.”

  “I appreciate that.” She scribbled a note on her pages-long to-do list, underlined it and tossed a smile at Sunni, who padded into her office. “Tom, is there anything else you need?”

  “That should do it.”

  “Then I’ll get the latest financials to you and hunt down the missing appraisal, with any luck by tomorrow.” After their goodbyes, she hung up, eyeing Sunni, who’d slipped a huge folder on the edge of her desk and now sat waiting in one of the chairs. Mariah sighed. “I’m almost afraid to ask. I recognize that look.”

  “What look?”

  “The one that always spells trouble for me.” She rolled her eyes, set the phone in its cradle and flipped the folder closed. “Were you able to get a call in to our CPA?”

  “Done and done. The financials are being faxed to the bank as we speak.”

  “Excellent. Thank you. You are the best, Sunni.”

  “Don’t I know it.” She gave her long black hair a toss. “But before you get too excited, we have a new crisis. It’s being handled, however.”

  “You know I never like the word crisis.” But Mariah was used to it. She reached for the thick folder Sunni had brought. “Tell me all about it. I’m braced and ready.”

  “One of the ovens in the kitchen went on the fritz, though Paullina says she can get by without it. But if the other one that is currently giving her fits dies, we’ll be in trouble.”

  “Oh, boy.” Mariah opened her drawer, pulled out a pen and started signing papers. “Tell me you have an appliance repairman scheduled?”

  “They were booked until Friday, but I sweet-talked ’em and got an appointment for tomorrow morning first thing.”

  “Excellent. Did I tell you how good you are?”

  “Yes, you did.” Sunni beamed. “The diaper drive donations were phenomenal. Your friend’s check took us way over the top.”

  “I knew you were going to bring him up. Again.” Mariah signed with a flourish and laid the letter
facedown on her desk. “Be careful. I’ve instituted a ban on his name at home, and I can do it here.”

  “Touchy, are we?” Sunni laughed, bounding to her feet. “Do you think I hit a nerve?”

  “Not at all.” Her denial skills were top-notch. She could compete with the best…and win. She signed again and flipped to the next letter.

  “Then you might not be happy with me.” Sunni looked unrepentant.

  “That’s never a good sign.” Mariah had a feeling, one very bad, very uncomfortable feeling, that whatever Sunni had done involved Wyatt Royce.

  “I looked up Flagstone Properties in the Yellow Pages and gave your friend a call.”

  “He’s not my friend,” she corrected, not looking up from her work. Sign, flip, and don’t think about Wyatt.

  “Then what is he?”

  “More like my nemesis.”

  “Hilarious.” Sunni laughed. “Not from where I was standing. So, that was quite a check he wrote. I wanted to thank him, since that’s my job. You know, for our biggest donors, extend a personal touch.”

  “Sure, since that is in your job description.”

  “Yes, you see where I’m going with this. So, I’ve invited some of our newer donors—your friend, er, nemesis, being one of them—to come down to learn more about our shelter. But only one has taken me up on it so far—“

  “Don’t tell me—“

  “—and here he is.” Sunni turned, smiling brightly toward the doorway.

  Mariah could see him plainly through the walls of glass that separated her workspace from the main office. A tall man in an Armani suit stood calmly in the middle of chaos. Phones rang, printers spewed documents and the copy machine hummed, but Wyatt seemed apart from all of it. His bright blue eyes found hers, shrinking the distance between them. She clambered to her feet, dropping her pen, not prepared to see him again.

  “I don’t have time—“

  “I think you do.” Sunni looked pleased with herself as she bounded into the main office. “Mr. Royce. You came, and five minutes early.”

  “I like things punctual.” His baritone rumbled warmly. He looked even more handsome today than he had on Saturday. If that was possible.

  “So does Mariah.” Sunni’s voice dropped, so Mariah couldn’t hear what her coworker said, but little sparkles lit Wyatt’s eyes, and when he smiled, dimples framed his handsome grin.

  “I’m not surprised.” He strode toward her, his thick hair windblown from the spring breeze. His magnetic presence didn’t affect just her. The office gradually quieted and heads turned as people noticed him.

  If her heart gave a little jump, Mariah didn’t have to acknowledge it. She swiped her damp palms discreetly on her skirt and tried to pretend that seeing him like this didn’t rattle her in the slightest. She strode out of her office, forcing a smile and extending her hand. She would treat him like any other important donor. “Wyatt, welcome. I’m surprised you had time in your busy schedule to take Sunni up on her offer.”

  “I have a jam-packed day, but I’ve got to learn to delegate. This is an excellent opportunity to give it a shot.” His hand enclosed hers—larger, stronger, and male.

  She pulled her fingers back gently, ignoring the snap of awareness buzzing through her and the memory of his touch tingling her skin. She simply could not still be that attracted to the man, could she? No. She refused to be. “Delegate? I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Why am I not surprised you have the same problem? Type A’s usually do.” He gestured toward her office, visible through the glass, the executive-size desk piled to capacity with work needing to be done, issues needing to be resolved. “My desk looks like that, with columns of paper stacked two feet high. There’s more work than I can do in a day, but that doesn’t stop me from trying.”

  “Is that the secret to your success?”

  “Actually, I’m not sure what it is. I got lucky.”

  “I know you, Wyatt. You always were a hard worker.”

  “So were you. Remember the job you got after your dad died? You had two jobs back then.”

  “At the drive-in and at the department store.” Aware of the silent office surrounding them, she pitched her voice lower. “Come with me. I’ll show you what we do here.”

  “So, you always give donors a walking tour?” He fell in step beside her.

  “Sometimes.” This was professional, she reminded herself. Think of his sizable contribution to the diaper drive. That was what mattered here. “I think Sunni is amused that I used to know you back when. The Wyatt Royce. My son tells me you were on a magazine cover?”

  “Right. Not at all sure why. Must have been a slow news week.” His chuckle was deep and rich and masculine.

  Little tingles threatened to break out, but she refused to react to him. Whatever she felt was simply a vestige of the past. “How is your mom?”

  “Well. She and Dad have retired to Florida. My mousy mother and my workaholic father are golfing, sailing and living it up on the beach. I hardly recognize them.”

  “Good for them. I’m glad they’re enjoying life as much as they can. They were always nice to me.”

  “They adored you. I think they always hoped…”

  “That we would wind up together?” she finished, leading the way down the stairwell. “Perish the thought.”

  “Exactly.” He laughed again. Another thing that hadn’t changed was his easygoing good humor. “How’s your mom?”

  “She remarried last year. They moved to Rochester.” Mariah opened a door into the TV room, where Ashleigh was setting up for their evening event. “We’re having a movie night. We offer a wide range of aftercare services. Once a woman moves out of Mary’s Place, she isn’t forgotten. We’re there for her with support groups, dinners, friendship and movie nights.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “Fun and important. Women who’ve been abused are often cut off from family and friends, and so part of our work here is to help them forge new relationships. Social support is vital to the healing process and helping women rebuild their lives.”

  “You really care about this, don’t you? You’re not just an executive.”

  “Exactly. It’s my life’s work.”

  “I see.” Wyatt saw a lot of things—the successful woman she’d become, the thriving organization she ran. And he understood the kind of commitment and work that took. He also saw the wall she’d put up between them. Was she that uncomfortable being with him again? He felt a twinge of guilt. There was a reason he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her over the weekend, and why he’d bailed on his afternoon meeting to be here with her. “I owe you an apology.”

  “What for? Come, I’ve got something to show you I think you might like.” She acted as if she didn’t know, but she did. She couldn’t fool him.

  He noted the graceful way she moved, the high regard the smiling Ashleigh held her in before, with a quick wave, she stepped from the room. Wyatt cleared his throat, determined to do this the right way. “I shouldn’t have tried to butt in like I did and tell you how to run your life or your son’s.”

  “I’m not sure I understand. You’re apologizing?” She quirked one slender eyebrow, latent humor threatening to bubble up. There was a hint of the lighthearted Mariah he’d known. “All right, where is the real Wyatt and what have you done with him?”

  “Yeah, I deserve that.” He chuckled, accompanying her past a large rec room, where a group of women sat in a circle, learning to knit. Across the hall in a play area, little ones were engrossed with the numerous toys scattered around the room. It embarrassed him now what he’d said to her on Saturday. Telling her what to do with her job and her son? “I was trying to help. But every time I do, it never works.”

  “Forget it.” Elegant as always, she went to push open a heavy outside door.

  “I can’t forget it.” He got the door before she could, and held it for her. He breathed in the faint scent of lilacs as she slipped around him into the late afte
rnoon sunshine. “I really wasn’t trying to take over.”

  “It’s okay, Wyatt. It’s forgotten.”

  “I guess what I say comes out wrong. It always has, as you well remember.” Vaguely, he heard the sound of pounding feet and a dribbling basketball, but he couldn’t seem to focus on anything but her. The wind in her soft cinnamon locks and the sun bronzing the sculpted beauty of her face.

  “I’d rather not recall the lunchroom incident.” She bit her lip, holding back a smile.

  “You mean the time you informed me I didn’t rule the world and I wasn’t your boss?”

  “Yes, that would be the one.” A glint of humor sparkled in her emerald eyes before she flicked her gaze away. “This is our playground. Fenced, so it’s safe for the kids. It’s aging, but we’re getting by.”

  “I like the basketball court.” With a game in session, he noticed. Grade school kids charged from hoop to hoop, shouting, calling, laughing and scoring.

  “I thought you might. Our plans for the new shelter are drawn up and approved, by the way. The inspector wanted a few changes, so the architect has made them, but we’ve got an outside playground and the basement will be a gym so the kids can play in the winter. The land donation, Wyatt…” She swallowed hard, watching the kids. “It’s making an incredible difference for Mary’s Place.”

  “Glad to help.” It was easy to see how much this facility meant to her. He spotted a familiar face on the court. Jake, her son, a whistle dangling around his neck, charged along the sidelines. Clearly, the shelter was a family affair.

  Wyatt didn’t know how much time passed as he took in the other sights. He noticed a swing set full of kids, as well as a network of slides and climbing apparatuses, where squeals and children’s conversations rose and feel gleefully. His chest tightened as he remembered another child who liked to climb and slide.

  “Thank you for taking time out of your workday, Wyatt.” The poised executive director building a relationship with a donor—and not his old girlfriend—offered him a polite smile. “You can see the work we do here.”