by Donna Fasano
Standing this close, she was once again aware of how tall and powerful a man Cameron O’Dea was. And yet, he did not abuse either his physical power or his authority. She’d seen him treat everyone from Fiona to the shelter resident with fairness and a gentle kind of consideration. She could see why so many people were drawn to the man with the glimmering Irish eyes.
She, for all her hard work and sacrifice, seemed to be always fighting and flashing like a fish on a line. If only she could let go a little more—maybe not of everything, but at least of the things that had her so hooked that she found herself losing her time and joy and even her hope for the future to them. Julia sighed and looked again at Cameron’s face. She smiled at the way his golden hair curled against the collar of his sweater, the one he’d worn the first time she saw him.
Suddenly his expression changed. He squinted hard.
“What? What is it?” Her heart began to pound faster, her breathing grew shallow. “Do you see something?”
“Someone,” he corrected in a whisper.
She could feel the energy building in him, a coiled tension waiting to act but his stance did not betray a bit of it. Her gaze flew to the throng, searching for the face she had seen that evening by the billboard. “Where? I don’t see anything.”
“Right—there.” He lifted his paper cup, as if making a toast, and called across the room. “Norman Wilson, great to see you could make it.”
“Norman Wilson?” She flattened her hand to her chest as her pulse settled back into a steady rhythm “Norman Wilson?”
“Your neighbor.” He muttered.
“Yes, I know he’s my neighbor. You’ve been living in the man’s driveway using his RV to keep tabs on me. How could I not know him? But…” She blinked as if trying to make the jigsaw pieces of information form some kind of picture. “What’s he doing here?”
“I told him he should come down and volunteer his time. Since he retired, his wife has been complaining about always having him underfoot. He says he isn’t ready to just sit and rock, he wants to do something meaningful with his time.” Cameron waved to the gray-haired fellow that Julia who lived across the street from Julia. “He’s an ex-firefighter, you know.”
“No. I didn’t,” she snapped, agitated because she had thought this might be the big break in the case they had hoped for. Also because she had lived across from Norman Wilson for two years without knowing what he had done for a living, that he had a wife or ever once considering he might want to volunteer his time. Yes, it cut her to the quick that she hadn’t been the one to discover all that. She was the great rescuer of people, after all.
That was pride talking. That’s what made her work such a struggle, she realized, while Cameron breezed through touch situation with an ease and humor. Maybe it was time she let go of a little of that. She gave her smiling neighbor a friendly wave. “I mean, no, I didn’t realize that.”
“I’m not surprised you didn’t know much about him—or any of your neighbors. He said they hardly ever see you. I suppose it’s because you’re so wrapped up in this place.” He turned to face her, his head bent so that she could hear his soft voice above the din in the cafeteria. “You put in far too many hours here, you know.”
“I do what I have to do to keep this place afloat. Nobody else can run it the way I do.” Her throat tightened as she heard the defensive edge in her words.
“Maybe you should let someone else try from time to time.” He fixed that gaze of his so fully on her face that for a moment she was lost to anything but the warmth of his voice, the depth of those eyes.
“They’d make more mess than they’d help,” she managed to murmur in reply. “I have my own system and it’s worked so far. I don’t see why I should let anyone—”
For the record and as if she needed proof of how effective the man’s laid back approach could be, he did not laugh out loud at her claim but let just the corner of one side of his mouth lift to show his amusement at her unchecked reaction.
So much for letting go a little. She sighed. “Well, maybe, if they had the proper training, I could let someone help—”
“Good.” He clapped his hands together then rubbed his palms over each other like a master villain about to unleash a diabolical plan, she decided. “And thanks to me, you can start getting away from this place soon.”
“What?”
“Because your unsalaried work force has blossomed, my dear. Today alone we’ve gathered a stack of new volunteer applications this thick.” There was more than an inch of space between his thumb and forefinger. “Before long they’ll hardly even need you around here. You’re going to have more free time than you know what to do with. How does that sound?”
Like nobody needed her anymore she thought. “Peachy,” she muttered, scowling into her mutilated punch cup. “Just peachy.”
“Great.” He turned and gave her tightened cheek a pinch, obviously aware that she was being sarcastic and choosing not just to ignore it but to use it against her. “Because that upbeat, new of yours attitude is going to make what I have in mind for us next all the easier.”
Chapter 8
The crisp March air tingled on the tip of Julia’s nose.
The clear night sky scattered with thousands of twinkling stars seemed bigger over her quaint Cincinnati suburb than it had over the city. The moon, nearly full, hung so big and glorious against its backdrop that the sight brought a million tiny goosebumps to her skin.
Funny that she had never noticed that phenomenon before.
Cameron placed his hand on her back to guide her along the darkened walkway from the car to the house.
Warmth from his palm permeated her tired muscles. She closed her eyes, exhaled quietly, and let the feeling swirl through her for the first moment of pure relaxation she’d felt in a long time.The moment proved fleeting. She glanced at the garish yellow beam of the porch light illuminating her front door only a few steps away.
She knew when they reached the door that she would have to say something, to give at least a passing compliment on the day’s achievement, before they said good night. She wound her fingers closed over her keys, the tooled metal biting into her flesh. Her shoulders tightened again, and her throat went dry. What do you say, she wondered, to someone who in one week totally reorders your workplace and even has you questioning the way you live your life?
It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful. She was. Grateful—and a little blue.
Today, with the big fund-raiser and the ensuing hope of revitalization at the shelter, marked the advent of two things— the lessening of her roll as director and the beginning of the end of her time with Cameron.
His plan for the shelter had brought in enough money, with the help of a sizable corporate donation, to hold St. Patrick’s Shelter in good stead until the new fiscal year and their new budget took effect. And he had made a very valid point that she needed to let others do some of the work of running the place. Her insistence that she do it all hadn’t put them in their economic crunch, but it certainly had contributed by keeping her focused on trivial things while the budget shortfall built to a crisis level.
Besides, she knew that if she didn’t use the volunteers who had signed up today, they would slowly drift away and lose interest—as others had before. She had to utilize more people, involve more people, trust more people. That’s how Cameron handled things, and she could see the results already.
There was a renewed energy around the shelter now, a greater sense of hope and purpose—and Cameron O’Dea, not Julia Reed, was responsible.
Petty though it might be, the thought that she had not been the one to breathe life back into the shelter saddened and embarrassed her just a bit.
Her shoes scuffed over the concrete steps and onto the small porch.
The heavy footfalls of Cameron’s boots followed behind.
Julia wet her lips and pulled at the collar of her black turtleneck sweater. The golden pin she now wore everywhere caught the light
and winked with a soft luster.
Cameron cleared his throat.
Her keys jangled as she relinquished her grip and began to fidget to locate the front door key. She ran the side of her left thumb along its edge then pivoted on her heel to face him. “I really have to say thank you, Cameron.” I’m not quite sure how much I mean it, but I have to say it, she added silently. She threw her shoulders back and extended her right hand to him. “So… you know… thanks.”
A shower of light from the brass lamp beside her front door poured over his hair and face in a rich, almost liquid-looking amber. His brilliant green eyes softened to muted jade in the yellow glow surrounding them. He took her hand in his.
Her heart stirred just to look at him, to feel his gentle touch. She inhaled the scent of his hair, his parka, the musty smell of the shelter that still clung to him. Her fingers curled around his hand and stayed there, turning the simple gesture into the suggestion of something more.
She wondered, as she had begun to do with growing frequency during the week, if he ever had similar feelings. Could a man as good and strong and focused as Cameron O’Dea ever care in that way for a woman as stubborn and demanding and, well, flawed as she was?
He clasped both hands over hers. “What is it you’re thanking me for, sweet Julia?”
Sweet Julia. The endearment made her shiver.
“For the fund-raising?” he asked in that deep, lilting tone. “For watching over you? Or...”
His voice trailed off as his gaze dipped down to brush over her waiting mouth. He stepped closer to her.
He’s going to kiss me, Julia thought, her pulse quickening to something just short of panic. This time, at last, Cameron was going to lean down, take her face in his hands, and put his lips to hers.
He took her by the shoulders and pulled her closer still.
And I’m going to let him.
Her keys tumbled from her hand with a melodic jingle then landed with a solid discordant clunk on the concrete. Julia dismissed the keys, the sound, and everything but the man taking her into his arms. Her chin tipped upward to allow him to move his face over hers.
He cradled her head in one large hand.
Her fingers sank into the warm padding of his thick parka.
He parted his lips, asking with his eyes if he should proceed.
She said yes with a look then let her lashes flutter down. A tiny quiver started deep inside her stomach and coiled its way upward until she gasped for air.
With that sudden, small intake of breath, Cameron moved his lips over hers.
Brrring.
Chirrrrp.
Both their cells phones rang simultaneously.
They jumped apart like two teenagers caught by an irate father.
“I’d better—” He reached for the phone tucked inside his pocket.
“Yeah, me, too.” She spun around and turned the doorknob hard enough to strain her wrist before she remembered that the door was still locked.
“O’Dea here,” Cameron said, his voice so tense it crackled. She bent to scoop up her keys.
Brrring. Her phone went off again.
She jabbed her key into the lock and cranked it to the right. Her weight fell against the door and it flew open as soon as the bolt released.
Whether it was relief or chagrin that propelled her forward, Julia didn’t know As she pawed through her purse to find the ringing phone, only one thing shone clear in her muddled mind—she had no business kissing a man like Cameron O’Dea.
Cameron was only available to her while he worked to find his nephew. After that he’d be gone. And then what would she have?
This phone call, she decided as she lunged for the receiver, might have just saved her from one very serious broken heart.
She cleared her thoughts to focus on her call and listened intently to every bit of information given her.
As soon as she hung up the phone, she rushed back to the doorway to find Cameron. “That was the night manager at the shelter—”
Cameron placed his finger to his lips to quiet her and continued to listen with intense concentration to the party on the other end of his phone line.
Julia pushed back the heavy curls lying against her neck. She tugged at her shirt sleeve. She tapped the toe of her shoe on the aluminum plate over the threshold.
“Uh-huh.” Cameron nodded, shoving one hand back through his glistening hair.
She lifted her eyebrows and widened her eyes at him in an effort to let him know she had important news.
“I see,” he said, ignoring her facial expressions. “Yes, I will.”
She pretended to look at a nonexistent wristwatch then moved one finger in a circle to encourage him to wrap it up.
He jammed his hand into his pocket and looked away. “I will. I will. Of course.”
She groaned out a ‘this-is-important’ sigh.
“Don’t worry” He held his finger up to her, nodded one more time, then said, “Thank you for calling me personally. Good-bye, Craig.”
“Craig?” Julia scrunched her nose up and jabbed a finger into the center of her chest. “My Craig?”
Cameron clicked the cellular phone off and slid it back into his parka pocket. “Yes, my dear, your Craig. He was calling about your shelter.”
“Oh? My call was from the shelter.” She stepped forward and placed her hand on Cameron’s arm.
His eyelids lowered halfway as his gaze flickered downward to the spot where her hand lay He did not shy away, but neither did he return her touch as he had earlier.
Julia wanted to curl her fingers up and pull her hand away, but she resisted calling more attention to her action.
“The night manager called me,” she went on, trying to sound as normal as she could when she felt both foolish and frightened. “And said they’d had some trouble.”
“I know.” His cheeks were taut, his lips straight, his gaze sobering. “That’s why Craig called.”
“He must be pretty rattled if he called you. You two aren’t exactly fast friends.” She swallowed hard. Despite his initial reaction to her uninvited touch, she could not help clutching his arm for strength.
This time he responded in kind, running his hand up her arm until his palm cupped the side of her neck. “They had a break-in at the shelter.”
“Yes. That’s what I was told. Nothing was taken,” she said, filling him in on the report she had just received. “The police are still there, taking statements. They don’t think whoever did it is still there. They think someone slipped in during the party and in all the confusion, lay in wait, then rummaged around while the evening meal was being served.”
“Craig told me as much. But he also picked up on one tiny detail.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “When they were asked if anyone saw or heard anything unusual this evening, one staff member reported that he had found a man lurking in the stairwell.”
“That’s not exactly unusual, Cameron. We routinely chase people out of the nooks and crannies.” She turned her face into his tender caress. “I suppose, after a break-in that would send up a red flag, though.”
The pale light of the moon gave a white gold appearance to the tousled waves of his hair. “Especially if that particular ‘cranny lurker’ had an Irish accent.”
“Shaughnessy,” she whispered in a startled whoosh of air.
“I’m going down to the shelter to ask some questions and see if I can determine what, if anything, he took.” His fingers tangled delicately through her hair, and his thumb moved from her cheek to whisk across her lower lip.
He still wanted to kiss her. His longing glittered in the dark pools of his eyes.
Julia’s body trembled. Her gaze fixed wholly to his. She wanted him to kiss her and yet knew she would be a fool to allow it.
He lowered his head.
She leaned in.
His parka rustled as he shifted his arms.
Julia felt as if her feet weren’t anchored on the earth at all. She shut her eyes
.
His warmth washed over her as he drew closer still.
She held her breath.
His lips moved over the comer of her mouth, so lightly she scarcely felt their touch. Then suddenly, he murmured something she didn’t understand and grazed a quick kiss over her cheek.
He turned and raced down the porch steps. “I’ll call when I know something.”
She raised her hand in a stunned farewell.
Suddenly he stopped, turned, gave a sad, slow smile, and lifted his own hand. “Good night.”
Her teeth sank into her lower lip.
His eyes sparked in that heart stopping way as he raised his chin and added, “Sweet Julia.”
And then he hurried away.
She stood, alone in the halo of yellow light, and watched his broad back disappear down the walk.
An engine growled to a quiet start. A pair of headlights snapped on. His car rolled back out of her drive, paused then sped away.
She pressed her fingertips to the spot where his lips had brushed her face and found the strength to whisper, “Good night, Cameron.”
~*~
“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” Cameron struck the side of his steering wheel with each muttered word.
He was stupid ever to have tried to kiss Julia in the first place. Even more stupid because he’d let a phone call interrupt what might have been a defining moment in their potential relationship. And the most stupid of all, when he finally committed himself to take the risk, was that he did not kiss her as she so deserved to be kissed—as he so longed to kiss her.
The subtle scent of her clung to his sweater, drifted up to tickle his nostrils. Suddenly he could all but feel Julia in his embrace again, smell the hint of vanilla on her skin.
“Don’t go there, O’Dea,” he warned himself through clenched teeth.
Taking his mind off the job, off his one goal, he reminded himself as he drove toward the shelter, had landed him in this mess in the first place.
If he hadn’t wanted to steal away for a few minutes alone with Julia, he would have been at the shelter when Michael was. He might well have nabbed the man then and there and now be on his way to rescue Devin, instead of dashing in to try to piece together whatever clues he could gather.
