One in a Million

by Susan Mallery

  Sense or not, Nash’s actions touched her in a way nothing had for years. Maybe ever. He’d taken care of her. Just like that, with no expectation of getting something back. She hadn’t known that men like him existed. He made her feel she could count on him.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She nodded again, knowing it was impossible to speak.

  Just then she heard the sound of several cars pulling up.

  “What’s that?” Jason asked and got down from his seat. He ran toward the front of the house.

  “They’re all here,” he called.

  “Who?” Adam asked as he, too, left the kitchen. Brett was on his heels.

  “Right on time,” Nash said, glancing at the clock.

  “On time for what?” she asked, her voice only a little scratchy.

  Nash grinned. “You’ll see.”

  Howard came through the swinging door. “Seems that the gang has all arrived. Ready to assign chores?”

  “Sure.”

  Nash slid the scrambled eggs onto a plate, along with a couple of pieces of bacon. “Eat up,” he said. “You’re going to need your strength. I’ll be right back.”

  He walked out of the kitchen, heading toward the front door. Howard followed. Stephanie glanced from the plate to the door, and decided to see what was going on.

  What she found stunned her nearly as much as seeing Nash cooking. Most of the Haynes clan had descended. All the brothers were there, along with Austin and several of the wives. There weren’t as many children as usual. Instead of carrying food or drinks, this time everyone had gallons of paint, toolboxes, ladders and other building supplies. They gathered by the gatehouse, as if waiting for instructions. Nash stood in the center of the group.

  As she approached, she saw that he held a list in his hand and was assigning tasks.

  “Upstairs in the master, there’s some ugly wallpaper in the bathroom. Did anyone bring the steamer?”

  “Sure.” Kyle patted the machine he’d set on the driveway. “I’ll have that off by noon. Then we can put up the new paper.”

  “We’ll do that,” Elizabeth said as she put her arm around Hannah. “It’s a floral pattern and we’re going to care more about getting it right.”

  Travis groaned. “Any of us could do just as good a job.”

  “Sure you could, but do you want to?”

  He kissed her. “Not on a bet.”

  Several people laughed. Stephanie felt as if her feet were nailed to the grass. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t protest what was happening. She watched as everyone trooped into her gatehouse and began to work. Nash finally noticed her and walked over.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “No. What are you doing?”

  He stood facing her. “You’d ordered the paint and wallpaper already,” he said. “I didn’t pick it out.”

  “I know, but why are they here?”

  “They’re helping out because I asked. I know you’ve been working on the gatehouse for a long time. You want to move in there so you can get the rest of the house renovated. I want to help. I’m leaving in a few days and I would like the gatehouse done before I go. I guess I want to know that you’re going to be okay.”

  He spoke the last bit defiantly, as if he expected her to be furious. She supposed she should be—he’d been high-handed in arranging all this. But the truth was, she was even closer to crying than before.

  No one had ever wanted to take care of her before. No one had ever worried about her. They all assumed she was so damn competent that she didn’t have doubts, didn’t get tired, didn’t sweat that it was going to come out right.

  She ached down to her bones. Not just because he was being so sweet and nice and making her want to beg him to never leave, but because what he was doing was proof that he was leaving. If he’d considered changing his mind and staying, he wouldn’t want to have the gatehouse finished.

  “You mad?” he asked.

  She shook her head because she couldn’t speak.

  “Is it okay that I’m doing this?”

  She managed a slightly strangled “Yes.”

  “Will you be okay if I go help out?”

  “Sure.”

  He touched her cheek, then walked toward the gatehouse.

  Stephanie stood alone on her lawn and listened to the sound of people working and talking and laughing. She knew that she had to help out the others. It wasn’t fair to leave everything to them. But first she had to get herself under control.

  In that moment, when she’d realized what he was doing, something inside her had given way. It was as if some protective wall had crumbled to dust, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.

  How could she help loving him? He wasn’t even everything she’d ever wanted—he was more. A partner, a friend, a warm, caring lover who was as solid as a rock. He was her hero. A one-in-a-million kind of man.

  A man who was leaving. And she didn’t have a single right to ask him to stay.

  By midafternoon, most of the rooms had been painted. Stephanie walked through the downstairs carrying cans of soda and bottles of water. The twins were circulating with granola bars and cookies.

  The transformation of the dark old house into something bright and charming amazed her, as did everyone’s friendliness. These people might be a part of Nash’s family, but they made her feel welcome.

  She handed Craig a bottle of water and started toward the kitchen. On the way she found Brett carefully sanding a baseboard in the hall.

  “You’re doing a great job,” she said as she stopped and crouched next to him. “That’s pretty detailed work.”

  Her twelve-year-old looked up at her. His blue eyes were dark and troubled. “Nash got his whole family to help.”

  “I know. That was really nice of him, huh?”

  Brett didn’t answer. Instead he folded the sandpaper in half and twisted it in his hands. “He’s still leaving, right?”

  As much as Stephanie wished she could say otherwise, she had to agree. “Of course he is, honey. He has a life in Chicago, remember?”

  “He’s not so bad, you know?” Brett’s voice sounded small. “He’s not Dad, but that’s okay.”

  Her stomach dove for her toes. When had her son let go of his resentment of Nash and why hadn’t she seen it happening? She hadn’t wanted any of her children to connect too closely with Nash because she hadn’t wanted them hurt by his leaving.

  “Brett, Nash is a really great guy. He’s been fun to have around, but it was always temporary. You knew that.”

  She winced at her own words. Of course he knew. Reminding him wasn’t going to make Nash’s leaving easier.

  “But he likes it here,” Brett said, staring at the sandpaper rather than her. “I bet he’d want to move here if you asked him to.”

  “I know it seems like that to you. I agree that he’s had a fun vacation, which is good. But he has a regular life waiting for him. He has a job and a home and friends.” But not a woman. She knew he’d been alone since his wife’s death. And yes, the sex was great, but was it enough to get him to relocate? She didn’t think so.

  “You could ask,” Brett repeated.

  “I could.”

  But she wouldn’t. Not only did she not want to put Nash in the position of having to refuse her, she wasn’t sure she would survive actually having to hear him say no.

  By five the gatehouse was nearly finished. Nash walked from room to room, pleased with all that had been done. All that was left was the new carpeting. As soon as Stephanie had that installed, she and the boys could move in. They’d have their own place, away from the guests. She would be safe.

  He could see her here—her furniture, the boys’ books and to
ys. They would make the small house into a home.

  Could he see himself here?

  The question brought him up short. Did he want to be here? Did he want to stay with Stephanie and her sons? That would mean getting involved. Emotions weren’t safe, he reminded himself. Emotions were messy and couldn’t be controlled. If life was out of control—

  His cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his shirt pocket and pushed Talk.

  “Harmon here.”

  “It’s Jack,” his boss told him. “We have a situation.”

  Five minutes later Nash turned off the phone and jogged toward the main house. He found Stephanie in the kitchen with Brett. She took one look at his face and blanched.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “My boss called. There’s a hostage situation in San Francisco at a bank robbery gone bad. Shots have been fired. A helicopter’s on its way to pick me up.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s coming from the army base and should be here in about six minutes.”

  He’d wondered how she would react to the crisis, but except for the loss of color in her face, she was in control. “Do you need me to get you anything? Most of your family has left. Your parents took the twins to the park. I’ll tell them when they get back.”

  “I appreciate that. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. These things can take time. Then there’s paperwork afterwards.”

  She dismissed his comments with a wave of her hand. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll pack your things and you can call us and let me know where you want them sent.”

  Her assumption that he wouldn’t be coming back surprised him. Yes, he only had a few days left of his vacation but—

  “I’m glad you’re leaving,” Brett said fiercely.

  Nash turned to the boy and saw him wipe the back of his hand across his eyes. Hell.

  He knelt in front of Brett. “I’m sorry I have to go, but this is important.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I care very much. About my work and about you, your brothers and your mom.”

  “Then don’t go.”

  The words shouldn’t have mattered to him, but God help him, he liked hearing them.

  “Some bad men are holding people hostage. I have to go. If I don’t some of them might die.”

  “Then promise to come back.”

  Stephanie put her hands on Brett’s thin shoulders. “Honey, don’t. Remember what we talked about? Nash has his own life and it’s not here.”

  They’d talked about him? He stood and tried to read her expression. “Stephanie…” He wasn’t sure what to say.

  She shook her head. “We both knew this was temporary, right? So it’s ending sooner than we thought. At least we’re saved from having a long, painful goodbye. It’s like ripping off a bandage. Faster is better.”

  “Faster hurts more,” he said.

  “But it’s over quicker.”

  He wanted to tell her he would come back. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t want to go in the first place. But to what end?

  Before he could figure out what words were right, he heard a familiar sound. “The helicopter’s here.”

  Outside several sheriff’s cars had blocked off the street. Nash saw Kyle talking to one of the helicopter pilots.

  Nash bent down and hugged Brett. Then he straightened and pulled Stephanie close.

  “Take care of yourself,” she said as she stepped back. There were tears in her eyes.

  He felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut. There were a thousand things to say and no time left. His heart heavy, his chest tight, he jogged to the helicopter. Kyle slapped him on the back as he climbed in.

  “Don’t get dead,” he called.

  Nash gave him a thumbs-up, then yelled at the pilot to take off. He watched out the window until Stephanie and Brett were no more than specks. When he couldn’t see them anymore, he watched anyway, knowing they were still standing there.

  Chapter 14

  By five in the morning the San Francisco sky had turned pale gray. Nash had lost count of the cups of coffee he’d consumed. He’d managed to talk the bank robbers into releasing the bodies of the two men they’d killed before Nash had arrived, and one pregnant woman who had gone into early labor. There were still fifteen people and three men with guns inside the ground-floor bank building.

  FBI agents, local police and SWAT teams circled the high-rise. There were sharpshooters in place. The media was being kept at bay, with a live news feed being set up across the street.

  Jack sat with Nash in the specially equipped vehicle in front of the bank.

  “Now what?” Jack asked.

  Nash didn’t have an answer. Becker, the guy he’d been talking to for the past several hours, had seemed like he was ready to discuss releasing more hostages, but then had hung up unexpectedly. The bank’s surveillance cameras had been disconnected by Becker and his buddies when they’d first taken hostages, so getting a look inside that way wasn’t an option. A long-range camera had shown the three men having what looked like a heated argument.

  “I’m guessing one of them doesn’t agree with Becker’s plan to give up,” Nash said.

  Sometimes that happened. Some criminals would rather shoot it out and face death than accept the consequences of prison. If that was the case, if a man was prepared to die, there weren’t many rescue options.

  “Can we take any of them out?” Jack asked.

  Nash looked down at the bank floor plan he’d been given. Becker had said the hostages were being held in the vault. The door was open, but the civilians were still out of the main section of the bank. If Becker was telling the truth, then the sharpshooters could fire into the bank without hitting the hostages.

  “We can’t take one of them out,” Nash said. “Even if we planned an armed assault for one or two seconds later, there would still be enough time for hostages to be killed. What are the odds of us getting all three of them at once? I don’t want any dead civilians. Not on my watch.”

  Jack nodded. In this situation, Nash was in charge.

  Nash rose and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The street had been blocked off, which would be hell on the morning commute. His stomach grumbled.

  Frowning, he tried to remember the last time he’d eaten. Not since arriving. The men inside hadn’t, either. Or the hostages. He picked up the specially equipped cell phone that not only connected with Becker, but also activated a recording device and transmitted the call back to the FBI truck.

  As he punched in the number, he shifted slightly. Then he had to move again. What the hell?

  A rumbling sound grew as the ground began to roll.

  Nash swore. Great. Just what his morning needed. A damn earthquake.

  The rolling grew in intensity, as did the roaring sound. People began to yell. A few screamed. He looked up at the tall buildings all around him and figured he’d better head for cover. Just then the doors of the bank burst open.

  A tall, dark-haired man ran onto the sidewalk.

  “Don’t shoot,” he yelled, holding a cell phone in one hand and a gun in the other. He tossed the gun on the ground.

  Nash was on him in a second. “Becker?” he yelled, even as he twisted the man’s arm behind him and physically dragged him away from the bank.

  “That damn building is swaying like a boat,” the man cried out. “It’s gonna fall and I’m not going to be crushed to death like some bug.”

  Behind him, still in the bank, another man was screaming for Becker to get his sorry butt back inside. The ground continued to roll and shake, distracting everyone.

  Nash grabbed his radio. “Now,” he called out. “Get in there now!”

  The rescue team swarmed the front of the ba
nk. With the earthquake still rumbling Nash couldn’t hear the crash of the bank’s rear door being blown as the rest of the team entered that way. Three shots were fired, then there was silence. Nash clutched his radio.

  “One gunman shot,” a voice said. “One captured. The hostages are all safe.”

  “How are you going to explain the earthquake in your report?” Jack asked several hours later as he sat on a corner of Nash’s temporary desk in the San Francisco office.

  Nash leaned back in his chair. “Sometimes we get lucky. That’s all it was.”

  “It was more than that,” his boss said. “Before you arrived, they’d killed two people. You put a stop to that. You’re good at what you do.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jack stood up. “Either I was wrong about you burning out or you got what you needed from your vacation. You’re welcome to come back anytime you’d like.” He grinned. “Is tomorrow too soon?”

  Work. Nash’s refuge. Was he ready to return so quickly?

  “Let me get back to you on that,” he said.

  Jack raised his dark eyebrows. “You sure about that?”

  Nash nodded. “I’ll finish my report and see you on my way out.”

  “Fair enough.”

  He left and Nash turned his attention to the computer screen. But instead of entering his report, he found himself thinking about what had happened that morning. How a 4.2 earthquake had saved fifteen hostages. As he’d told Jack, it had been little more than dumb luck. As always, there were circumstances out of everyone’s control. Even his.

  He placed his fingers on the keyboard, then dropped his hands back onto the desk. Well, hell. What do you know, he thought grimly. He couldn’t control the world. If he were honest with himself, he might admit he couldn’t control much of anything. Life happened, and he didn’t get to decide which way it was going to go. He’d never been able to decide. No matter what he wanted or expected or needed, life had its own plan and didn’t consult with him.

  Today he’d gotten lucky. Two years ago, he hadn’t.