Finding Nick

by Janis Reams Hudson

  As if she thought Nick didn’t realize she had entered the building and was standing beside him—not know? How could he not know when she walked into a room? He could be dead and he would know. Shannon nudged his arm with her shoulder.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

  “I’m thinking of an exposé on nursing homes.”

  “Liar,” he whispered.

  “Shh. The man’s speaking,” she whispered back, her eyes twinkling with laughter.

  He’d been dreading this event all morning. So much so that, although he hadn’t realized it, his stomach had tied itself in knots. The only reason he was aware of that fact now was that when Shannon showed up, his tension eased.

  If he bottled her, they could make a million. No more muscle relaxants, antidepressants, heartburn medication, sleeping pills. Just Shannon. With Shannon, everything was all right, and if it wasn’t, a man just didn’t care.

  He was getting way too used to her, way too needy.

  But that was a worry for another day and time. Right now she was here beside him, so he could handle whatever they threw his way.

  As it turned out, they didn’t throw much at all until after the inspection. The facility wasn’t four-star accommodations, and the smell wouldn’t win any prizes, but for what it was, it was all right.

  “How did they do?” Shannon asked Lon as he finished taking notes.

  “Oh, not too bad.”

  “I noticed on the Internet last night that in a federal GAO 2004 survey report, 1,143 Texas nursing homes responded to the survey, and eighty-four-point-four percent had fire-safety deficiencies. Care to comment?”

  Poor Lon, Nick thought. The guy looked like a deer caught in the headlines of an oncoming semi.

  “Uh, well, uh, you see…”

  “It’s a courtesy thing, Shannon. He gets to tell the owner and the officials how they did before it goes to the press.”

  “That’s it.” Lon looked at Nick as if he were his new best friend. “That’s it exactly.”

  Meanwhile, the guy from the local paper wore a maniacal grin and scribbled notes like mad.

  Lon pulled Nick aside and quietly thanked him. “For a minute there, I thought I was on 60 Minutes or something. That woman is scary.”

  Nick just smiled.

  “So, what do you think?” Lon motioned to indicate the nursing home in general.

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to live here, but I’ve seen worse.”

  “Ain’t it the truth. But they’ve got some things they need to take care of to bring them up to code. They’re going to have to figure out a better way to keep track of their patients than by locking that back door, for one thing. They knew we were coming today and they still had that chain on it.”

  “So much for his fine talk about what’s best for the residents,” Nick added.

  “Did you see anything worth noting?”

  Nick shrugged. “You’ve got the checklist to work down, so I didn’t pay much attention to that. Of course, the first thing they should do is put in a sprinkler system.”

  “Naturally. But it’s not required by law, so they won’t. I’m still going to hound them on it, though.”

  “They can at least put a smoke alarm in every room.”

  Lon grinned. “Maybe I’ll threaten them with your reporter friend if they don’t.”

  “Damn, man, you’re just plain mean.”

  “I try. Hey, listen, thanks, brother.”

  “No problem,” Nick said, shaking the man’s hand.

  “It’s none of my business why you left New York, or why you’re not fire chief here. I guess if you were, I wouldn’t have a job. But if you ever feel like volunteering, you know we can always use an experienced hand.”

  “Thanks for the offer.” Nick smiled wryly. “I’m out of the business because my leg can’t be trusted. If I put too much pressure on it, it gives out. I can’t haul pipe up stairs. Hell, I probably couldn’t haul it across the room, not in full turnout gear. In New York, if you can’t climb stairs, you’re useless fighting fires.”

  “I hear that,” Lon said with feeling. “But the offer still stands. You’ll notice we don’t have a lot of stairs around town. Certainly nothing more than one or two flights. And we have a bunch of strong young guys to haul pipe all day and all night.”

  “Excuse me.” The local newshound had been so quiet, Nick had forgotten him. Now the kid raised his pen for attention. “What is this pipe you talk about hauling?”

  “Civilians.” Lon rolled his eyes. “That’s what we call a fire hose. It’s a water pipe. Get it?”

  “Oh, yeah. Cool.”

  Nick and Lon shared a look, and a smile.

  “See? Didn’t I tell you you had nothing to worry about?”

  Nick glanced at Shannon, then back at the pizza menu on the wall. “You did not.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. I’m having the works on my half. What do you want?”

  “Everything but anchovies. It went okay, though, didn’t it? Nobody made a big deal out of you or anything? You weren’t put on the spot, or asked to re-enact breaking your back?”

  Nick snickered. “No. It was fine.”

  When he reached for his wallet—you had to pay when you ordered—Shannon pushed his wallet aside. “This is on me. We’re celebrating.”

  “What are we celebrating?”

  “Your successful outing.”

  The kid behind the cash register, Bucky Jones, who’d graduated from Tribute High last year, nearly swallowed his tongue. “G-g-g-olly, Mr. Nick.”

  “She didn’t mean that the way you think,” Nick said darkly. “Shannon, tell Bucky you didn’t mean that the way he thinks.”

  “What? Oh.” Shannon laughed. “No. Sorry. It wasn’t that kind of outing.”

  If Nick hadn’t had to spend the afternoon overseeing the decorating at the high-school gym, Shannon could have finished interviewing him. But since their time was short, she decided to put it off until after the dance that night and let him eat his pizza in peace. They had only one small incident during their lunch.

  That came when Nick, rather offhandedly, Shannon thought, casually mentioned that he’d been wrong about the jeans for the dance. He’d been told in no uncertain terms that this was a dress-up affair. The Homecoming Queen candidates would be in formal gowns; the rest of the females attending the dance would most likely be in party dresses. “Whatever the hell that means,” he added.

  Shannon checked her watch. “You’re telling me this…a whole six or seven hours in advance? Why, thank you.”

  “Sorry,” he grumbled. “But we’re chaperones, not attendees, so I figure we can wear whatever we want.”

  “You just go right ahead and figure that. Me? I’m wearing a dress. If you want to be seen with me, wear a sport jacket.”

  His lips twitched. “Yes, ma’am.”

  When they left the pizza parlor, Nick and Shannon went their separate ways. He, to help at the gym. She, to make her way back to the motel and work on her notes.

  She sat hunched over her laptop for a few hours, transcribing her notes from Nick’s interview so far.

  She really had only two or three other questions for him. She wanted to hear about his recovery, when he wasn’t supposed to recover. About his troubles with the press and media. What did it do to him to realize he couldn’t fight fires anymore? Was that why he’d left New York? Why he now pushed a broom for a living? Was he okay with that? Would he ever go back to New York?

  She paused over that last question, her heart suddenly thundering in her chest. Because that last question had less to do with her book and more with her personal wishes. She simply couldn’t imagine going home and never seeing him again. The mere idea left her cold inside.

  When she had first come to town, there had been something in Nick’s eyes, or rather, something lacking. She hadn’t realized it then, but she did now, because today it was back. It was a holding b
ack, a certain distance he tried to keep between himself and the rest of the world.

  But for a few days, he’d been hers. When they’d made love, he had quit holding back and started being open with her, letting her see and feel his vulnerability. He’d let her get emotionally close to him, giving her everything he had. She had felt it in his touch, tasted it in his kiss. Seen it shining in his eyes. He’d been hers.

  Even last night, he’d been hers. And he had accepted that she was his. Until today. Like watching someone pull down a window shade, she had seen the shield come down over his eyes at the nursing home, when he’d been reminded firsthand that he would never be a fireman again.

  And that was just nonsense, she thought, suddenly fuming. Maybe he couldn’t haul pipe up fifty flights of stairs, but there were other things he could do.

  Here she’d been, planning on going easy on him during the last of her interviews. She hadn’t wanted to push him too hard. Heaven forbid she ask a question that might cause him discomfort.

  But she was not going to give up without a fight.

  Just what that meant, she didn’t know and didn’t want to think about. Did she mean her interview? Did she mean getting Nick to see himself as something other than a has-been? Or did she mean something much more personal?

  She wouldn’t dissect it. She would start with one and work her way toward the others.

  But first there was a more immediate problem that had to be solved. What the heck was she going to wear to the Tribute High School homecoming dance?

  A veteran shopper could always find something appropriate to the occasion. Shannon discovered a cute little shop on Main that offered a little bit of everything a young, stylish woman could want, and exactly what Shannon needed for the dance.

  She carried her purchase back to the motel. As she was getting out of the shower, her phone rang. It was Deedra.

  “Why are you still there? Why haven’t you called? It can’t take all week to interview one man, and if it does, he’s probably not worth it.”

  “Deedra?”

  “You’ve got other chapters.”

  “Deedra.”

  “One guy, I don’t care who he is, isn’t worth this much of your time.”

  “Deedra!”

  “What?”

  “Take a breath.”

  “Oh. All right.” She even sounded breathless. “If I must. If you’ll—”

  “Deedra.”

  “Okay. Just answer me.”

  “I’ll try.” Shannon chuckled. Once Deedra got on a roll, there was almost no stopping her. The woman could talk a mile a minute. “Nick is now cooperating with the interview, but I’m taking it slowly so as not to spook him. He’s real touchy about all of it. I haven’t called because I’ve been busy, and for that I apologize.”

  “Your mother calls me every day asking if I’ve heard from you.”

  “Really?” That surprised her. “Why didn’t she call me?”

  “She didn’t want you to think she was—”

  “Checking up on me,” Shannon finished with her. It was one of her mother’s favorite platitudes. I don’t want you to think I’m checking up on you, as if you’re not your own person now, an independent adult. I don’t want to make a nag of myself.

  Shannon and her mother were as different as night and day when it came to independence and self-confidence. Her mother claimed that both things must have skipped a generation, at least on the female side, because Shannon got more than her fair share, while her mother admittedly had little to none.

  Shannon and Deedra both chuckled.

  “If you’re taking it slow,” Deedra said, “then why are you so busy?”

  “Oh, uh…” She and Deedra didn’t generally have secrets from each other. They usually told each other everything. But this felt different. She wasn’t ready to talk to anyone yet about her relationship—one-week fling?—with Nick. “Research, local color, that sort of thing.”

  “What kind of local color? You’re in Texas. What are you doing, riding bulls?”

  Shannon hooted. “No way, and you know it. There are some things that even I wouldn’t do. However, it happens to be homecoming week here. I’ve been to a parade, a bonfire, a barbecue place, the nursing home—”

  “Nurs—”

  “Don’t ask. It’s complicated. I’ll tell you all about it—” mostly “—when I get home. Tonight I’m going to help chaperone the homecoming dance.”

  “Get out. You are not.”

  “I am. My date is the high school’s head custodian.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’re going to a high-school dance.”

  “That’s right.”

  “With the janitor.”

  “I am.”

  “Ahem. Might one ask, pourquoi?”

  “Inquiring minds want to know?”

  “They do,” Deedra affirmed.

  “It’s more research.”

  “Don’t tell me the janitor is the one you’re interviewing.”

  “Okay, I won’t tell you. What’s wrong with janitors? Don’t tell me you’re a snob.”

  “Of course not. I just meant…I mean—”

  “Yeah. That’s what I caught myself thinking, too, when I got here. I was being a snob, myself. Janitor is an old and noble profession, just like any other.”

  “Who are you trying to convince? Me, or you?” Deedra needled.

  “You. I’m already convinced. And, Dee?”

  “Uh-oh. I know that tone. That’s your serious tone, and I don’t want to hear it when we’re talking about high-school janitors and homecoming dances.”

  “Hear it anyway. You said he wasn’t worth the trouble.”

  “I did.”

  “You were wrong,” Shannon told her quietly.

  Shannon was still smiling over Deedra’s stunned silence followed by another endless stream of questions and demands about Nick, about her, about Nick and her, when the man in question knocked on her door.

  “Oh, my,” she said when she got a good look at him. The man cleaned up real nice, as her dad would have said. His dark gray suit accented the width of his shoulders, the length of his legs. The crisp white shirt contrasted beautifully with his dark olive complexion, and the tie added the perfect touch of panache. “You look fabulous.”

  Nick goggled. “You took the words right out of my mouth.” Except, he thought, fabulous was way too poor a word for the vision of her. Her dress was plain, unadorned, unruffled black, long sleeved, high necked, ending just above her beautiful knees, and hugged every curve of her shapely body. Black three-inch heels made her legs look a mile and a half long.

  He knew he was staring, he just couldn’t seem to help himself. Didn’t want to. “You’ve got legs.”

  Shannon snickered. “I’ve had them for quite a while. You’ve got a flower.”

  “What? Oh.” Heat stung his cheeks. But hell, if a guy couldn’t make a fool out of himself over a pretty woman, then what good was he? It was homecoming, after all. He held out the clichéd pink carnation that Aunt Bev had forced him to buy. “This is for you.”

  The sheer delight on Shannon’s face surprised him. Warmed him. Made him feel stupid and guilty for not thinking of giving her flowers on his own, and days ago. What was wrong with the men in her life that a simple corsage should surprise her so much?

  “It’s got elastic,” he offered, “for your wrist, if you don’t want to pin it to your dress.” He wished he’d thought to wipe his palms before knocking on her door. Sweaty palms were hell on the male ego.

  “Nick, you got me a corsage.” Shannon’s throat ached. Her eyes threatened to water. The last time a man had presented her with any type of flower had been when she’d graduated from college. The big, colorful bouquet had come from her father. She leaned forward and kissed him. “Thank you.”

  “No.” He pulled her back for another kiss. “Thank you.”

  When he released her, she danced her way to the mirror and decided to pin the corsage t
o her dress. She made Nick help her, and it was a unique experience for them both. She ended up with one pinprick, while he jabbed himself three times.

  Shannon kissed his injured finger, then grinned. “Do they give Purple Hearts for dating injuries?”

  Everyone should be allowed to attend a high-school dance as an adult. Without the added angst of being a teenager, with all the cliques to navigate, the pimples to worry about, things looked entirely different.

  With a final beat from the drums, the band ended the song. Nick wasted no time taking Shannon’s hand and pulling her off the floor.

  “I get to pick the next one we dance to,” he told her.

  “You don’t like oldies rock?” Shannon teased. He might complain, but he’d been having a good time bopping around on the dance floor with her.

  “I’m getting to old for those fast ones. I need air.” He led her toward the door and the fresh air beyond.

  Outside, the air was cool, the breeze strong and damp. She inhaled deeply. “Ah, that’s good.” She leaned against Nick’s shoulder so no one could overhear. “Is your hip bothering you?”

  He tensed. “No more than usual.”

  “Do you want to sit down for a while, or go for a walk?”

  He drew to a halt and turned to face her. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” She looked at him, trying to judge his reaction. She hadn’t meant to mother him, but she couldn’t seem to help it. But the lighting along the outside of the gym, while more than adequate, was garish and on the green side and did not help her read his mood.

  “Don’t worry about me.” He took her hands in his. “Don’t fuss over me.”

  “I only—”

  “I know you don’t mean to,” he said with a smile tinged with sadness, “but when you bring it up, you make me feel like a cripple who needs to be taken care of.”

  For one brief instant, Shannon felt the blood start to drain from her face. “Nick—” Guilt settled like sickness in the pit of her stomach. She’d made him feel like a cripple? “You know I didn’t mean it that way.”