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Hailey's Hero
Judy Duarte
SHE DIDN'T BELIEVE IN HEROESHailey Conway believed in making a good, predictable life for herself. Until San Diego detective Nick Granger saved her from a mugger and swept her off her feet–and into bed. Their steamy one-night stand was almost enough to melt the snow that had stranded them together…and then they said goodbye.Except Nick's dark eyes and whispered endearments haunted Hailey's dreams, and continued to set her world on edge. For their night together had conceived more than insatiable passion. They had a baby on the way. And when Hailey shared her secret, she knew the rugged rebel might break her heart…unless he became the hero who saved it.



She caught him watching her.
Hailey welcomed his presence. His strength. His support.
She slid a glance at the one-time bad boy, caught his profile, the square cut of his chin, the angular cheekbones. Something told her there was still a bit of rebel in the detective, something she found far more appealing than she should.
Don’t get too close, her conscience ordered. Nick Granger may be easy to lean on today, but he’s not the kind of man you want or need.
And he wasn’t.
Even if he did happen to be her temporary lover.
And the father of her baby.
Dear Reader,
Well, we hope your New Year’s resolutions included reading some fabulous new books—because we can provide the reading material! We begin with Stranded with the Groom by Christine Rimmer, part of our new MONTANA MAVERICKS: GOLD RUSH GROOMS miniseries. When a staged wedding reenactment turns into the real thing, can the actual honeymoon be far behind? Tune in next month for the next installment in this exciting new continuity.
Victoria Pade concludes her NORTHBRIDGE NUPTIALS miniseries with Having the Bachelor’s Baby, in which a woman trying to push aside memories of her one night of passion with the town’s former bad boy finds herself left with one little reminder of that encounter—she’s pregnant with his child. Judy Duarte begins her new miniseries, BAYSIDE BACHELORS, with Hailey’s Hero, featuring a cautious woman who finds herself losing her heart to a rugged rebel who might break it…. THE HATHAWAYS OF MORGAN CREEK by Patricia Kay continues with His Best Friend, in which a woman is torn between two men—the one she really wants, and the one to whom he owes his life. Mary J. Forbes’s sophomore Special Edition is A Father, Again, featuring a grown-up reunion between a single mother and her teenaged crush. And a disabled child, an exhausted mother and a down-but-not-out rodeo hero all come together in a big way, in Christine Wenger’s debut novel, The Cowboy Way.
So enjoy, and come back next month for six compelling new novels, from Silhouette Special Edition.
Happy New Year!
Gail Chasan
Senior Editor
Silhouette Special Edition

Hailey’s Hero
Judy Duarte


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Christy Freetly and Gail Duarte, who spent hours reading my books
in manuscript form, even those drafts that may never see the light of day.
If God hadn’t made us family, I would have chosen you both as friends.
And to Mahnita Boyden-Wofford, who turned a blind eye when I
played hooky from the day job to dream up stories and chat with
my critique partners on the telephone. Thanks for looking
out for our family over the years.

JUDY DUARTE
An avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, Judy Duarte always wanted to write books of her own. One day, she decided to make that dream come true. Five years and six manuscripts later, she sold her first book to Silhouette Special Edition.
Her unpublished stories have won the Emily and the Orange Rose, and in 2001, she became a double Golden Heart finalist. Judy credits her success to Romance Writers of America and two wonderful critique partners, Sheri WhiteFeather and Crystal Green, both of whom write for Silhouette.
At times, when a stubborn hero and a headstrong heroine claim her undivided attention, she and her family are thankful for fast food, pizza delivery and video games. When she’s not at the keyboard or in a Walter Mitty–type world, she enjoys traveling, spending romantic evenings with her personal hero and playing board games with her kids.
Judy lives in Southern California and loves to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 498, San Luis Rey, CA 92068-0498. You can also visit her Web site at www.judyduarte.com.
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Bayside, a fictitious beachfront community near sunny San Diego, where love and romance await the unsuspecting men known as the Bayside Bachelors.
This new miniseries has one common thread. All of the heroes were once troubled teens—bad boys—who turned their lives around thanks to the guidance of Harry Logan, a retired detective who took them under his wing.
In each book, you’ll meet everyday heroes like cops and firemen, doctors and navy pilots, men who can’t quite shake a stubborn heart, a crooked smile or the rebellious nature that still flows in their veins. I don’t know about you, but I’ve always liked stories of redemption, stories of regular people who overcame the odds and made tremendous and, oftentimes, heroic changes in their lives.
I had fun creating the Bayside Bachelors and the women who would touch their hearts. May you experience that same pleasure as you turn each page, as you enter the world of Harry and Kay Logan, meet the men they’ve grown to care about and watch each romance unfold.
Wishing you all the best,



Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen

Chapter One
Hailey Conway didn’t believe in heroes. And hadn’t since her sixth birthday.
Over the years, she’d accepted the fact that a woman couldn’t expect someone to rescue her, to step in and make life picture-book perfect.
So when Hailey walked out of the Granville drugstore and a young man jerked on her black vinyl purse, she didn’t scream for help. Instead, she struggled with the thug until he knocked her fanny-first on the sidewalk.
At the gas station across the street, a tall, dark-haired stranger in a leather jacket yelled to the attendant to call the police, then took off in pursuit of Hailey’s mugger.
Heart pounding and hands trembling, she stood on wobbly legs and grimaced at the pain in her right hip. She didn’t think anything was broken, but her bottom hurt like the dickens. She brushed the dirt from her wool slacks and looked down the street. Both suspect and stranger were long gone.
And so was her oversize purse. But it wasn’t her cash and credit cards she worried about. It was the package she’d discreetly slipped inside that concerned her. A package she’d traveled twenty miles to buy.
Now she was not only missing her purse and her purchase, she was rubbing an aching rear end.
A police cruiser pulled to a stop in front of the drugstore, and a stocky, red-haired officer climbed from the car. “What seems to be the problem, ma’am?”
Hailey explained what had happened, then pointed in the direction the mugger and the stranger had run.
“Your name?” he asked.
“Hailey Conway.” She hoped she wouldn’t have to list the contents of her missing purse. Wallet, thirty-seven dollars in cash, a library card, house keys, a pack of spearmint gum.
And a brand-new box of condoms.
Sheesh. She’d never purchased prophylactics before, had never needed to. But she had big plans for the evening, big enough to make her brave a pending winter storm and travel to a nearby town where she desperately hoped the Walden School librarian wouldn’t be recognized.
So far, her identity was safe, but the whole experience had been a nightmare of embarrassment. The elderly cashier had fumbled about, looking for a small bag, while the darn condoms lay in plain sight on the countertop. Hailey had told the slow-moving woman not to bother and quickly stashed the box and receipt in her purse.
“Is that the guy, ma’am?” The burly policeman nodded up the sidewalk, where the stranger had brought the mugger to justice.
If Hailey wasn’t mistaken, it appeared the teenage hoodlum wore handcuffs. “Yes. The big kid in the blue ski jacket is the one who stole my purse and knocked me down.”
The officer took her address for his report. “Wait here,” he told her before proceeding down the street toward the apprehended mugger. The dark-haired stranger withdrew his ID, a badge of some kind, which seemed to satisfy the Granville patrolman.
While the thief was read his rights, then placed into the police car, the stranger sauntered toward Hailey carrying her purse. He had the look of a guy who wasn’t afraid to take chances, of one who’d seen the seedy side of life. A man who didn’t belong in what was supposed to be a crime-free small town. A worn, black leather aviator jacket suggested he didn’t even belong in Minnesota during the winter.
Dark-brown eyes, the color of fresh-perked coffee, pierced her soul, stimulating her pulse.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice deep and slightly graveled.
“Fine,” she said, although her bottom still hurt.
He handed her the purse, and she clutched it to her chest like a shield, protecting her from his caffeine-laden gaze and the quirk of a smile that taunted her senses without betraying his thoughts.
“Thank you.”
“No problem.” He stood tall, more than six feet. Not handsome in the classic sense, but attractive in a young Marlon Brando way.
If she were the kind of woman in search of a hero, this guy would fit the bill. But she wasn’t looking for a savior. In her experience the heroic side of a man only masked flaws of one kind or another. Heroes were just regular guys who sometimes did something honorable.
And sometimes didn’t.
He nodded toward her black vinyl shield. “You’d better check and make sure everything is there.”
Open her purse? With the telltale box of condoms shoved on top? Bare her secrets in front of this stranger? “I’m sure everything is fine. Thank you for going after that guy and getting my purse back.”
“No problem,” he said, as though he risked his life and chased danger on a daily basis.
She offered him a smile, yet held tightly to the ugly but serviceable handbag, her palms sweating in spite of the chill in the air. Surely he’d forget about asking her to peek inside.
“Better take a look,” he said, tapping the bag with his finger.
Hailey stepped back and, in an effort to pull the vinyl bag from his reach, the darn purse slipped from her hands and dropped to the ground. In a frozen stupor, she watched the shiny new box of condoms slide onto the sidewalk, all the while praying a hole in the concrete would swallow her up. But she remained standing, her gaze locked on his.
A slow grin tugged on his lips. “Shoplifting?”
“Absolutely not.” Hailey stooped and shoved the box back in her purse. “I have a receipt. You can ask the cashier.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
When she stood, he flashed her a sexy, Marlon Brando smile. She didn’t return it. “Like I said, I have everything I need.”
The moment the statement left her mouth, heat flooded her cheeks. She’d implied that she needed condoms. Darn that man for flustering her so.
“The name’s Nick Granger. I’m an off-duty detective.” He flashed her a badge of some kind, but she didn’t take the time to look at it closely, particularly since it had passed the police officer’s scrutiny.
Ever since her sixth birthday, Hailey had sworn off cops, particularly handsome detectives. As far as she was concerned, they were never around when you needed them.
Of course, this particular cop had been.
“Thanks for your help,” she said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go home and fix dinner.”
Nick bit back a laugh. He didn’t usually tease a crime victim, but the rosy-cheeked brunette who hid condoms in her purse had touched his funny bone, not to mention his libido.
The petite young woman had a pretty face, with long chestnut hair and eyes the color of a summer sky. But it was more than her looks that he found arousing. It was the way she lifted her chin and showed a stubborn sense of pride. The flash of spunk, as she pulled herself together. The shy, awkward way she wanted to hide the condoms from him.
He watched her limp away and climb into a ten-year-old Honda Accord. Some guy was going to get lucky tonight, and he couldn’t help wondering who it would be.
A husband?
No, not a spouse. She was too flustered about the condoms, too shy about them for that. A secret lover then? The idea warmed Nick’s blood and made him grin. He wouldn’t mind being the lover in question.
Whoa. Back up. He hadn’t come to Minnesota to fantasize about an affair with a stranger. He had a mission.
He was looking for a woman who lived in Walden, a small farm town about twenty miles from here. The attendant at the gas station had been explaining how he could reach the county road that would take him there when Nick had spotted the purse-snatching in action.
A cold wind blew out of the north, hinting at the snow to come. Nick zipped his black leather jacket. Minnesota was a hell of a lot colder than southern California.
When he left home this morning, the weatherman had predicted a sunny day in the high eighties. And had his old friend and mentor not needed his services, Nick would have spent the afternoon on the sands of Pacific Beach.
But late last night, Harry Logan had called from his hospital bed to ask a favor, and Nick hadn’t given the request a second thought. He owed the retired detective—big-time. If not for Harry’s involvement in Nick’s sorry life, he might be rotting in prison right now. Or dead.
Harry had given more than one angry delinquent reason to look beyond a crappy childhood. And Nick had found himself wanting to be a man of honor, a man like Harry. It was a goal Nick would never reach, though, because the old man had raised the bar too damn high.
His loyalty ran deep for the aging detective, and like each one of the other twelve or thirteen guys known as Logan’s Heroes, Nick would do anything for Harry. Nick owed the man far more than a trip to Minnesota on the cusp of winter. A hell of a lot more.
Harry had taken Nick to ball games and invited him to backyard barbecues. He’d even paid Nick’s first semester registration at the local junior college, making him feel as much a part of the Logan family as Harry’s own sons.
“Hailey’s my daughter,” Harry had said. “And she’s living in a small Minnesota farm town. I want you to bring her to San Diego. To the hospital, where I can see her. Where I can talk to her. I let her down a long time ago, and I want to apologize, ask her forgiveness.”
Nick found it hard to believe Harry could have let anyone down. Ever. He was too much of a straight-arrow. Too dedicated to his family and the youth in the community. Youth at risk, as Nick had been.
Nick had plenty of questions, but he wasn’t about to force his old friend to say more than he wanted to.
“Find Hailey Conway,” Harry had asked Nick from his hospital bed.
It was as simple as that.
Nick looked at his watch. The sooner he found the woman, the better. He’d promised Harry not to return to San Diego without her.
It was a promise Nick intended to keep.

Hailey pulled aside the lace curtain and looked out the living room window. The sky had darkened to a threatening gray, giving credibility to the weatherman who’d announced a winter storm warning and predicted the next snow would be fierce and unusually cold.
The first flakes began to sprinkle the ground, laying claim to the dormant grass that hid below the frozen surface. The temperature had dropped considerably since she’d left Granville well over an hour ago.
Had Steven made it out of Mankato before the worst of the blustery storm hit? Hailey hoped he didn’t get stranded along the way, because she had big plans for tonight. And condoms in the nightstand to prove it.
She thought about the episode in town, about the good-looking detective who’d known what she had planned for the evening, but quickly shoved the awkward memory aside. She’d had her first and last bittersweet run-in with a cop when she was six years old. A man she’d looked up to, until he abandoned her mother.
Nope. Harry Logan hadn’t deserved the hero worship a starry-eyed child had offered him. That’s why she’d refused to talk to him when he’d called her after twenty years. A personal relationship with the man who’d fathered her was the last thing in the world she wanted.
Since moving to Minnesota, Hailey had set her sights on home, hearth and a man she could trust. And she’d fought too long and hard for her goals to become distracted now.
The little house she’d purchased with her own earnings had grown warm and cozy, and the aroma of roast beef filled the air. She glanced over her shoulder at the table she’d set for two and smiled at the result of her careful preparation. China, crystal wineglasses, tapered candlesticks.
She’d invited Steven to dinner again. The hardworking accountant lived alone and made no bones about how much he enjoyed a home-cooked meal.
The way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, the old adage said. And just in case a hearty meal of meat and potatoes wasn’t enough to make Steven pop the question, or at least make a commitment, Hailey had an alternate route to his heart—a well-plotted but subtle seduction.
It had been a long time since she’d been intimate with a man, too long, probably. In college she’d found herself attracted to the wrong kind of guy, the kind who promised sexual fulfillment but couldn’t offer anything long-term. When she realized her penchant for falling for the devil-may-care type, she’d made it a point to look for the right kind of mate, even if he didn’t sweep her off her feet.
She’d worked hard to make her world predictable and stable. And she intended to choose a husband in the same way she’d selected the little house and the dependable car she drove—with a great deal of care and foresight.
Steven was her soon-to-be fiancé, although he didn’t know it yet. There weren’t too many men like the brilliant accountant. Handsome. Gentle. Honest. Loyal. He was a good neighbor, as well as a friend. His smile might not make her heart soar or do flip-flops, but it did warm her soul. And she had no qualms about pursuing a physical relationship with him.
A glass or two of wine would take the edge off her nervousness. Any more than that, and she just might lose her head. Visions of Lois Lane removing Clark Kent’s glasses and kissing him senseless crossed her mind, and she quickly pushed it aside. This evening was more than a romantic game.
A knock sounded at the door, drawing her from her daydreams. It was probably little Tommy Kuehn looking for his cat again or Mrs. Billings, the elderly woman who lived next door, wanting to share a cup of coffee. Those were the kinds of visitors Hailey had grown to expect in the small community in which she’d chosen to settle down and make a home.
She opened the door and bit back a gasp when she spotted the rugged detective on her stoop, the man who had apprehended the mugger and returned her purse. Her heart began to race.
He seemed nearly as surprised to see her as she was to see him, but he smiled, masking his thoughts, so it seemed.
What was he doing here? Had he taken her name from the police report? Was this official business? Would she need to go to court?
“Yes?” She leaned against the door, blocking him from entering the house, from getting too close, and scanned his broad length. Her gaze focused on a snow-speckled head of unruly dark hair that curled at the collar, a strong, aquiline nose that had probably been broken a time or two, a small but jagged scar that marred the left brow.
“Hailey Conway?”
She merely nodded, not trusting her own voice.
“I had a tough time finding your place.”
She didn’t doubt it. Some of the graveled streets didn’t have signs. “I guess you’re not from around here.”
“I’m not.”
That didn’t surprise her. But she figured it might be a good idea to take a look at the badge he’d flashed the police officer earlier. “Do you have some ID?”
He showed her his badge, and she looked it over this time.
A detective. From San Diego.
“You’re a long way from home.”
“Hopefully I can get back to the airport soon. Weather’s a heck of a lot nicer where I come from.”
His stance mimicked that of a private eye, the kind seen on television. The kind women tuned in to watch on a lonely Saturday night. She could imagine him as a star.
The Nielson ratings would probably skyrocket for his show, particularly with the female fans. He had a fearsomely attractive way about him, as though he’d just stepped off the set of On the Waterfront and “could’a been a contender.”
“I came to check on you,” he said. “See if you’re all right after that tumble you took.”
He was going above and beyond the call of hero duty, and Hailey hoped he’d leave before Steven arrived. She had half a notion to close the door in his face, but the guy had gone out of his way to chase down her mugger. She owed him some courtesy, to say the least. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Can I come in? It’s cold out here, and I’d like to talk to you.”
No, she wanted to say. But she figured he’d come to ask her something about the purse snatching. She loosened her hold on the door and stepped aside.
Nick entered the warmth of Hailey Conway’s house, and even though he wanted to cut to the chase and tell her why he was here, why he’d come all the way from California on a moment’s notice looking for her, he held his tongue.
He hadn’t expected her to be easy to convince. After Harry had tracked her down, found her phone number and gathered the courage to call, she’d given him what Harry referred to as “a well-deserved” piece of her mind and then promptly hung up.
Nick had expected Hailey to be older, especially since Harry and Kay had been married for forty years and had three sons, one of whom had been killed during Desert Storm.
Her age—mid-twenties—had surprised him, since he’d assumed she’d been the child of a previous marriage. But she’d obviously been conceived during the Logans’ marriage. That surprised him, too, but it wasn’t Nick’s place to judge Harry about an affair.
“I lost touch with her twenty years ago,” Harry had said. “And I’m not sure I can fix things now, but I’ve got to try. I’ve got a lot of explaining to do, and not much time to do it.”
Nick slid the small brunette an assessing glance. As a detective, he’d learned to read people, their body language, their surroundings. He’d learned to keep a poker face, to hide his emotions and his assumptions. But recognizing the petite, dark-haired beauty with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen had knocked him for a loop.
Apparently, she was angry enough at Harry to hang up the phone, rather than try to establish a relationship with the father she hadn’t seen in years. Nick supposed there was more to the story than met the eye. But that didn’t negate the promise he’d made to his friend and mentor.
Maybe Nick needed to play good cop for a while, before dropping Harry’s name.
Still, he couldn’t stifle his curiosity, and studied the pretty young woman who bore little resemblance to Harry.
She’d changed her clothes. Instead of winter wear, she had on a simple black dress. Not too revealing, but a hell of a nice fit.
“Have a seat,” she said, indicating an overstuffed, floral-print sofa.
He sank into the cushions, his knees hitting a glass coffee table where a copy of Better Homes and Gardens rested next to an issue of Modern Brides. He glanced at her left hand, noting the absence of a ring, diamond or otherwise.
“Getting married?” he asked.
“No.” A blush on her cheeks indicated embarrassment. She quickly broke eye contact, suggesting a lie or a reluctance to let him in on her private affairs. Still, the knowledge of those condoms lay before them in the awkward silence.
The aroma of pot roast filled the room. A small table in the dining room was set for two, along with wineglasses and new, red tapered candles. Nick slid her a slow smile. “No wedding bells, huh? Maybe the groom just doesn’t know it yet.”
She quickly stood, crossed her arms and flashed him a look of annoyance. The flush on her cheeks deepened, suggesting his comment had struck a chord of some kind. Then she scooped the magazines from the tabletop and placed them in a wicker basket that held other publications. “Did you have something to discuss with me?”
At this rate, Nick had better work on his manners and his ability to reason with her. Maybe he ought to turn on the charm, make nice, then hit her with his plan to take her to California. He’d leave Harry out of the discussion for the time being. “It looked as though you landed on the sidewalk kind of hard. Head injuries can be deceptive.”
She crossed her arms under her breasts, drawing his attention to the way they would fill a man’s hands.
Hell. Where had that misguided thought come from?
“My head is fine. And I bruised my…hip. Nothing’s broken.” The phone rang, interrupting the rest of her words. “Excuse me.”
She turned and walked toward the kitchen. The hem of her black midlength dress brushed against shapely calves. She was a striking young woman, Nick realized. And stubborn. He wondered whether he could break down her defenses. Touch some tender spot in her heart and make her agree to see Harry.
Not if he didn’t stop thinking about her as an attractive woman. A man didn’t hit on his friend’s daughter.
Nick scanned the small living room of the house she’d made into a home: floral-printed cotton, coordinating plaid pillows with ruffles, light oak furniture. Sheesh, Hailey was a nester—just the kind of woman Nick tried to avoid.
If there was one thing he didn’t need, it was a woman who expected a guy to be home by five and spend weekends doing fix-it projects. Nick wasn’t Ward Cleaver or Tim the Tool Man, nor did he want to be.
On the fireplace mantel, delicate picture frames—some silver, some crystal—displayed photographs. The feminine touch revealed a romantic side of the young woman, an emotional side he hoped to tap into.
He glanced to the kitchen, where she stood talking on the telephone. He figured she was going to ask him to leave. Well, what did he expect? A dinner invitation? His stomach grumbled like a small kid in the back seat clamoring for attention.
After talking to Harry at the hospital late last night, he’d gone home, packed his bags and headed for Lindbergh Field, hoping to catch an early-morning flight. He probably should have picked up a burger and fries along the way, but he’d been intent upon finding Hailey before checking into a hotel or grabbing a bite to eat. That might have been a mistake, he realized, as his stomach rumbled again. He should have eaten more at the airport than a sweet roll and black coffee, but he had been determined to reach Walden before the storm hit.
While Hailey talked quietly in the kitchen, Nick stood and made his way to the fireplace. He lifted a silver, heart-framed photograph from the mantel. A picture of a dark-haired girl in pigtails, missing a front tooth and straddling a two-wheeled bike, smiled at him, begging him to get to know the daughter Harry had let down.
He glanced at Hailey, who stood in a tidy, well-stocked kitchen. She had those cupboard doors that were mostly glass, the kind you could see right through. Every plate, cup and glass had been neatly stacked. Each can of vegetables lined carefully in a row. He thought of his own kitchen back home.
Thank goodness no one could see how he’d shoved his junk in each cupboard. And the drawers seemed to collect stuff he wasn’t ready to throw away yet. It was a man’s place, he noted. Just the way a guy liked it.
“Well, sure,” Hailey told the person on the other line. “I understand. I’m disappointed, but I’ll save you some leftovers.”
The guy who was going to have a candlelit dinner of roast beef? Too bad. Fast food, Nick’s usual dinner fare, wouldn’t taste half as good as this meal smelled. He actually felt sorry for the guy. Sort of.
He looked at Hailey again, watched as she balanced the phone on one shoulder and checked the pot in the oven. She looked at home in a kitchen. Competent and capable. A real homebody, the kind Nick steered clear of ever since that time he’d let Carla move into his apartment—a big mistake on his part.
Carla had questioned his every move and never understood why he couldn’t leave a stakeout to be home by the time dinner was ready. Nope, a cop needed a different kind of woman. One that didn’t expect promises a guy couldn’t keep.
“When do they expect the storm to let up?” Hailey asked the caller.
So Hailey’s dream date wasn’t going to make it at all.
She twirled her finger around the phone cord, then glanced Nick’s way. When their eyes met, something unspoken passed between them. An awareness, he supposed, of each other. The attraction he’d felt earlier and shoved aside muscled its way back—front and center. It caught him off guard. Her, too, he guessed, because she quickly turned her back to him.
“Take care, Steven. Bye.” The telephone clicked against the wall mount as she hung up the receiver, and several moments of silence followed.
“Does Steven have a last name?” Nick didn’t know why he asked.
“Not one that matters,” she said. “If you have something to talk about, you’d better get it said. The storm has hit hard just south of here, and at least one road is closed.”
He needed more time with her, time to figure out a good way to broach the subject and explain why he was here. And he needed time to understand why she wouldn’t speak to Harry and how Nick could persuade her to change her mind.
When he didn’t respond, she shook her head, then walked to the window and gazed out. She sighed heavily. “It’s snowing. You’d better get out of here before it’s too late to get back to your hotel. Where are you staying?”
“I haven’t gotten a room yet. I wanted to check on you first.”
“Didn’t you hear the storm warning?”
“I hadn’t planned on flying to Minnesota until late last night. I’ve got a change of clothes in a duffel bag in the car, along with a shaving kit. I’m not really prepared for a long, winter stay.” Nick joined her at the window. He didn’t get much chance to see snow, other than a couple of trips to the mountains near Julian.
“Well, you’re in one heck of a fix, then. It’s coming down hard and fast.”
“Where’s the nearest hotel?” he asked.
“South of here. Ten miles down the closed road.”
“And the nearest hamburger joint?”
“Next door to the hotel.” She leaned against the windowsill and crossed her arms, again lifting her breasts into mounds begging to be touched. “It looks like you’ve got a big problem.”
Nick nodded, feeling a bit smug about the predicament that had forced Hailey’s hand. She couldn’t very well send him away now, could she?
Getting snowed in would definitely work in his favor, though. He would use the time to convince her to return to San Diego with him, to talk to Harry. He flashed her a smile that seemed to bounce off the rim without scoring a point.
She stepped closer, arms still crossed. The light, powdery scent of lilac accosted him with a frightening awareness of her femininity, of her proximity. He shook off the unwelcome temptation. Hailey Conway was off-limits, as far as he was concerned. But being stranded with her for a few hours might be the break he needed.
Her eyes sparkled, but not in pleasure. “I can’t believe you’d drive all the way out here without checking the weather report, without having winter clothing. Don’t you plan ahead?”
The only plan he’d had this morning was catching the first possible flight to Minneapolis. And he’d heard the damn weather report. But his goal had been finding her as quickly as possible, so he could take her back to California. Getting holed up in a motel wasn’t part of his game plan.
Of course, getting stranded in a small house with a pretty but spunky brunette hadn’t been part of the plan either, but he’d make it work. “I don’t suppose I could pay you for a serving of roast beef? And maybe bunk out on your sofa?”
Those sky-blue eyes opened wide, as though he’d suggested they have a brief, meaningless love affair. The idea, he realized, was far more tempting than it should be.
Her arms dropped to her sides, and her lips parted. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Nope. Passed my psychological evaluations with flying colors. Or at least passable colors.” He smiled, trying to lighten her mood.
It didn’t work.
At least he hadn’t told her his real reason for coming. Mentioning Harry right now would probably get him tossed out on his ear.
And it was too damn cold to risk that.
“It’s either your sofa or my car,” he said, hoping the pretty woman would have mercy on a well-meaning cop. “What do you say?”

Chapter Two
Hailey wasn’t about to be taken in by a slick, fast-talking stranger.
If Detective Granger thought a badge gave his honor some kind of validation, he was mistaken. She wanted to boot him out the door, then sit at the window and watch him turn blue, although she wasn’t entirely sure why. Partly because he was a cop.
But more than likely she was feeling testy because her plans to seduce Steven had run amok, and it seemed to be Nick Granger’s fault.
“I’m hungry. And stranded.” He slid her an easy smile, one she suspected was meant to disarm her anger and gain her trust. “If you have a spare blanket, I could sleep in the rental car.”
She couldn’t believe he’d suggest something so stupid. Or was he playing on her sympathy? She couldn’t be sure. “You’d be a human Popsicle before midnight.”
“Does that mean you’ll do the humane thing and offer me dinner and a place to sleep?”
Hailey glanced at the table she’d set especially for Steven. She’d had big plans for this evening—plans that didn’t include a stranded detective.
Of course, she’d deal with her disappointment, as she’d long grown accustomed to doing, but did she want to offer lodging to a man she didn’t know? A man she shouldn’t find so darn attractive?
She wasn’t afraid of Nick Granger, although she wasn’t sure what made her think he was trustworthy. The fact that he was a cop? That part worked against him, although he probably didn’t know it. Still, she couldn’t very well send him out into a snowstorm with no place to go. “You can sleep on the sofa.”
“Thanks. I’ll get my bag out of the car.”
She looked at the worn leather jacket he wore. It wasn’t enough protection from the cold. “You get the roast out of the oven. I’ll get your bag.”
“You’re not going outside in the storm. It’s my stuff, I’ll get it.”
So his heroic side masked stupidity. She sighed heavily. “I’ve got a down-filled parka and boots. I doubt you’d make it back to the porch.”
“I’m tougher than you obviously think,” he said.
“And much bigger than me. I’d have a tough time dragging your dead weight back inside.”
He flashed her a bad-boy grin. “Then leave me on the porch.”
“Now that’s an appealing thought, but it would prey on my sense of decency to let a defenseless stranger from sunny California freeze to death.”
“That’s one way to be rid of me.”
She tossed him a naughty-girl smile, one she’d never perfected. “You’re right, but it would probably draw a few Minnesota detectives to my house, and I’m not too fond of police officers.”
Granger closed the distance between them and placed his hands on her shoulders. A sea-breezy scent, mingled with leather and musk, accosted her with his sexual presence. She found it tauntingly appealing yet unwelcome.
“You’re not going outside.” Those coffee-brown eyes settled on hers, stimulating her like an intravenous jolt of caffeine. His grip tightened—not in a threatening way but still rather convincingly. The detective was macho, it seemed. Too macho and bossy for her taste. Well, let him go outside and freeze his tush off.
In an effort to dismiss the arousing effect he had on her, she lifted her chin. “Have it your way. I’ll put dinner on the table, and if you survive the ice and snow, wash your hands.”
“I’ll be back.”
That’s what Hailey was afraid of. She stood her ground until the door closed behind him.
Nick made it to the car, but it was colder than he’d anticipated—monstrously cold. He tried to think about the balmy weather back in San Diego, but it didn’t help.
By the time he reached the porch, he was shivering so badly that he thought he’d never stop. When he opened the door and stepped inside the warmth of the small apartment-size house, he could see Hailey at work in the kitchen, and he expected her to say something to him.
Instead, she continued to wash tomatoes and leaves of romaine without looking up. She was a stubborn woman, so it seemed. The kind to serve a guy a good-size portion of hot tongue and cold shoulder when he didn’t let her have her way. He glanced at his snow-covered pants and shoes.
The powdery stuff fell to the floor, and he realized a puddle of water would form on Hailey’s hardwood entry. No need to set off Martha Stewart before dinner.
“Where…can…I…f-f-f-ind…a…t-t-t-owel?” he asked between chattering teeth.
“Oh, you made it back alive.” She smiled sweetly, and her eyes glistened with feigned sincerity.
He didn’t wait for an answer to his question, just joined her in the kitchen and snatched one of two dish towels from the oven door handle. He carried it back to the living room. By the time he had the floor nearly dry, she yelled, “Hey,” jarring him from his task.
“What are you doing with my good towel?” she asked.
“Wiping the floor.”
“Those are dish towels and they’re only for looks. You’re not supposed to use them.”
“They were hanging in plain sight.”
“That’s a decorating touch. Like the curtains. I keep the regular towels in the righthand drawer.”
If Nick weren’t so hungry, he’d tell her what she could do with her towels. And since he needed to convince her to come to San Diego, he’d have to get on her good side. If she had one.
She opened the oven and stooped to pull out the roast. The backside of her was pretty nice.
Down, boy, he told himself. Wrong kind of woman. Totally wrong.
“It’s ready,” she said.
Nick noticed a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon on the countertop. “Should I pour the wine?”
She shot him one of those lips-parted, taken-aback glances, like he’d suggested using Steven’s toothbrush. Then her expression softened. “Sure. Go ahead.”
He supposed drinking wine by candlelight made her feel uneasy, as if Nick was putting the moves on her, threatening poor Steven’s position.
But that wasn’t his intent. It just seemed a waste to let the bottle stay corked and lying on the countertop.
Besides, he thought, a grin tugging at one side of his lips, if he plied her with a bit of vino, she just might open up and tell him what she had against Harry. And Nick just might convince her to pack an overnight bag and fly back to California for the weekend.
Wham, bam, thank you ma’am—only without the sex.
Hailey, he noticed, prepared each plate before setting it at the table, a formality Nick wasn’t used to. His idea of dinner was Chinese take-out or a couple of tacos.
Of course, there were those special meals at the Logans’ house, but Harry’s wife, Kay, always set the food out family-style, which seemed more like the way people should eat, if they were inclined to sit down with a napkin and silverware.
Nick had to admit the table Hailey had set looked inviting. He couldn’t help wondering how a guy would go about getting seconds. Ask for them, maybe?
He poured the wine, then took the seat Hailey indicated was his. This was one woman who needed to loosen up, and he wondered if a bottle of Cabernet would be enough. “Do you want me to light the candles?”
She shot him another one of those you’ve-got-to-be-kidding looks, but strode to the kitchen and returned with a book of matches. Olsen’s Bar and Grill, Mankato. Not that it mattered, but noticing details had become second nature to Nick.
He lit each wick, then watched the tiny flames reflect upon the crystal goblets, making them glisten with a romantic ambiance. He felt a bit guilty taking Steven’s place, but not overly so. The conversation he meant to have with Hailey was better kept private. And intimate.
When she sat and primly scooted her chair forward, he lifted his glass in a toast. “To new friends and Mother Nature.”
“To odd acquaintances and unfortunate twists of fate.” She clinked her glass with his, then took a sip. Those baby blues studied him over the rim, and he couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking.
Hailey couldn’t keep her eyes off the man who sat across from her, the stranger who had taken Steven’s place at her table. She felt weird, as if she was cheating, which was crazy, since Steven had never suggested any kind of commitment.
Not yet, she corrected herself. The suggestion would have come tonight. She was sure of it.
She took another sip of wine and relished the warmth that slid down her throat, settling her nerves. And her conscience. As attractive and appealing as Nick Granger might be, he was definitely not husband material. She’d made up her mind to find a guy who was dependable. A real homebody who looked forward to weekends at the lake with his wife and kids.
A cop, no matter how good-looking, was the last person she would contemplate as a prospective life partner.
“Got a family?” He picked up a knife and began cutting his meat. “Brothers and sisters? Parents?”
The question surprised her, but she figured he was just trying to make polite dinner conversation. “No. Not anymore.”
There was so much she’d tried to forget, so much that was best left alone.
“What happened to them?” He speared a slice of pot roast and popped it into his mouth. Still, those rich brown eyes studied her, awaiting her response.
Hailey fingered the stem of her glass, felt the cool, hard spindle of crystal that broke so easily if one wasn’t careful when washing them. For a moment she considered telling him she didn’t want to talk about it. But what did it matter? The guy was virtually a stranger and would be out of her life, once the storm let up. “My mom passed away four years ago. I haven’t seen my dad in years.”
“When did you last see him? Your dad, I mean.”
She wasn’t sure why he was interested. Or why she bothered to even tell him. “Twenty years ago.”
Her thoughts drifted to that cold, lonely night, the night her mother had cried herself to sleep for the first time Hailey had been aware of. The evening Harry Logan chose one family over another.
It had been the night before her sixth birthday, and Harry had come by to see her mother. They spoke privately in the kitchen, which they often did. When the adults came into the living room, her mom closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, as though trying hard not to cry.
“What’s the matter?” Hailey had asked.
Harry walked to the sofa, but didn’t sit down. He reached for Hailey’s hand. “I can’t come to your birthday party, honey.”
“How come?”
Her mother’s eyes welled up with tears. “Harry needs to spend more time with his wife and children.”
Hailey hadn’t known her father had another family. “When will we see you again?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart.” Harry bent down and gave Hailey a kiss on the forehead, then reached into his wallet and handed her mother a wad of bills.
“Do you think this is going to make everything okay?” Mama asked.
“Come on, Marilyn,” Harry said. “I’m trying to do what’s right.”
“There’s nothing right about any of this, Harry.”
Mama cried after Harry left. Hailey cried, too. She hadn’t understood what had happened. But she understood it now. And there was nothing Harry Logan could say to make her forget the pain his leaving had caused.
She took another drink of wine, only this time it didn’t slide delicately down her throat. She choked, sputtered and coughed.
“You okay?” Nick looked at her with those coffee eyes, trying to be her best friend, she figured. Like two housewives who chatted about men and kids over a cup of the brew.
But Hailey wasn’t about to dig deeper and tell this man stuff she’d buried long ago, stuff she wanted to stay buried. “I’m fine. It just went down the wrong pipe.”
He flashed her a Brando grin, the kind a cop slid at a perp that had just backed himself into a corner. “Your old man must have really done a number on you and your mom.”
“It was a long time ago. I got over it.” She snagged a piece of meat with her fork and put it into her mouth, hoping that by chewing, she’d be unable to talk, and he’d take note of that.
“Twenty years ago you were just a kid.”
Instead of answering, she jabbed a carrot.
“He must have run off with your candy,” Nick said, a grin crinkling his eyes. “Or was it worse than that?”
“It was a lot worse.” Hailey studied her plate, unwilling to look into those freshly brewed eyes that tempted her to bare her soul.
“He ever apologize?”
“Yes. Sort of.”
“But you’re not ready to forgive and forget?”
Hailey had a hard time forgetting a lot of things—her mother’s broken spirit, for one. For all the mornings Hailey had to drag her mom out of bed, force her to eat a child-prepared breakfast, then encourage her to go to work so that the rent would be paid on time and groceries would be bought. “I’ve come to grips with the past. I don’t hate my dad, but neither do I want to have a relationship with him.”
“That’s too bad.”
“I’m doing fine on my own.” And she was. Hailey was the captain of her own ship, and her carefully laid plans guaranteed a life that was smooth sailing. Except for tonight.
As much as she wanted to avoid Nick’s eyes, her gaze caught his and locked. Something passed between them, although she wasn’t sure what it was. A kindred spirit kind of thing, it seemed. Like they had more in common than either would suspect. It momentarily warmed her heart, touched her soul. Whatever it was.
“What about you?” she asked. Lobbing the memories back in his court. “Do you have a family?”
“None to speak of, other than the cop who turned my life around. I was sixteen when I first met him. Back then I was a loudmouth kid who was angry at the world.”
She studied the rugged, good-looking detective and tried to imagine him as a troubled teen. It was tough to do, because he seemed grown-up. Together. “Congratulations on the U-turn. You’ve obviously made some changes in your life.”
“Thanks to a wise detective.” He tossed her a crooked grin. “I’ll never forget the first time I met him. It was Christmas Eve, and he caught me throwing rocks at a nativity display in Old Town.”
“Did he haul you in?”
“Nope. He took me for a cup of hot cocoa at an all-night diner. Said he’d just gotten off duty and was hungry. We talked for a while. The next thing I knew, I was having Christmas dinner with his family.” He flashed her a nostalgic smile, one that touched her heart with its sincerity. “I never knew what a real family was like, not until meeting them. And the fact is, I haven’t been the same since.”
“What about your own family? Didn’t they miss you on Christmas?”
“My mom had already died. Fell down the stairs, at least that’s what my stepdad told the cops. I guess they believed him, but I never did. Anyway, at that time I had no real place to call home, and no reason to celebrate the holidays.” He scanned the living room, those stimulating eyes taking in each nook and corner. “You gonna have a Christmas tree?”
“Yes.” She always did. In fact, she’d planned each and every holiday since Harry walked out of their lives. Her mom hadn’t been up to the extra effort. It really wasn’t so bad—taking over the household at an early age—because Hailey had come out on top. She was an organized dynamo at work and at home. Life ran smoother that way. No surprises.
Well, no surprises except the detective sitting across the table from her, but she’d grown adept at making the best of difficult situations.
They finished dinner with little conversation. Nick continued to refill their wineglasses until the bottle was empty. Hailey wasn’t sure how they’d handle the bedtime stuff, but she was no longer uncomfortable with the good-looking detective in the house.
She wasn’t entirely sure why. The wine maybe? The self-disclosures they’d shared?
Hailey didn’t open up to people, especially strangers. She’d learned to keep her thoughts and feelings locked away inside—where they belonged, hidden with her memories and dreams.
The lights flickered once, twice, then went out altogether, leaving Hailey and the detective in the dark—except for the soft candlelight and the steady flames in the fireplace.
“Do you have any more candles?”
“In the bedroom.”
He was heading down the hall before she realized she should have gotten them herself. She’d set the scene for romance in there, with aromatic candles glowing warmly throughout the room and the soft sound of love songs on the CD.
And in case that wasn’t enough to give Steven a hint, she’d taken great care to make the bed look inviting.
Under the white, goose-down comforter that begged to be turned down, freshly laundered sheets with a light sprinkle of lavender scent awaited first-time lovers.
Maybe Nick wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t know what she’d planned for the evening. But instinct told her a guy like Nick wouldn’t miss much. He’d have to be a dunce not to notice. And cops didn’t get to be detectives by not being observant.
Maybe he’d be gentlemanly enough not to mention anything about her bedroom—or her obvious intentions.
A long, slow whistle told her he’d found the candles.
And that he wouldn’t be a gentleman and keep quiet.
Hailey’s heart sank low in her chest, and heat blasted her cheeks. She quickly stood and began to clear the table, wanting to keep herself busy so that she didn’t have to look him in the eye when he returned from the bedroom, which now seemed like a den of iniquity, although she didn’t know why.
She was a grown woman, for goodness sake, and could certainly spend a romantic evening with anyone she wanted. Where had the guilt come from?
Nick carried two candles into the living room and set them on the coffee table. “I guess the storm and I really screwed up your plans for the evening.” Before returning to the bedroom for the other two candles, he chuckled. “I guess ‘screwed up’ was a bad choice of words.”
She grimaced at his inappropriate attempt to joke and continued to wipe the table that no longer bore a crumb or a dribble. What she actually wanted to do was sling the dishcloth at him.
“Sorry,” he said, as he reentered the room. “I guess that was out of line.”
“My plans are none of your concern.” She continued an overzealous attempt to scrub the table.
As he placed one of the candles on the mantel and the other on an end table, she blew out a ragged sigh. How was she going to manage spending an evening with this guy?
And what if they didn’t clear the roads for days?
If he were short and dowdy, instead of heart-zappingly gorgeous, if he were quiet and shy—like Steven—instead of so quick with the snappy comments and sexual innuendoes, then maybe time would pass without a hitch. But as it was—
“I’m sorry, Hailey.” His voice settled over her skin, like a blend of melted butter and warm maple syrup over a stack of hotcakes. And those freshly brewed coffee eyes offered a dose of compassion.
Coffee and hotcakes. Breakfast food. Another reminder this man would be spending the night.
She shrugged at the apology, hopefully brushing off thoughts of bedtime, rumpled sheets and morning.
He slowly made his way toward her and took the limp dishcloth from her hand, carelessly tossing it into the sink. She meant to reprimand him, and would have, had he not taken hold of her hand. His grip enveloped hers in a cocoon of warmth, and her skin tingled, her heart skipped a beat.
“I crashed into your life uninvited, and you served me one of the best dinners I’ve had in a long time. I’m sorry for teasing.”
“It’s okay.” Her anger seemed to dissipate in the romantic ambiance she’d unwittingly set into motion. Yet she wasn’t sure anything about this evening, this man or her growing attraction was even remotely okay.
He took the glass of wine she hadn’t finished and handed it to her, then snagged his own.
“Come with me.”

Chapter Three
Hailey’s heart shot into overdrive. Was he going to put the moves on her, try to lead her down the hall and back into the bedroom?
If truth be told, she half hoped he would. Guys like Nick Granger had always appealed to her and made her common sense go haywire, but in spite of the arousing effect he had on her, she couldn’t succumb to temptation. She wouldn’t allow it.
Of course, that knowledge didn’t do anything to slow a racing pulse or to still an incredible sense of anticipation.
He led her to the sofa. “Sit down.”
“Why?” she asked, unable to quell the sense of seduction. And not just hers. She had half a notion to respond to each of his moves and make a few plays of her own.
Good grief. What was the matter with her? No way would she consider a one-night stand with a stranger. Yet when he flashed her another Brando smile, a part of her wanted his arms around her, his mouth on hers.
He motioned for her to sit, then took a seat on the other side of the sofa. His arm dangled over the back-rest, but not close enough to touch. “Let’s talk.”
Talk? Was that part of the seduction? A line he used?
“Talk about what?” she asked.
“You. I want to hear more about little Hailey, the cute girl with pigtails and a missing tooth.”
She glanced at the fireplace mantel, realizing he’d seen her photograph. As thoughts of Nick putting the moves on her flew out the window and escaped into the snowy night, a keen sense of relief mingled with disappointment. “There’s not much to tell.”
Nick studied the woman across from him, watched her struggle to open up. If he could piece together her life, understand her anger and disappointment, then convincing her to visit Harry in San Diego would be easier.
He was good at interrogating suspects, but this was different. Much different. A suspect’s secrets were often a result of guilt. Hailey’s secret was the result of a child’s pain.
It was something Nick could relate to, he supposed.
She shot him a wistful smile. “My parents weren’t married, and my dad was never really a part of my life. I suppose people don’t really miss what they never had.”
“I don’t know about that.” Nick still resented the sailor who’d fathered him, the man who’d refused to step up to the plate and be a dad. “It’s been years, but I still blame my old man for the lousy stepdad I ended up with. And for the beatings I received just for being someone else’s brat.”
Compassion swept across her brow. “I’m sorry.”
He hadn’t meant to spill his guts like that, and he wasn’t sure why he had. He supposed it was the wine, the quiet, introspective evening, or maybe it was something about the somber beauty sitting across from him. She continued to eye him with a tad more sympathy than he was comfortable with, blew out a slow, steady breath, then ran a hand through her long, brown locks of hair. The glow of the fire enhanced red and gold highlights he hadn’t noticed before.
His fingers itched to touch the strands, but he removed his hand from the sofa back and dropped it in his lap.
He watched as she drew up her knees, tucked her feet under her skirt, and slowly turned to face him. “I did okay without a dad. It was my mom who took the brunt of his abandonment. She died loving my father, even though he dumped us both years ago.”
Nick wanted to defend Harry, but didn’t think it was his place. If Hailey would just talk to the man, Harry could defend himself.
Twenty years ago, Hailey had been a kid. She couldn’t possibly know the whole story. Hell, Nick didn’t know the whole story, but he knew her father well enough to know there was something only Harry could explain.
Nick had never questioned Harry’s values. The man was practically a saint. But even saints were human. Maybe Harry had tried to befriend Hailey’s mom, like he had so many other people in recent years, and experienced a moment of indiscretion. And if the woman fell in love with him—
Hey, Nick had plenty of women look at him with hero worship. He just made it a point not to take any of them up on their various ways of showing gratitude. “Maybe your mom fell in love with your dad, but the feelings weren’t mutual.”
“Obviously not.” Curled into the corner of the sofa, she looked like a small child. And Nick had a feeling that’s where her thoughts were taking her—back to a sad childhood.
He had this sappy urge to go to her, offer her comfort and a shoulder to lean on, but God knew he wasn’t that kind of guy. What did a man like him offer a woman who needed emotional support?
Hell, that huggy/feely stuff was learned as a kid, which was why Nick had never been comfortable with showing affection to anyone other than a lover. He’d never had the luxury of a hug or a pat on the shoulder, which were things kids needed. Women, too, he supposed. But it was a difficult gesture for him and another reason why he wasn’t cut out to be a father or a husband.
She set her empty wineglass on the coffee table. He would have offered her a refill, but they’d finished the bottle. He could use another glass, too. The last swallow had left him warm and wanting.
Wanting more wine, he added. Of course, he wouldn’t ask. When she rose from the sofa, he smiled, thinking he wouldn’t have to.
He watched her go, but not to the kitchen. She padded down the hall and into her bedroom. He ached to follow her. Hold her close and chase the bad memories away. Give her some new ones.
Harry Logan might have convinced Nick to curb his delinquent ways, but no one had been able to shake the rebel from Nick’s blood.
And the rebel in him wanted to follow pretty Hailey into the bedroom and offer her more than comfort.

Hailey didn’t know why she knelt by the bed and reached underneath the dust ruffle for the old shoebox. She’d always kept the items hidden, even from her own sight. But for some reason she wanted to show the photograph to Nick.
She’d never confided in anyone before, other than a middle school teacher who’d sent Child Protective Services to visit their home. After that she’d kept quiet, kept things locked in her heart.
But tonight she felt the need to open up and share the past with someone. To cry in her beer and confide in an understanding, tight-lipped bartender she would never see again.
And who better to share with than a man who would leave town as soon as the roads cleared?
She blew out a jagged breath and, resting her bottom on the heels of her feet, opened the box. A soft kiss of bittersweet nostalgia brushed across her heart, as she looked at the items her mother had treasured: a stack of letters tied with a faded pink ribbon. A couple of ticket stubs. A take-out menu from some diner in Florida.
In the midst of her mother’s things sat something of hers. Something her father had given her after taking her to ride on a merry-go-round in the park.
She picked up the tissue-wrapped figurine and slowly unwound the paper, revealing a pretty, white carousel pony. In spite of herself, she fingered the cool ceramic, studied the colorful reds, blues and yellows. At one time she’d wanted to throw it away or break it against the wall. But she hadn’t. Instead, she’d stashed it inside her mother’s box, which was a good place for it, she supposed.
After wrapping the tissue around the pony and putting it back into the box, she withdrew what she’d been looking for—the old photograph her mom had blown up from a strip of black-and-white pictures taken at the drugstore in Florida, where they used to live. She looked at it closely for a moment, then replaced the lid and slid the box back where it had been, out of sight but rarely out of mind.
When she returned to the living room, the soft glow of the candles and firelight gave the room a mystical iridescence. Magical. And, she supposed, sensual, if what they were sharing had been physical.
She handed Nick the black-and-white photo, then sat beside him, closer than she’d been before. With the new level of intimacy they’d reached, sitting near enough to touch seemed appropriate.
He took the picture, and as he did so, his fingers grazed her hand. Her breath caught, and her heart paused before going back into a strong, steady beat.
As he studied the only photograph she had of her parents, a lump formed in her throat. Funny thing about crying, she supposed. Years could go by without shedding a tear, and then the floodgates threatened at the weirdest times.
“Your mom looked a lot like you. Pretty. Same expressive eyes. You take after her.” He didn’t comment about her father, which was all right with her.
“They had it taken in one of those little booths at the five-and-dime. They’re both smiling like crazy kids. Happy, you know. It was one of my mom’s most cherished possessions.”
“But not something you cherished,” he said. “You don’t keep it on the mantel with the other pictures.”
He was right. She didn’t place any sentimental value on the photograph or any of the other stuff her mom had saved. She wasn’t sure why she kept any of it, since the box of memories was a solid reminder of her mother’s descent into depression.
Hailey supposed it was a cop’s job to notice the little things and make assessments. “I stashed the picture in a shoebox full of my mother’s personal belongings that I keep under the bed.”
“What else do you have in that box?”
A pretty pony my father gave me, after taking me to the park to ride the carousel. But she didn’t see any point in mentioning it to Nick. “Just a few letters my dad sent my mom, some of which contained cash—never a check. I think she would have kept the money as a memento, but we had a hard time making ends meet.”
“I’m sorry.”
Hailey figured he meant it, that he’d, at least on some level, had plenty of disappointments in his own life. Maybe that’s why she found it so easy to confide in him. “I’d always considered my dad a hero because he was a policeman. And I looked forward to every visit.”
Nick nodded as though he understood, but she wasn’t sure he really did.
“I could never understand why he didn’t live with us, like other fathers did, but I figured it was because he was busy. I didn’t know he had another family.” Hailey sighed softly, again recalling the painful night she’d seen her father for the last time.
He’d promised to come to her birthday, and she’d told all of her friends they could meet him. But something had come up, he’d told her, and he couldn’t come to her party the next day. Then he’d handed her a twenty-dollar bill, as though the money would appease her. It hadn’t.
She looked at Nick, caught him watching her, waiting for her to speak. “The night before I turned six, he and my mother had an argument in the kitchen. I’m still not entirely sure what it was about, but my mother spent the night crying. The next morning she got a wild hair, and we moved to Minnesota.”
“Just like that?” Nick asked.
She wasn’t sure what he meant.
“Did your mother leave a forwarding address? Any way for your dad to find you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe not.” Hailey bit her lip until it hurt. She supposed that might be one reason Harry had neglected to call until just two weeks ago. But he was a cop, a detective, and he’d found her in Walden, hadn’t he?
“Maybe it was your mom’s fault he wasn’t there for you.”
“In part, maybe.” She blew out a sigh. “But my mom still suffered from his rejection. She had good days and bad ones. Sometimes, during low points, she used to drink—Scotch and too much of it. One day, when I was about ten, I came home from school and found her passed out on the bed. She was clutching that photo in her hand.”
“People get sentimental when they drink to forget.”
“Yeah, I suppose they do. But mom had an empty bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand.” The tears Hailey had fought began to well in her eyes. “I called 911.”
“Tough job for a kid.”
“Yes. But at least help arrived in time.” She paused. “That day.”
“That day?”
“Four years ago, I came home too late. I called the paramedics, and they called for the coroner.” A sob escaped from someplace where it had lain dormant for years, and the man across from her reached out his arms.
Hailey had never had someone to hold her, to offer comfort. And as much as she wanted to maintain an emotional distance, she fell easily into his embrace.
Nick held Hailey while she cried, stroking her back. Her hair, clean and silky, sluiced through his fingers. The scent of lilac encompassed him, wrapping him in a swirl of softness.
He’d never held someone so gentle, so vulnerable in his life. And he wasn’t sure what he should say. Something sappy, probably. But he couldn’t bring himself to utter a word. His hands just moved up and down her back, as though they knew instinctively what to do, how to comfort. The rest of him didn’t have a clue.
Her sweet touch stirred his blood, aroused an erection he tried to ignore. Sexual feelings, he supposed, were the only ones he was adept at handling.
Something mushy in his heart went out to Hailey—both the child who’d had to deal with a suicidal mother and the young woman who’d blamed her dad for the misery in her life.
Harry had told Nick there was a lot more to the story than met the eye. And Nick had no trouble believing him. Harry wasn’t the kind of guy to father a child and not acknowledge her. He was too decent. Too moral and upstanding.
Nick considered telling Hailey who had sent him and why, but thought better of it. Too much had been said tonight. He’d wait and discuss it over coffee in the morning.
When Hailey’s tears had been spent, she pulled away and swiped at her eyes with the back of a hand—first one, then the other.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sniffling again and offering him a weak smile. “I don’t usually get weepy.”
He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing against the softness of her skin. “It’s been a tough evening.”
“Yeah,” she said, again wiping her eyes. “And it’s time to call it a night. I’ll get you some bedding for the sofa.”
When she stood, her eyes remained locked on his. And as she moved, her shin rammed the glass edge of the coffee table. “Ouch.”
“Are you okay?” Nick reached for her hand, pulling her gently around. He stooped to look at her leg, taking the shapely calf in his hand.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Really.”
But something in her eyes told him she wasn’t fine. And neither was he. But it had little to do with pain from contact with the table, and everything to do with the heat of his touch.
When he stood, facing her again, she swallowed hard, and her lips parted.
Damn. He had an incredible urge to kiss her. Just once.
She must have had the very same fantasy, because she placed a hand on his shoulder, then moved her fingertips toward his neck, his jaw, his cheek.
Ah, Hailey. Nick was lost in her touch, in her springtime scent.
He pulled her close and lowered his mouth to hers. She moaned in anticipation, or maybe surrender. He wasn’t sure, but when she opened her mouth, allowing his tongue to seek hers, the rebel in him took over.
The kiss was deep and hot. Demanding. And Nick couldn’t seem to get enough of the woman in his arms. His hands roamed her back, her hips, and he pulled her flush against him. Against a telltale erection. If he’d frightened her, she gave him no clue, because she only leaned in closer.
He didn’t know where this was heading. The decent side of him said to back off, but the rebel side wasn’t listening.
When Hailey placed her hands against his chest and broke the kiss, he wasn’t sure whether he felt relief or frustration. Probably a combination of both.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said.
“About the kiss? Or about stopping it?”
“Both, I guess.” She offered him a half smile, as though trying to shrug off the obvious desire they’d both shared, but a passion-induced flush on her chest and neck told him her arousal would take longer to subside than her words suggested.
“Yeah. Me, too,” the decent side of him said.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get the bedding for you.” She drew away, leaving him with the lingering scent of lilac.
While she disappeared down the hall to a linen closet, Nick plopped down in the easy chair and sank back into his seat. The evening had taken a lot out of him, but it wasn’t just the spilling of tears and memories that had affected him. Something else had zapped the energy out of him, weakened him like he’d stayed in a sauna too damn long. He’d never been that close to an emotional woman before. At least not one that wasn’t yelling and throwing things at him.
He stood when Hailey entered the room and helped her make up a bed on the sofa, but they both remained quiet. Lost in their thoughts.
And their regrets, he supposed, although he didn’t regret the kiss. Not really. His real regret was the damn erection that continued to plague him.
She glanced down at the bed they’d made, then looked up at him and smiled. “Good night.”
“Night.” He stood there for a while, long after she took one of the candles, padded down the hall and closed the bedroom door.
He figured sleep would be a long time coming, but he slipped out of his pants and draped them over the easy chair in the corner.
Usually, he slept in the raw, but tonight, as he settled onto the sofa, he figured it best to wear his briefs.
Hours later the flame in the fireplace had dwindled down to a soft red glow, and although he was tired, sleep evaded him. He stared at the ceiling and continued to contemplate the woman who slept down the hall.
When a scream sounded from behind the closed bedroom door, he jumped from the sofa.
“No!” Hailey shrieked.
A nightmare or an intruder?
He flung off the blanket and rushed down the hall, ready to battle whoever or whatever had frightened her.

Chapter Four
Nick threw open the bedroom door, only to find Hailey sitting upright in bed.
Alone.
No intruder.
A candle flickered on the dresser, bathing the room in soft, muted light. And the scent of lilac and lavender filled the air.
She wore a white satin nightgown with tiny straps that outlined near-perfect breasts. Her hair, rumpled from sleep, tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. She looked ready to cry.
And in need of comfort.
Don’t get too close, the rebel in him warned. What the hell do you know about comforting women? Turn around and go back into the living room.
But the decent side of him stepped forward, leading him closer to the bed. “Are you okay?”
“I guess so.” A tear welled in her eye, then ran down her cheek. She swiped it away. “Did I scream?”

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