Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | My Name is Nell

My Name is Nell
Laura Abbot


Brady Logan never expected to find Nell Porter when he left California. He didn't even know he was looking for her.After the death of his wife and child, Brady Logan barely felt like living, never mind loving again. Meeting Nell has somehow made him want to do both. She's nothing like the people he knew in the past, but he's ready to leave all that behind anyway.How could he know that Nell harbors a secret that makes it impossible for them to ever be together?









A sanctuary


“That’s what you’ve created here, and I will be forever grateful. I have been so alone. Unable to see direction for my life. Not sure if there even is one… When you’ve loved and lost, you wonder who you are. Whether you can go on. Or even want to.”

Brady pondered whether he should continue reading the journal. The words were too emotionally raw. Some other person had come here full of the same thoughts and feelings he had. Unable to help himself, he turned back to the page.

“Regardless of how desolate I feel right now, I have to believe that somewhere out there is someone for me. Someone I can trust. Someone I can love.”

Brady stared for the longest time at the signature. Simple. Bare. Exposed. “Nell.”

Nell, whoever she was, was more optimistic than he was. God, he hated his blatant, whining self-pity. If Nell had been willing to look for something, why couldn’t he?

Absently he realized he was still holding the guest book, his forefinger marking Nell’s page. He reread the entry and a crazy idea entered his head. But no crazier than what he’d been doing.

Tomorrow, after he checked out, he would drive to Fayetteville to find Nell.


Dear Reader,

Have you ever experienced a time when all around you others seemed happy, productive and blessed, while you felt burdened by failure, disappointment or loss?

Recently my husband and I had a delightful getaway to a wonderfully hospitable B and B in Jessieville, Arkansas. In each room was a small journal in which previous occupants had recorded impressions of their stay, describing such benefits as reduced stress, renewal of relationships, a redirection of goals—and, of course, special romantic times.

I couldn’t help myself. My writer’s imagination kicked in. What if (the question with which every story idea begins) someone in the depths of despair were to read such entries? The contrast between the experiences of others and one’s own emotional state could be devastating. But…what if there was a single entry echoing that same sense of isolation?

Thus was Brady Logan born. A man who has lost almost everything and turned his back on the rest. A man without purpose and direction until he reads that one journal entry that sends him on a quest to find a woman named Nell—who may be the only one capable of understanding why he feels as he does.

It was a pleasure to send the urbane, successful Brady Logan to Fayetteville, Arkansas, a far cry from his Silicon Valley milieu. There he rediscovers the value of simple things and the healing power of new relationships, and, with Nell’s help, learns that life offers an abundance of second chances if one can put the past in perspective.

May Nell and Brady affirm your faith in new beginnings!

Laura Abbot




My Name is Nell

Laura Abbot





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For my friend Jackie

with appreciation, affection and admiration




CONTENTS


PROLOGUE

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

EPILOGUE




PROLOGUE


GRIPPING THE STEERING WHEEL of his Escalade, Brady Logan clenched his teeth and focused on the road ahead. The road away. He should give a damn. Most men would. But he felt nothing, not even relief.

When he’d made his final tour of the elaborate, expensive, now-empty house in the upscale Silicon Valley community where he, Brooke and their daughter Nicole had made their home, he’d been dry-eyed, detached. After locking the front door for the last time, he’d paused, studying the blinding white-stucco exterior, waiting for any emotion that would make him feel alive. Nothing. Only the familiar numbness.

Now, driving past the sleek four-story headquarters of L&S TechWare, nestled among the lushest landscaping an unlimited budget could provide, he still felt nothing.

Eight months ago he couldn’t have imagined picking up like this and walking out. With only ingenious ideas, damn hard work and luck, he and his friend Carl Sutton had built a successful software company, now traded on the Nasdaq. He’d married a beautiful blue-eyed California blonde, purchased the gadget-laden home and cars, hired a live-in housekeeper and yard man and been accepted for membership in clubs so prestigious you didn’t inquire about initiation fees, you simply wrote the check—a large one. In short, he had “arrived.”

The best things, though, money couldn’t buy. Brooke had been far more than a trophy wife. She was his other half, full of fun where he was serious, understanding of his long hours and driven work ethic. When he’d thought life couldn’t get any better, Nicole had come along and grown into a loving, giggly, remarkably unspoiled preteen who’d won his heart in a way no one else ever had.

Brady gave L&S TechWare one last glance in the rearview mirror, then headed for the Interstate. It didn’t matter where he was going. He should care, but he didn’t. The important thing was that he was going.

Carl had accused him of running away. Hell, maybe he was. As he saw it, though, he had two choices. Stay and slowly, steadily, implode, or get out of Dodge and look for any spark left of the man named Brady Logan.

Here all that remained were sights, sounds, smells and memories—oh, God, the memories—reminding him that in one horrible instant, everything he loved had been wiped from the face of the earth.

Vaporized by one irresponsible drunken son of a bitch, who just happened to be driving a loaded gasoline tanker.




CHAPTER ONE


Late July, seven weeks later

Arkansas

“I DON’T SEE WHY I have to go.” Abby slouched in her seat in the airport lounge, kicking at her carry-on bag. Two hanks of straight blond hair hid her features, but Nell Porter could well imagine the surly put-upon look on her thirteen-year-old daughter’s face.

“You’ll have a good time at your father’s,” Nell suggested without the faintest trace of conviction in her voice.

“Yeah, sure. Like there’s so much to do in stupid Texas.”

Nell sighed. This was yet another reprise of the conversation they had once a month when she took Abby to Northwest Arkansas Regional Airport to fly to Dallas for her court-ordered visit with Rick. Abby had no way of knowing how Nell dreaded the gnawing in her stomach every time she had to consign her daughter’s care to the airlines—and then to Rick and Clarice, his second wife. In fact, she didn’t know which was worse, thinking of her daughter all alone thousands of feet above the ground in these troubled times or picturing her in the manipulative hands of the far-from-maternal Clarice, aka The Other Woman. Even six years later and after professional counseling, bitterness blindsided her, along with those all-too-familiar feelings of unworthiness and betrayal. She stared at her fingers, locked in a death grip, then quite consciously separated her hands and drew a deep breath. That was all behind her. By some miracle, and with the help of family and friends, she’d survived. If only she didn’t have to send Abby into the situation…

“Why do you make me go?” Abby’s voice was laced with belligerence.

“Honey, we’ve been over all this. It’s not a choice either of us has.”

“I hate going. I don’t have any friends there.”

“What about your dad? He’d be disappointed not to see you.”

“Maybe.” Looking up finally, Abby tucked a strand of hair behind one bestudded ear. “But he doesn’t have a clue what to do with me when I get there. I mean, how many times do I want to go to Six Flags? Besides, I’m missing Tonya’s birthday party.”

Abby’s remarks evoked guilt Nell knew was irrational. As if she could have done any more to influence the custody decision. Or changed the fact Rick was entitled to spend time with their child. Did Abby ever tell her father how she felt about the visits? No. Whenever she was with him, she did a good imitation of the dutiful daughter. Inevitably when she came home, Nell faced the task of picking up the pieces, putting them back together as best she could and then sending Abby on her way the next time. Like now. Abby needed a punching bag, and Nell was handy. Somehow that insight didn’t alleviate the hurt her daughter’s petulance generated.

The mechanical drone of a commuter plane drawing up to the gate was accompanied by the disassociated voice of the loudspeaker announcing the arrival of the aircraft Abby would be taking to Dallas. “You need to go through security now,” Nell said, rising to her feet.

“I guess.” Abby stood, shouldered her bag and trailed Nell all the way to the short line of passengers waiting at the checkpoint.

Nell watched Abby’s expression settle into affected pseudo-sophistication, the bored look of the veteran traveler. Yet when she turned and gave Nell a perfunctory hug, her clear gray eyes held not resentment, but misgiving. “Bye, Mom. See ya Sunday night.”

“I’ll be here,” Nell said. She watched Abby pass through the metal detector and pluck her bag from the conveyer belt, then waited to catch a final glimpse of her daughter’s rail-thin body as she descended the escalator and vanished from sight.

The empty feeling was always the same. It was enough to drive a person to drink.

But that was out of the question.



STELLA JANES SETTLED in the porch chair next to her daughter, then turned her gaze toward Abby, who stood at the edge of the lawn verging on an elaborate flower bed. “Do you really think that skirt length is appropriate for a middle school child?”

Nell stifled a groan. With too much idle time, her mother overly concerned herself with family. “It’s what all the girls are wearing.”

Stella continued staring at her granddaughter, who was herding her toddler cousin around the backyard. “I suppose, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Like what?” Nell’s statuesque older sister Lily, whose name fit her as well as the chic beige linen slacks and blouse she wore, approached with a tray of lemonade.

“Abby’s hem length,” Stella said.

Lily paused, then followed her mother’s gaze. “I see what you mean.”

Nell should be used to it by now, but their united front rankled. Lily and Stella tended to share a similar outlook, usually quite different from hers. They enjoyed what Nell thought of as “girly things” like quilting, home decoration and scrapbooking, while she had always preferred gardening, furniture refinishing and sports. No wonder she had gravitated to her father, finding refuge—and acceptance—in her role as “daddy’s girl.” There were moments, like this, when she felt like an outsider. As teenagers, her relationship with Lily had been strained, but they had grown closer as adults. Sometimes, in recent years, Lily had even dared to swim against the tide of their mother’s wishes. But not often. And not today.

Lily distributed the icy glasses. “When does school start?”

Grateful for the change of subject, Nell let out a breath. “A week from Monday.”

“In my day, school never started in August,” Stella reminded them. “Always the day after Labor Day.”

“It can’t come any too soon for me,” Nell said. “Abby needs a regular schedule. Time hangs pretty heavy on her hands.” When she was at work, Nell worried about her daughter. Aside from helping Lily with little Chase, Abby was at the mercy of friends’ mothers thoughtful enough to invite her to their houses. Otherwise she slept late and watched God-knows-what on TV.

Lily sank into the chaise and crossed her feet at the ankles. “At least next week she’ll be on vacation with Rick.”

“That’s supposed to comfort me?”

“Why not? You’ll have seven glorious days all to yourself.”

“Right. Seven interminable days to worry whether Rick will pay her any attention or, heaven forbid, let Clarice take her shopping like she did last summer.” Nell nodded in her daughter’s direction. “You think that skirt’s short? You didn’t see the outrageous outfit her charming stepmother selected to complement the salon job she set up for Abby’s hair and nails. When she came home, she looked like a prepubescent Britney Spears.”

Lily giggled, restoring Nell’s good humor. “Clarice always was a piece of work. Poor Abby.”

Stella rolled her eyes. “If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never understand it.”

“It” was the topic her mother avoided. The disgrace of Rick’s affair with the “younger woman,” the ensuing small-town scandal and the unthinkable divorce, one more way Nell had disappointed her mother’s expectations.

“Water under the bridge,” Nell mumbled.

“You’ll get through the next week all right?” Her mother’s anxious eyes signaled her unspoken concern.

Nell clutched her lemonade. Would she forever be under scrutiny? “Yes, Mother. I’ll be fine.”

She couldn’t fault her mother. Not really. She had only herself to blame, but it had taken her a long time—and cost her a great deal of pain—to reach that conclusion.



WHO WAS HE KIDDING ANYWAY? Nothing was better. If anything, it was worse. Brady stared into the murky depths of the thick ceramic mug he cradled between his hands, oblivious to the early morning chatter around him. These Main Street cafés were running together in his mind—each whirling, grease-layered ceiling fan, red leatherette counter stool and kitchen pass-through indistinguishable from the next. Though the spur-and-antler décor in Wyoming differed from this Arkansas country calico, the smell of bacon frying and the cloying cheerfulness of the morning-shift waitress were unsettlingly predictable.

“Decided?” The middle-aged redhead swiped a damp rag across the counter, then extracted a pad and pencil from her apron and eyed him speculatively.

“The special and a large o.j., please.”

“Got it,” she said and, with economy of motion, refilled his coffee.

Fortunately the adjacent stool was empty. He couldn’t have tolerated another desultory conversation highlighted by comments on the weather and the market—cattle, wheat or stock, depending on where he was. Two months. He mentally ticked off the states he’d passed through—Oregon, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Nebraska, Missouri and now Arkansas—always avoiding the cities. He needed no reminders of the pressures of suburban affluence, rampant consumerism or commercial success. His frequent phone calls from Carl Sutton took care of that. Regardless of the artifice his business partner employed, underneath, his basic question was always the same: when would Brady get hold of himself and resume his work at L&S TechWare?

Brady didn’t have the heart to tell Carl that he rarely thought of the business and gave little consideration even to the next day, much less the interminable future yawning before him. On the other hand, he knew he couldn’t continue in his current mode, aimlessly wandering across the country, barely taking in the changing scenery, restlessly moving on after a few days in any one place.

The waitress plunked down a plate laden with eggs, bacon and the biggest biscuit Brady had encountered so far in his travels. “Haven’t seen you around. You here for the fishing?”

Mildly curious, Brady looked up. “Fishing?”

“White River trout. We’re famous for it.”

Why not? “Uh, yeah. Know any good places to stay?”

“Well, there’s the resort—”

The mere word resort reminded him of California and all that he was fleeing.

“Then there’s a B-and-B, if you’re into that. Quiet place with all the comforts of home. The Edgewater Inn.”

All the comforts of home. Brady doubted it, but the word home resonated in a way nothing else had in weeks. “Can you give me directions to the B-and-B?”

“Sure.” She pulled a paper napkin from the holder and drew him a rudimentary map.

Later, crossing the bridge over the White River, Brady felt a stirring of interest. He’d done a lot of fly-fishing in Colorado as a kid. Maybe he’d hole up in the Edgewater Inn for a few days, outfit himself and spend time on the river fishing—and making some decisions.

Carl had been right. He couldn’t run forever.



“YOU LOOK BEAT,” Reggie Pettigrew, the sixty-year-old head librarian, said when Nell reported for work Saturday after taking Abby to the airport.

Setting down the stack of books she’d collected from the outdoor depository, she shot him an I-don’t-need-much-of-this look. “Full of compliments this morning, aren’t you?”

“Even beat you look good. Big weekend?”

“Reggie, are you trying to get my goat or does it just come naturally? You know I haven’t had a big weekend in years. And that’s not all bad. They can be highly overrated.” She cringed, remembering some of the “big weekends” of her past. “It’s Abby. I can’t help worrying when she flies to visit her dad.”

“Did she give you a hard time again about going?”

“As usual. This time, it’s for a week.” She began sorting the returned books. “I don’t know how I ended up being the bad guy in this arrangement, but she blames me for making her go.”

Reggie eyed her over the top of his thick bifocals. “While Prince Charming and his lady love live happily ever after?”

Reggie had a way of seeing straight through her. “Exactly.” She glanced at the wall clock registering 9:59. “But enough about me. The hordes are undoubtedly lined up at the door racing to get to Balzac, Dickens, Faulkner, et al.”

“I wish. At least we can count on Clarence Fury and his daily two hours with The New York Times.”

Nell filled a book cart and made the rounds reshelving. When she’d hit bottom after Rick left her, Reggie had been a godsend hiring her as his assistant. Gradually her role had grown until she was now the children’s librarian and coordinator of special adult programs. With the limited library budget, she wasn’t able to do as much as she would’ve liked, but the pre-school story hour was booming and she was having sporadic success with the adult forums she’d initiated in the past year. That reminded her to prepare the flyers for the September forum. A minister from the county hospice board was speaking on death and dying. Not exactly an upper of a topic, but several patrons had expressed an interest.

Automatically reshelving two misplaced volumes, Nell fought the familiar ache in her chest. She bowed her head. It had been nearly seven years. Even so, it was hard for her to believe her father was dead. In the snap of a finger. One day, here. Robust, laughing, vital. The next, gone. Without so much as a fare-you-well.

She straightened and slowly made her way to the main desk. Maybe that was why for so long she’d resisted the death topic for the forum. What if she went to pieces during the discussion? Seemingly her mother and Lily had moved on better than she had after her father’s massive heart attack, but there wasn’t a day when Nell didn’t think of him and miss him.

Like now, with Abby protesting vehemently about her upcoming week with Rick. Her dad would’ve reassured her that she wasn’t the worst mother in the world, that adolescence, too, would pass, that Abby appreciated her more than she was able to let on. Although Nell could spout that kind of self-talk all day, it did nothing to ease the cramping loneliness that fused to her like a second skin.

“Has Hazel Underwood returned that new Patricia Cornwell yet?”

Nell looked up into the scowling face of Minnie Foltz, whose boundless knowledge of murder and mayhem was acquired from the numerous mysteries she devoured.

Nell searched the books lined up on the reserved shelf. “Looks like you’re in luck, Minnie.”

“Hmphh. I should hope so. I can’t figure what takes Hazel so long. That’s the real mystery.”

Nell processed the checkout, acknowledging that at least she’d made one person happy today.



MORNING SUN SILVERED the ripples on the surface of the slow-moving river. Swallows soared and dipped above their mud nests built into the crevices of the facing cliff. Standing thigh-deep in the clear, cold water, Brady pumped his arm, flicking the fly several times before letting it settle upstream from a deep hole. He’d discovered this spot yesterday, pulling in two browns nice enough to keep. Sally, the proprietress and cook at the Edgewater Inn, had been pampering him all week, and last night she’d prepared his fish, which they’d eaten in the kitchen out of sight of the other guests. Somehow the older woman had sensed he was a troubled soul. He’d give her credit. She provided all anyone could ask—good food, soft beds, lazy afternoons in a hammock and splendid fishing.

But it wasn’t enough. He wanted to share the place with those he loved. Wanted Brooke nestled beside him in the soft four-poster bed, wanted to hear Nicole’s infectious laugh when she caught her first trout, wanted to watch both of them hunched over the chessboard in the inn’s living room.

Wading downstream, he reeled in, then cast toward a boulder near the far bank. On either side of the river, the forested hills rose, the deep greens of the trees a contrast to the blue sky. Rounding a bend upstream were three canoes, the occupants grinning and sweating with exertion. Three men and three boys. A father-son outing, maybe. Longing, fierce and potent, stabbed him.

Would anything ever be normal again? How could it be? Not when everywhere he looked were reminders of what he was missing. Not only what he was missing now but, worse by far, what he had bypassed in the name of work when it had been right under his nose.

Too late, he felt the quick tug on his line. He couldn’t react fast enough. Asleep at the switch and the big one had gotten away. He barked an ironic “Story of my life.” Reeling in, he made his way to shore, removed his waders and gathered his gear.

He’d already been at the Edgewater Inn longer than he’d stayed anywhere. It was time to move on. He couldn’t remain here forever, counting on Sally’s hospitable and generous nature. Move on where? That was the sixty-four-thousand dollar question.

Because no place had the slightest meaning for him.

Back at the inn, he told Sally he would be leaving in the morning. That final evening he sat on the deck outside his room, his feet up on the railing, watching the sun sink behind the mountain. The occasional cooing of a pair of mourning doves and the soothing sound of the river lapping the rocky shore kept him company. In his hands he held the guest journal Sally had asked him to sign. Each room had one. He opened the paisley cover. The first entry was from 1995, the year Sally had bought the inn. “Wonderful food, wonderful hostess, wonderful place! The slow pace was very therapeutic. Thank you.” It was signed “Ron and Shari Huxley, Tulsa, OK.”

Brady turned the page. “Oh, Sally, John and I really needed this time away from the children and all our responsibilities. You’ve created a little piece of heaven here on earth. We can’t wait to come back and be spoiled again.” This one was signed “Rowena.”

Then there was the honeymoon couple who cleverly implied the wedding night had been all anyone could hope for and vowed to return on every anniversary.

Couples. All of them. Made supremely happy by the Edgewater Inn. What could he possibly write? This was a place to be shared, but what was he doing? Nursing his wounds. How did he write about that?

Flicking through the book, he came to one particular entry where the margins were embroidered with small colored pencil drawings of a spruce tree, a dogwood blossom, the rocky cliff above the rushing river, and, at the bottom, a rainbow.

Brady smoothed the page with his hand and began reading.

A sanctuary. That’s what you’ve created here, and I will be forever grateful. I have been so alone. Unable to see a direction for my life. Not sure if there even is one. When you’ve loved and lost, doubt replaces hope, insecurity replaces confidence and you wonder who you are. Whether you can go on. Or even want to.

Looking up just in time to see the sun drop behind the dark curtain of mountain, Brady pondered whether he should continue reading. The words were too confessional, too emotionally raw—and threatening. Some other individual had come here full of the same thoughts and feelings.

Unable to help himself, he turned back to the graceful handwriting covering the page.

This time of quiet and contemplation has been a great gift, restoring my belief that no matter how severe the storm, rainbows can happen. Regardless of how desolate I feel right now, I have to believe that somewhere out there is someone for me. Someone I can trust. Someone I can love. When I find him, dear Sally, the two of us will come to the Edgewater Inn. Together.

Brady stared for the longest time at the signature. Simple. Bare. Exposed. “Nell.”

He stood abruptly and walked to the railing, peering at the grove of pine trees bordering the property. Nell, whoever she was, was more optimistic than he was. As if, like Dorothy, you could click your red-shod heels and suddenly find yourself on the other side of whatever hell you were in.

God, he hated his blatant, whining self-pity. If Nell, desolate and alone, had been willing to look for something better, why couldn’t he?

He leaned against a post. This attitude of his was downright depressing. He needed a plan—any plan—and at this point he didn’t give much of a damn what it was.

Absently he realized he was still holding the guest book, his forefinger marking Nell’s page. He opened it again and squinted in the dim light, just making out the line beneath her signature. “Fayetteville, AR, 1997.”

He carried the book back into his room and reread the entry. Several times.

A crazy idea entered his head. But no crazier than what he’d been doing. He needed a purpose. A direction. Short-term, this would work as well as anything.

Tomorrow, after he checked out, he would drive to Fayetteville to find this Nell, a woman who still believed in rainbows.




CHAPTER TWO


TOWERING ABOVE the broad expanse of lawn in front of Old Main, the landmark building of the University of Arkansas campus, were massive oaks and maples, their leaves hanging lifeless in the heat of the late August day. Patches of shade offered only the illusion of coolness. Brady paused, gazing across the sward where members of a fraternity gathered on the porch of their house to welcome a group of rushees. He envied them this carefree time of life. College. What would that have been like?

Once, long ago, he’d assumed that was his destiny. But that was before his mother died and his father hastily remarried. Before he rebelled against his father’s unreasonable restrictions and demands. Before he stood up to the old man, told him to take a flying leap and left home. On his own at eighteen. No enlightening classes, fall football weekends, frat parties or eager coeds for him.

All he had in his favor was a knack for computers, a willingness to work his butt off and a cold, simmering rage fueling his ambition.

He headed toward Dickson Street, an off-campus shopping area housing several watering holes. He needed a cool drink. He had thought his plan of starting his search with the university telephone directory was ingenious. The U of A was the town’s largest employer, so the odds of finding Nell on campus were better than average. However, after a day hunched over a table in the college library, his eyes were raw from reading endless lists of names. He’d found several Nells. When he’d called, one had turned out to be a secretary in the engineering department suspicious of his motives. Another was a graduate student who knew nothing about any Edgewater Inn. A third, who sounded like Minnie Mouse, asked him what he had in mind, then giggled coquettishly.

The tavern was an oasis in a frustrating day. He settled on a bar stool and ordered a cola. In a nearby booth, three barrel-chested young men were playing a chug-a-lug game. Brady’s lip curled. He wanted to knock their pitcher to the floor and demand to know if they were driving. Didn’t they understand their stupidity could lead to tragedy? He no longer had any tolerance for overindulgence.

Instead of acting on his instinct, he turned to the bartender and asked if he knew any women named Nell. “That’s kind of an old-fashioned name. Most of the chicks these days are Chelseas or Tiffanies, know what I mean?”

Yeah, he did. Besides, he wasn’t picturing Nell as a younger woman. More someone his age. Somebody who’d obviously lived through hurt. Then another thought hit him. What if Nell was older, maybe a widow who’d lost her husband after forty years of marriage?

He drained his glass. This was insane. Even if he found his Nell, how could he explain his actions? She might even accuse him of stalking. What was he hoping to find?

He signaled the bartender for another soda. What would Carl say if he could see him now, sitting in Fayetteville, Arkansas? Everywhere you looked in this town was a depiction of the butt-ugly razorback hog, the beloved mascot of the university. Yet the place had an appealing, slow-paced charm. He grinned sardonically. He had wanted to get away from the Silicon Valley. Well, he had certainly succeeded.

Nursing his drink, he noticed a local newspaper on the seat beside him. He picked it up and scanned the headlines. Zoning issues. School orientation programs. A public library forum. A controversy over pollution of the Illinois River.

As he started to shove it aside, out of the blue he recalled a seemingly vague remark Sally at the Edgewater Inn had made when he’d asked about Nell. “I can’t give out personal information about my guests,” she’d said. They’d been standing in the living room at the time, where one entire wall was lined with books. “Say,” she’d added, gesturing to the shelves as if changing the subject, “do you like to read? I do. Libraries have always been favorite places of mine. How about you?”

At the time he’d mumbled something about not having much time for reading. He remembered being irritated that she hadn’t given him any information about Nell. Now, though, he wondered. Maybe she had and he’d been too dense to realize it.

He drained his glass, then began reading the article about the library forum. In the final paragraph, he found what he was looking for. “August’s forum on Arab-Israeli relations will be moderated by Nell Porter.” He checked the date. Tomorrow night.

At last a genuine lead. He could blend into the audience and size up the latest Nell candidate.

He couldn’t believe he was thinking like this. What would he say if he ever found the Nell? “Hi, I think we have misery in common?” What kind of way was that to impress anybody? Why did he care?

There was another obstacle. Her entry was dated 1997. Six years ago. What made him think time had stood still for Nell?

Despite the harsh light of reason, he felt compelled to follow his search through to its conclusion. He would find Nell.



“DID YOU GET Abby off all right for her vacation with her father?”

To free her hands, Nell settled the phone against her shoulder and continued searching through her office file cabinet. “Yes, Mother. As usual, she trudged through security like a condemned prisoner.”

“Why can’t you say something to Rick? What’s the matter with that man anyway?”

“If I knew the answer to that question, I wouldn’t be where I am right now.” She pulled out a file folder, skimmed the contents, then discarded it. Where was that background information for her introduction for tonight’s forum? “As for communicating with Rick about Abby, a cabbage is a more attentive listener. At some point, Abby is going to have to speak up for herself. She’s the only one I can think of who might make a dent in his self-absorption.”

“Do you think it’s wise to keep sending her, dear?”

“What choice do I have? Her visits are court-mandated. Besides, in his own way, Rick does care about her.”

Her mother’s voice modulated into that concerned, faintly judgmental tone Nell had come to dread. “Are you sure you’ll be all right by yourself? It’s a whole week alone. Don’t you want to come stay with me?”

Rolling her eyes, Nell prayed for patience. “I’ll be fine, Mother. You can count on it. Besides, I need some time at home to clean out closets and get organized for winter.”

“That doesn’t sound much like fun.”

Fun? What would that be like? “I’ll take peace and quiet over fun any day.” She extracted two folders that had become stuck together. There it was. Her introduction. Breathing a sigh of relief, she grabbed up the phone. “Look, Mom, I’ve got to go. The forum starts in half an hour.”

“I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Nell gritted her teeth. How long would it take before her family trusted her again? “Thanks, I appreciate your concern. I’ll call you later in the week.”

With a sigh of relief, she hung up the phone and studied the bios in front of her—one for a local rabbi and another for the head of the Arab Student League. Using a highlighter, she marked the sections she wanted for her introduction.

Yet she was distracted by her mother’s interference. Was being treated like a child a price she would always have to pay?



BRADY FOLLOWED a frumpy-looking pair of retirees into the library meeting room and took a seat on the aisle near the back. He looked around wondering which of the librarians was Nell. Two stood at a side table arranging books about the Mid-East. Another was bent over, conferring with one of the men seated beside the podium. When she straightened, smiled around the room and asked for order, Brady’s breath caught in his chest. This was no old woman looking for a dapper widower with whom to share her twilight years.

“Good evening and welcome to tonight’s forum. My name is Nell Porter and I’ll be your moderator this evening….”

Brady tuned out her words. She was a tall, slender woman—midthirties he judged—with short straw-colored hair cut in uneven lengths, a style that complemented the casualness of her high-waisted denim jumper. When she smiled, her eyes narrowed in delighted crinkles. She wore little makeup and he couldn’t help noticing her ringless fingers.

“…it’s my pleasure to introduce…”

He became aware that a short, bearded gentleman had stepped to the microphone. Brady’s eyes, however, were glued on the graceful way Nell Porter sank into her chair, crossing one long leg over the other, smoothing her skirt, then fixing her attention on the speaker.

She was not like Brooke, a sleek blonde made for designer clothes, Porsches and expensive, understated jewelry. Nell had a fresh, wholesome look, although her tousled hairstyle suggested an impish streak. She appeared thoroughly likeable. Comfortable.

He’d made his living by exercising logic. The thought in his head, however, was anything but logical.

He wanted Nell Porter to be his Edgewater Inn Nell.



“YOU’RE WHERE?” Carl did not sound pleased.

“Fayetteville. Arkansas.”

“Hmm. I’d hoped you were on your way home.”

Home. There was that word again. Didn’t Carl understand. He no longer had a home. Staring at the anonymous, monochromatic motel room walls, Brady absently brushed a hand through his hair, still damp from his morning shower. “Not yet.”

“I don’t suppose it would hurry things along if I said we’ve got a lotta deals poppin’ here and we need you.”

The familiar clenching of his stomach gave him his answer. “Sorry, Carl, but I’d be no good to you now.”

His partner’s tone mellowed. “I don’t mean to rush you. I know you need time. It’s just—”

“When I’m ready, buddy, I’ll let you know.”

“What are your plans for the moment?”

Brady studied the cover of the local phone book, bearing a picture of a flowering pink dogwood. “It’s nice here. I may stick around a while.”

“In Arkansas?”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve seen it. Natural beauty, low cost of living, friendly people. A guy could do a whole lot worse.” Best of all, it was a radical change from the merry-go-round California lifestyle.

He really should feel guilty about the company, but, ironically, that was the one thing about which he had no guilt. It would survive.

He wasn’t so sure about himself. Two or three times a week he woke from a dead sleep drenched in sweat, the odor of diesel fuel clogging his nostrils, his heartbeat in the danger zone—and two names echoing in his consciousness.

His friends had recommended all kinds of therapists and treatments—a regular LaLa Land smorgasbord of palliatives.

Screw that. He’d find his own way. Picking up his billfold and keys, he headed for the door. Today was a day for exploring the area—and stopping by the library. He allowed himself a brief smile of anticipation. Maybe Ms. Porter could help him research area B-and-B’s, particularly those along the White River.



NELL PARKED HER CAR near the square and hit her early-morning meeting at the church before heading on to work. The sun had already burned off the dew, and the temperature reading on the bank stood at eighty-five degrees and it wasn’t even ten. Another scorcher. The cool of the library would be welcome.

After exchanging greetings with Reggie and the rest of the staff, she had just enough time to circle the chairs in the children’s area before the toddlers and their mothers began arriving for story-time. As usual Rodney Fraim’s mother could hardly control him. At every chance, he slipped out of her arms and began playing peekaboo from behind the stacks. Most of the rest, however, sat on the carpet, legs crossed, only occasionally fidgeting. Today’s book was Katharine Holabird’s Alexander and the Dragon. Halfway through the story, Nell noticed a tall, dark-haired man quietly observing the children. He looked harmless enough, but you could never be too careful. He pulled out a chair and sat at a table where he continued watching them. He seemed more pensive than menacing, an amused smile softening his strong features when one of the youngsters reacted with laughter to the idea of having a dragon under the bed.

As Nell continued reading and displaying the illustrations, she became uncomfortably aware that the man seemed to be studying her rather than the children. Did she know him? Fighting a breathless sensation, she approached the end of the story where Alexander realizes he’s no longer afraid of shadows—or of his friend the dragon.

A shiver passed through Nell when the man mouthed the lines with her. Why was his expression so sad? Before she could ponder his sudden change, he stood and wandered toward the fiction section.

She shook her head to clear her mind. She must’ve imagined that fleeting moment of connection with him. She refocused on the boys and girls and completed the story. As she’d anticipated, it gave rise to a lively discussion of what and who lived in the bedrooms of her tiny listeners.

After helping all the children select and check out their take-home books, she straightened the area and turned toward her office. The good-looking man sat in one of the easy chairs near the main desk, an open book in his lap. But his dark brown eyes followed her. Enough of this. She was uncomfortable with his attention, even though a frisson of something like pleasure took her by surprise.

She crossed to him. “Excuse me, sir, but do I know you?”

He closed his book—which she couldn’t help noticing was a Grisham legal thriller—and raised his eyes, a slow smile creating a devilish dimple in his left cheek. “No. I’m Brady Logan.” With athletic grace, he rose to his feet and now looked down on her. “I was at the forum last night, so, in a manner of speaking, I know you. Nell Porter, right?”

She clasped her cold hands in front of her. “Yes.” She scrambled for words. “Did you enjoy it?”

His eyes narrowed. “Discussion of conflict and violence is more painful than enjoyable.” He paused before going on. “I vastly preferred this morning’s activities.”

“You’re obviously familiar with Alexander and the Dragon.”

She detected a momentary steeling of his features. He offered no explanation but simply said, “Yes.”

She couldn’t seem to tear herself away, but there was little more to be said. Steering from the personal, she grasped for the professional. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I’m new to the area and am interested in doing some fly-fishing, maybe locating a nice place along the White River to stay. Have any suggestions?”

Brady Logan didn’t strike her as someone so clueless about how to use a library, but then you never knew. “There are a couple of popular resorts near Flippin, or you might consider—”

“I’m more a B-and-B kinda guy.”

“Well, in that case—” his eyes found hers, as if he anticipated her next words “—you might try the Edgewater Inn.” More to escape his scrutiny than anything, she made her way to the travel section. “Here.” She pulled out a directory of Arkansas bed-and-breakfasts. “You can read all about it.”

He took the book, thumbing through it until he found the listing and an accompanying photograph. “This looks nice.”

“It is.” Then she found herself telling him all about her stay there.

“Sounds peaceful,” he finally said.

“Very.” A poignant memory came to her of cathartic tears shed on a lazy September afternoon rocking on a wooden porch swing overlooking the blue river.

He took her by the arm, then as if realizing he’d overstepped his bounds, he released his grip. “Thanks, Nell Porter. You’ve been most helpful.”

She found it hard to swallow. “I’m glad.”

Reggie Pettigrew bustled up alongside them. “Nell, your daughter’s on the phone.”

A strange look—wistfulness? sadness?—shadowed Brady’s face before he seemed to reassemble his features. He nodded his understanding.

“Excuse me,” she said, then started for her office.

“Nell?”

She turned around. He smiled, then winked. “Beware of dragons.”

On the way to her office, she couldn’t explain the tingly feeling short-circuiting her body. She had the strangest sense that he’d been waiting for her. Any number of other librarians could have helped him.

Oddly, instead of making her uncomfortable, the thought filled her with the kind of anticipation she hadn’t experienced in years. He was an extremely attractive man.

Any such frivolous thoughts were shattered when she picked up the phone. “Mom.” Abby’s voice was a harsh whisper. “I hate it here. Do I hafta stay?”



THAT AFTERNOON Brady explored the secluded neighborhoods clinging to the sides of the steep hills rimming Fayetteville, drove north on I-540, astonished at the amount of commercial development, then ended up at a marina on Beaver Lake, where moored boats of all kinds rocked with the gentle swells. As a businessman, he recognized he’d stumbled into an investor’s paradise in this burgeoning northwest corner of Arkansas. He left his car and walked across the boardwalk to the marina office where he rented a small pontoon boat for a couple of hours.

Slowly edging past the buoys, he pushed the throttle forward and skimmed over the clear water, practically deserted except for a few die-hard fishermen. If this lake were in California, it would be wall-to-wall boats no matter what the day of the week or time of day. When he reached the middle of a secluded cove, he cut the motor—aware of the peaceful quality of the sudden silence.

Finally he let his thoughts return to Nell. He had been ill-prepared for her effect on him. She was a natural with the children and there was a kind of discomfiting synchronicity in her having selected Alexander and the Dragon to read. Nicole’s favorite bedtime story. He glanced skyward, willing away the involuntary spasm of grief.

He forced himself to think about Nell again. When she’d approached him in the library, she had seemed skittish, her hands primly folded in front of her, her gray eyes wary. Her nose, dusted lightly with freckles, and her bare red-polished toes contributed to her overall sense of vulnerability. Yet she’d dared to confront him. Admittedly his observation of her had been rather obvious. When you’ve loved and lost, doubt replaces hope, insecurity replaces confidence and you wonder who you are.

The boat bobbed in the wake of a passing jet ski. Was she still all by herself? He knew now she had a daughter. Despite her ringless fingers, was there a Mr. Porter?

He devoutly hoped not.

Since Brooke and Nicole had died, he had been unable to connect with anybody—not his friends, his neighbors or his colleagues. He thought of himself as a wraith. Improbable as it seemed, though, he wanted to connect with Nell Porter.

Switching on the key, he started the motor and made his way back across the lake. By the time he reached the dock, he’d arrived at a decision.

Tomorrow he would look for rental property in Fayetteville. He was staying. And Nell was the reason.



NELL WAS REDECORATING the bulletin board in the children’s area with a back-to-school motif when she became aware of a presence behind her. She finished tacking up the book cover she was working on, then turned. Hands in his pockets, Brady Logan stood there smiling a killer smile, then shrugged as if in self-defense. “I’m back.”

“Not the proverbial bad penny, I hope,” she said, attempting a nonchalance she was far from feeling.

“No. I have a reason for being here.”

She needed something to occupy her hands. Selecting another cover from the stack on the table, she said, “Anything I can help you with?”

“I certainly hope so. I’d like you to have lunch with me.”

She’d been fully prepared to direct him to the library’s fishing collection or to locate the latest issue of Field and Stream, but lunch? The thought filled her with mild panic. No man had asked her to lunch in a very long time and certainly no one who made her hormones react in such an unseemly fashion. “I beg your pardon?”

He nodded his head. “You heard me right. Lunch. You know, where two people look at a menu, order and have polite conversation while they eat.”

Smiling tentatively, she said, “I know what lunch is, but let’s face it, I have no idea who you are, really.”

“That’s why I’m inviting you to lunch—to correct that deficiency.” Before she could offer further objections, he went on. “I’m new in town. I’m looking for someone to fill me in on the local scene. I figure a librarian is the perfect resource. This would be completely aboveboard.” He drew her to the window. “It’s broad daylight, pedestrians are everywhere. We could walk to the nearest restaurant, and if you decide I’m a threat, all you have to do is call for help.” He touched her lightly on the shoulder. “But I guarantee that won’t be necessary.”

Nell fought the temptation induced by his honeyed voice and the pressure of his hand on her shoulder. Despite herself, she recalled her reaction to her mother’s challenge the other day. Peace and quiet—or fun? This could be fun. On the other hand… “I don’t think—”

“Don’t think, just say ‘yes.’ You do have to eat, don’t you?”

She made the mistake, then, of looking into his eyes where she found both humor and need. “I—I suppose I could—”

“Great.” When he smiled down at her, she couldn’t summon a single objection. “I’ll wait over in the magazine section.”

Then he left her. She studied the book cover in her hand, trying to think what she was doing with it. Flustered, she remembered and picked up a couple of tacks. She shook her head, wondering why in the world she’d agreed to such an improbable invitation.

Perhaps the dragon had left the bedroom and now inhabited the library.



AS THEY SAUNTERED along Dickson Street toward the restaurant, Brady kept feeding her questions about the town, the university, the local economy. As a native, she provided a wealth of information, but it was hard to concentrate. Her unruly hair shone in the sun, and he found amusing her self-contained way of letting him know this was purely a business appointment.

“I like what I’ve seen and what I’m hearing. I’ve decided to stick around a while.”

“Oh?”

“This morning I lucked into a furnished condo. A professor leaving on sabbatical had his sub-leasing deal fall through last week. I was in the right place at the right time.”

She laughed. “You certainly were. Housing is at a premium this time of year in a university town.”

When they reached the brew pub restaurant, he ushered her toward a corner booth. “Hungry?”

“Starving, actually.”

“Good.” The waiter introduced himself while he set down their water glasses. Brady noticed Nell hadn’t looked at her menu. “You already know what you want?”

“I always have the soup-and-sandwich special, but they have great burgers here.”

“Okay. That’s settled.” He signaled the hovering waiter and placed their order. “Now, enough about Fayetteville. Tell me about Nell Porter.”

“I have a better idea. You’re the stranger I’m having lunch with. What about you?”

He mentally culled the details he could bring himself to share. “I grew up in Colorado. Left home at eighteen and went to work in the software industry in California, then started my own company, which, I’m happy to say, has done extremely well. I was married for fifteen years. One daughter. They, uh…” Damn. His throat was closing down.

“Yes?”

He swallowed, then managed to say, “They were both killed last year in a car accident.”

He was unprepared for her hand to cover his, and even less prepared for the jolt of life it sparked. “I’m sorry.”

He studied the TV mounted over the bar, then glanced out the window. “Yeah, well, these things happen.”

“So what brings you to Arkansas?”

For some reason, he trusted her with the truth. “I couldn’t take California any longer. Too much had changed. I’ve been on the road. Seeing what’s out here. Getting a new perspective.”

“And?” Her eyes swam with compassion. Why was it welcome from her when it hadn’t been from anyone else? I have been so alone. Maybe because she knew.

“I like it here. Besides, I needed to stop somewhere. I couldn’t go on running.” There. He’d said it.

“Brady Logan, whatever it is you’re seeking, I hope you find it.”

Looking at her, her thin shoulders hunched over the table, her reedlike neck revealing a pronounced pulse beat, he felt a welcome surge of hope. “Me, too.” He cleared his throat. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me about your daughter. And husband.”

Brady noticed a shutter fall over Nell’s eyes. Just then the waiter appeared, set down their food and made a show of asking if everything was all right. Brady nodded. After her first tentative spoonful of the steaming soup, Nell answered Brady’s question, her attention fixed on her food. “There’s no husband. I’ve been divorced for six years. My daughter Abby is thirteen and—” finally she glanced up “—getting to that stage where parents are a ‘drag.’ I’ve been told adolescence is survivable, but I’m not so sure.” She grinned a wobbly grin.

“You have family here?”

“My father’s dead, but my mother still lives here, as do my sister and her family.”

“Are you close?”

“Very, but with all the baggage, too. Since the divorce, my mother and sister are overprotective of me, which I suppose is natural, even though it can be frustrating. But I couldn’t have managed without them.”

“You’re lucky,” he said, aware of his faintly bitter tone. He hadn’t seen his father or his younger brother since he left home, and so long as the old man was alive, he didn’t want to.

“Your ex-husband? Is he still on the scene?”

“He and his new wife live in Dallas. In fact, Abby’s visiting them this week.” Her deliberately neutral tone struck him as odd. She was holding something back. Some hurt.

“Well, since you’re alone, what do you say we take in dinner and a movie? Tomorrow night?” He watched her eyes widen in surprise, then added, “That is if you think I’ve passed the test. I’m really quite harmless.” Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She’d be shocked if she knew she was his sole motive for remaining in Fayetteville.

Then she smiled, and the stomach muscles that had been taut since he first saw her this morning relaxed. “I’d like that.” The faint pink of a blush colored her cheeks. “I’d like that very much.”

Her pleasure touched a chord, reminding him that he needed to proceed slowly with her. She’d been hurt enough already. And, God knows, so had he.




CHAPTER THREE


NELL HAD RACED HOME from the library, taken a quick shower and now stood in her bra and panties surveying the limited selection in her closet. Dinner and a movie? It wasn’t a charity gala, for heaven’s sake. Something casual. Nice. She had essentially three choices. One of her unstylish librarian dresses, a two-year-old pair of linen slacks with a matching sweater sporting a small ineradicable stain or a black Mexican fiesta dress she’d bought on a whim for International Month at the library. Wardrobe purchases had been low on her list of priorities, well beneath orthodontia and graduate school tuition.

Glancing at the clock, she stepped into a half slip, then selected the black dress and a pair of onyx and pearl earrings. When the doorbell rang, she slipped into her white sandals, spritzed some cologne in the general direction of her neck, ran a brush quickly through her still-damp hair and only then began to panic. Misgivings echoed in her mind. She didn’t even know this man. Why, he could be… She filled in the blank with a number of disturbing possibilities.

All of which dissolved into a faint memory when she opened the door and beheld the flesh-and-blood object of her conjecture. Brady Logan wore crisply pressed khakis and a yellow polo shirt that accented his ruddy tan. His smile made her forget her meager wardrobe and just about everything else. “Hi,” he said with a timbre that would melt chocolate. “You look gorgeous.”

Perhaps he wasn’t a threat after all, simply a man in need of a competent ophthalmologist. At a time like this having fair skin was a definite drawback. “Thank you.” Now what? Even Abby possessed more savoir faire.

“I’ll let you suggest the restaurant, but we may have to arm wrestle to decide between the new Kate Hudson chick-flick or Brad Pitt’s latest.”

She picked up her purse, locked the door, then started when he loosely grasped her free hand and led her toward his fancy SUV. “You’ve given me a tough choice. I love romantic comedies, but what woman can resist Brad Pitt?”

“We can duke that out later. For now, why don’t you suggest a restaurant? Something special.”

How special? She mentioned a popular chain restaurant and a locally owned bistro and let him choose.

“Let’s go for the more intimate. The bistro sounds good.”

The more intimate? The mere word rendered her speechless. Fortunately, that wasn’t a problem because after he helped her into his Escalade, he filled her in on his further explorations of Fayetteville. At the first major intersection she gave him directions to the restaurant. She wasn’t worried about dinner, or even the movie. But afterward… What if? She’d been too busy recovering from the divorce, working on her master’s in library science and rearing Abby to worry about dating. After what Rick had done, men weren’t subjects she viewed with optimism.

She looked over at Brady, admiring the muscles in his forearms and the way his large hands caressed the steering wheel. What did he expect from her? Was she supposed to invite him in after the movie? Did she even want to? And could she handle her own feelings, which were confusing the daylights out of her? The way they’d met should feel creepy—his coming to the forum, then appearing at the story-time the next day and, if she wasn’t mistaken, observing her. Somehow, though, it didn’t.

“You know that first morning in the library?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“I had the distinct impression you were watching me.”

“I was.” He glanced at her, a grin forming. “You’re a very watchable woman, Nell.”

Defenseless, she couldn’t hold back her smile. “I—I…thank you.”

Fun? Oh, yes, but fun shouldn’t feel so momentous.



DRIVING NELL HOME from the Cineplex, Brady reflected on how long it had been since he’d had an evening of laughter and companionship. Not since that last weekend when he and Brooke… He quickly censored the thought. Too painful. Yet he couldn’t help kicking himself for taking his best friend and mate for granted while he spent twelve to sixteen hour days in pursuit of the American dream—or at least an upwardly mobile male’s dream. Why hadn’t he spent more time with her and Nicole? Had they known how much he loved them?

“I think that compromise worked well,” Nell commented.

“What?” Lost in his thoughts, had he been rude?

“I enjoyed the movie. Believe me, casting my eyes on Mr. Pitt was no hardship.”

“I’m glad.” She’d scored two major points so far this evening. First, she’d declined wine at the restaurant. Second, he appreciated that she’d willingly given up the romantic comedy at the theater, because he hadn’t been sure how much sentiment his unstable emotions could handle.

She grew even more quiet as they neared her neighborhood. When he pulled into her driveway, she cleared her throat and said, “Would you like to come in for coffee?”

He sensed those had been difficult words for her. Was she nervous? Merely being polite? Yet he already dreaded the return to his motel and the loneliness. “I won’t stay long,” he said by way of reassurance, “but I’d like that.”

She settled him in the small added-on family room at the back of the modest one-story house while she bustled in the kitchen. In one corner stood a 1930s pie cabinet, doubling as a TV stand and repository for CD’s and books. The sagging sofa was covered in a maroon-and-tan plaid fabric that looked as if it had seen better days. A wooden rocker painted bright blue sat at an angle to the sofa. Propped in the corner were oversize pillows next to a basket holding a colorful assortment of yarns. The combination shouldn’t have worked, but instead of looking like a fleamarket display, it had a welcoming, cozy feeling. Brady couldn’t help making the comparison to the chrome and leather big-screen viewing room in his house.

“Here you are.” Nell set a small tray on the planked coffee table. “I hope you like oatmeal cookies.”

“No red-blooded man could refuse,” he said, helping himself.

She picked up a mug and took a seat in the rocker. “My husband always liked them.”

He studied her, noting her downcast eyes. “Your divorce? Is it amicable?”

“I suppose. It’s hard work, though.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

“My daughter resents having to go to Dallas to visit her father.”

Brady said nothing, giving her an opportunity to add whatever she needed to.

“She blames me.”

“For what?”

“For all of it. I guess I’m a convenient scapegoat. There was…um…another woman.” He noticed her jaw tense. “Abby apparently believes I did something to send her father away. If I had done whatever she thinks I should have, she reasons her father would still be here and she wouldn’t have to fly to Dallas monthly.” She shrugged. “So you see, it’s my fault.”

“You know better than that,” he said gently.

“I’m willing to accept my share of the responsibility for the breakup of the marriage. It’s rarely one-sided, but I don’t know how I failed so badly that Rick had to find another woman.”

“Aren’t you being hard on yourself? I don’t know Rick, but did you ever consider perhaps he has a character flaw?”

She cupped her mug in both hands. “I felt so stupid. How could I not have seen it coming? What was the matter with me?”

Her misery was evident, yet he felt helpless to address it, not without stepping over the line he’d set for himself. “Sounds as if you were devastated.”

She nodded. “Do you have any idea what that does to a woman’s self-esteem? I try hard, but it’s difficult not to become bitter or vindictive or to poison Abby against her father.”

“One day she’ll understand the situation. In the meantime, it’s got to be rough on you.” Pain? No doubt about it, she’d had plenty of firsthand experience.

Smiling sadly, she glanced at him. “I didn’t mean to get into this. It’s just so nice to have a little sympathy.”

“I know what you mean.” But did he? He hadn’t been open to any himself. At least not until now.

“Look, I’m sorry. My problems are nothing compared to your loss. I can’t imagine how you can carry on.”

“It’s been—” he cursed the gruffness in his voice “—pure hell.”

“How does a person ever get over something like that?”

“I’m not sure that’s possible, but Brooke and Nicole wouldn’t want me to give up.” He set down his mug. “So I do the best I can, but it isn’t easy. Ever.”

“It’s odd how two lost souls like us happened to get together, isn’t it?”

Now was not the time to confess that their meeting had not been a result of chance. “I’m glad I met you, Nell. Talking with you like this makes me feel half-alive again.”

“It is nice,” she agreed.

Lost in their own thoughts, they sat quietly for several moments. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Quite the contrary. Finally he stood. “I’d better be going. You have to work tomorrow.”

Rising to her feet, she said, “And I have an early meeting before work.” She walked him to the front door where she paused and, still holding her mug, smiled up at him. “Thank you, Brady. I enjoyed the evening.”

“Enough for a repeat?” He wanted more of this comfort of home and companionship and easy affection.

In a nervous gesture, she smoothed the front of her dress. “Yes,” she said.

“Would tomorrow night be rushing it?”

“Not at all. In fact, that suits me since Abby will be gone until this weekend.”

He wasn’t quite sure what she meant. Would Abby’s presence be an impediment to their future get-togethers? “How about renting a boat and taking a picnic with us? I’ll pick up something at the deli.”

“I haven’t done anything like that in a long time. It sounds like fun.”

Driving back to the motel, he reflected on his temporary sense of well-being. As he had thought on first acquaintance, Nell was an easy woman to be with. One able to honor silence. When she spoke, it was simply and directly. He liked that.

As for that ex-husband of hers, he’d clearly left her feeling diminished. Brady suspected she had no idea what a strong, resilient and lovely woman she was.



TOSSING HER BACKPACK into the overhead bin and taking the window seat, Abby glanced nervously at the passengers still boarding. Weekends were bad enough, but this past seven days with Dad and Clarice had been the pits! She hoped no one sat beside her. She didn’t need any well-meaning grown-up playing parent to her. She had enough of those in her life even if she didn’t always agree about the “well-meaning” part. Buckling her seat belt, she couldn’t avoid looking at the geeky puke-green T-shirt encrusted with a rhinestone palm tree that Clarice had bought for her and insisted she wear home. Never mind it sucked. It had been easier to go along with her than to argue.

A flight attendant checking seat belts walked up and down the aisle, stopping briefly to give Abby a warm smile and the offer of a magazine. She looked like a nice lady, a regular person. She’d prob’ly be a good mother, the kind who baked cookies and was a Girl Scout leader. Not like Clarice who had made Abby go with her to a ritzy country club for a golf lesson. Bor-ing. Not once did anybody ask her if she’d like to hit a golf ball. At least she might have been able to. Not like Clarice who whiffed more often than she connected. Learning the game didn’t seem to matter to her stepmother nearly as much as showing off her “adorable” new outfit.

On this visit Abby had actually had some time alone with her father, but that was for lunch at this fancy-schmancy restaurant where she could hardly eat for worrying about which fork to use or whether she’d spill on her dress. She could hardly remember when her father lived in Fayetteville and a big family outing was dinner at Applebee’s and a movie. Clarice wouldn’t be caught dead in Applebee’s.

It was weird how she and her dad didn’t have much to say to one another. He’d asked all the usual questions about school, the courses she’d be taking, her friends, at least the ones he could remember. Along the way he’d use these cutesie names on her— “Sweet Pea” and “Sugar Lump.” Stuff like that. She’d rather he called her “Spud.” That’s what Tonya’s father called her on account of how she would only eat mashed potatoes when she was a baby. “Spud” had meaning.

When the plane rolled back from the gate, Abby breathed a sigh of relief. No talkative stranger to ignore. Just her and the clouds. She would never admit how glad she’d be to get home and see her mother. She knew Mom worried about her. She really should try to be nicer—help more around the house, cut out the complaining and back-talk. But it was hard.

At least she’d escaped Dallas one more time before the ultimate embarrassment. It could happen any time now. Any place. That was the terrifying part. Tonya and Allie had already started their periods. Mom had given her the big talk when she was eleven and had shown her where the supplies were kept. Lately, like some inflatable doll, she’d felt her body shifting, bloating. She’d even imagined she had cramps.

Okay, so it was all normal, but it couldn’t happen in Dallas. Not with Clarice. And no way could she tell Dad. She’d die of embarrassment. Totally.

Please, God, let it be at home. With Mom.

A lump formed in her throat and her eyes stung. She wouldn’t cry. That was for babies.

All she wanted was to get back safely and hug her mother.



SUNDAY AFTERNOON after unpacking his bags, Brady surveyed his rented living room. The fusty Victorian look wouldn’t have been his choice of décor, but he couldn’t argue with furnished—not when all his belongings were in storage in California. There was a part of him that wondered what the hell he was doing settling for any length of time in Fayetteville, Arkansas. Although it was a decision that would make no sense to anyone he knew, it felt right.

Had he simply been ready to stop his running, or was Nell responsible? He liked her. A lot. But he could never again make someone else responsible for his happiness. He stumbled through each day trying to wrap his mind around the reality that he would never see Brooke or Nicole this side of the grave. So what was he really after?

A connection. In the here and now. Some relationship that would remind him he wasn’t alone. But what would that look like? And would it be fair to Nell? She deserved more. A lot more. Right now, though, he was giving all he could.

The evening of their boating excursion, he’d tried to keep things light. The sound of Nell’s gentle laughter echoing across the secluded cove they’d found for their picnic and her tales of the characters that frequented the library had made him smile. She told him about her graduate courses at the university and her enjoyment of refinishing furniture. However, she’d reserved most of her enthusiasm for her home, relating how she’d scrimped following the divorce to make the down payment and how she’d done much of the remodeling herself. He doubted any Silicon Valley multi-millionaire took more delight in his surroundings.

He slumped into the brown overstuffed chair smelling faintly of pipe tobacco and picked up the Sunday paper. If he was going to hang around, he needed to fill his time with something productive. Otherwise, Carl would be on his case about getting back to work. An idea had slowly been forming in his brain ever since he’d explored the I-540 corridor.

When he had finished with the business section, he began studying the real estate section. Logic told him he was several years too late, but he had the gut feeling there was still money to be made in this neck of the woods, still a need for venture capital.

And if there was one thing he had a surfeit of, it was money.



“I AM NOT wearing this stupid top,” Abby said Monday morning.

Nell looked up from the bagel she was smearing with cream cheese. Abby stood, feet planted, holding out the blouse Nell had ironed the night before as if it were an odious rag. “You asked me to iron it,” Nell said, struggling for calm.

“That was yesterday. I just talked with Tonya. Nobody’s wearing flowers.”

Nell knew how important it was to a junior-high-age girl to appear cool. “Suit yourself but hang that one back in your closet. Also, whatever you wear, I’d appreciate it if your navel was covered.”

“Mo-om!”

“You’re going to register at school. I doubt your teachers or the principal are keen on exposed body parts.”

“Clarice would let me,” Abby muttered as she left the room.

Great. Now, suddenly, Clarice was the patron saint of teeny-boppers. Nell knew her daughter was experiencing the mood swings endemic to adolescence, but that didn’t make living with her any easier. For a brief moment at the airport, Nell had deluded herself that Abby was glad to see her. She’d even hugged her and uttered the magic words, “I’m so glad to be home.”

But that was before Nell asked her to gather her dirty clothes for the wash and before the phone started ringing. Abby had been far more interested in hearing from her friends about all she’d missed during her week in Dallas than in performing any domestic duties. It was so hard to know when to cut her some slack and when to pull in the reins.

While Nell ate her bagel, Abby reappeared, picked up an uncooked Pop-Tart, took a bite, then asked for money. “After enrollment, a bunch of us are gonna eat lunch together.”

“And you’re promising me that your clothes will be washed by the time I get home?”

“Who cares about the clothes?”

“You do, unless you prefer going naked.”

“Okay, okay. You don’t need to get on my case.”

Oh, really? “Fine. Don’t forget to spot-treat the stains.”

Abby stood beside her now, one hand held out, palm up. “The money?”

Nell dug in her purse and pulled out a five-dollar bill. “Have a good time. I’ll be home around six.”

Then, as if the sun had mysteriously come out in the tiny kitchen, Abby smiled. “Thanks, Mom. Love you.”

Nell shook her head. There was no predicting her daughter. Up one minute, down the next. How had Stella ever managed with two daughters? More and more frequently these days she appreciated what she and Lily must have put their mother through.

Rinsing off her plate, Nell wondered what Abby would think about Brady. Would she make more of their friendship than was there? Well, that would be her problem. She and Brady were just friends. She enjoyed his company and planned to invite him to a home-cooked meal soon. Maybe as time went on, she’d introduce him to some of her friends. To Lily and her husband Evan. Even to her mother. After all, he knew no one in Fayetteville.

Mental telepathy was working as well as the phone service because just then her mother called. “Hi, Mom. I only have a minute. I’m on my way to my meeting and work.”

“I won’t take much of your time. I just wondered if you enjoyed the film?”

Suddenly the bagel became indigestible. “Film?”

“You know, the Brad Pitt movie. Janelle Davis saw you there.” Her mother paused to heighten the impact. “With a man.”

“I didn’t see her there.”

“Well, she certainly saw you.”

Nell paced to the window, noticing her flower beds needed watering. “Your point?”

“Don’t be obtuse, Nell. Who is he?”

“His name is Brady Logan. I met him at the library.”

“At the library? Do you think that’s wise taking up with a stranger like that?”

Nell sighed. “I’ve subjected him to the third degree, and he’s checked out. Besides, we’re just friends.”

For all her second-guessing, Stella sounded disappointed at that outcome. “I’d rather hoped—”

“Friends, Mother. He’s not looking for more and neither am I. But I have fun with him.” There. The concept of fun ought to get her attention.

Stella made a tsking sound. “Just be careful, honey. I don’t want anything upsetting you.”

“I’ll handle it, Mom. Thank you for your concern.” Nell had long ago learned that the prudent policy was to keep her mother as happy as possible. “I’ve got to run. Bye, now.”

Another typical start of a day, Nell thought as she drove downtown. Between Abby and her mother, she already felt like a pinball ratcheting through a maze and it wasn’t even eight o’clock.

At least she had one thing going for her, she found a parking spot right in front of the church. She cracked her windows, locked her car and dashed downstairs into the large meeting room just in time to grab a cup of coffee and greet her friends. When the bell in the steeple chimed the hour, Ben Hadley, an elderly gentleman with lively, sparkling eyes who had been a lifesaver for her, opened the meeting, dispensed with a few items of business and then nodded in her direction. She laid her purse on an empty folding chair and made her way to the front of the room. Several people nodded encouragingly to her, and in the back row she noticed two unfamiliar faces. This was by no means the first time she had done this, but it never became any easier. Yet, ironically, it was freeing beyond her capacity to imagine.

She approached the speaker’s stand and gripped it for support, emboldened by waves of empathy from those in the audience.

She moistened her lips, then uttered the words that at once condemned and redeemed her. “My name is Nell and I am an alcoholic.”




CHAPTER FOUR


NELL SIGHED IN RELIEF after her talk was over. Therapeutic as it was to recall the lessons of the worst times, she always carried away a residue of self-disgust and fear. Sobriety was hardly guaranteed. Instead, it was a daily reprieve. Yet as she left the church, there was a spring in her step, her mood buoyed by the hollow-eyed, yet hopeful expressions on the faces of the two newcomers at the meeting.

Ben Hadley fell in beside her. “Nice job, Nell.”

The quiet words of praise filled her with love for her friend, who had been through so much with so many. If anyone lived the Twelve Steps, it was Ben. His humility and selflessness were legendary. “Thank you. I don’t know why, but it was especially difficult today.”

He kept pace with her. “Any particular reason?”

Nell thought about his question. When she reached her car, she turned to face him. “This may sound funny, but I’m too happy. I…I’m afraid to trust it.”

He nodded sagely, then smiled. “It’s okay to be happy. You’re worth it.” He patted her shoulder. “Have a great day.”

She sat in the car for several moments. That was one of the hardest lessons—liking herself. Believing she was worthy of approval, acceptance, love. It was so tempting to dwell on the harm she’d done, but the danger with that line of thinking lay in one of the “cures” for negativity. Liquor. Thank God for AA, which had given her the means to face herself and others with forgiveness and love.

Driving to work, she thought about what had made her tell Ben she was happy. She was contented with her job, her home, and, despite the normal ups and downs with Abby and her mother, her relationships. So what was different today? With unflinching honesty, she made herself utter the name. “Brady Logan.” She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed male companionship, the easy give-and-take of communication, even the sound of a deep voice in her home and the lingering scent of a fragrance decidedly masculine.

Given his situation, friendship was all that he could offer, which suited her fine, because anything else would scare her silly. If they ever moved into intimacy… She cringed. Memory blotted out the sun and in her mind she heard Rick again, flinging his customary accusation. “Can’t you loosen up, for God’s sake? Or at least try to fake it.”

Oh, she’d learned to fake it all right—after several glasses of numbing wine. But it hadn’t been enough to save her marriage.

She was obviously no Clarice.

Friend. That sounded just her speed. She hoped Brady never wanted more. If he did, he’d be disappointed. Sex was a thing of the past, and she’d learned there were worse things than doing without a man, particularly a sexually demanding, emotionally abusive one like Rick.

She found a parking place at the library and pulled in, but remained in the car, rendered immobile by a notion that had suddenly surfaced from somewhere in her subconscious. She was kidding herself. The truth? Brady stirred her in a way she’d never experienced and it was exhilarating.

But mostly terrifying.



ABBY’S FIRST WORDS when Nell walked in the house early that evening rocked her. “Grandma told me about your date.”

Slowly Nell set down her purse, fighting the tension stiffening her neck. Stella had picked up her granddaughter, and they’d spent the afternoon together. Alike as two peas in a pod, Stella and Abby watched over her with the fierceness of mother eagles. “What date?”

Abby leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded across her chest. “She said some man took you to a movie.”

“Some man did.”

“Why didn’t I know about it?”

“You were in Dallas.”

“So I’m not supposed to know, is that it?”

Nell crossed to the refrigerator and took her time getting out the casserole she’d prepared for dinner. “You make it sound as if I deliberately kept something from you.”

“Well, didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t that big a deal.” Nell had no idea whether she sounded convincing. She silently acknowledged her decision not to tell Abby about her outings with Brady and run the risk of upsetting her. Now, thanks to Stella, she had no choice but to face the issue.

“Who is he?”

“A friend I met at the library.”

“Grandma said you need to be careful. That he sorta picked you up.”

Nell bit back an unkind retort. “Give me credit for being smarter than that.” Yet, what did she really know about Brady Logan? He was a successful businessman and a grieving widower. But beyond that? “He’s new in town. We’re friends. End of discussion.” She preheated the oven. “Now tell me about registration.”

Abby eyed her dubiously, aware her mother was changing the subject, then shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Tonya’s locker is in the same hall, and we both have Mr. Sanders for English. We had this dumb assembly about the rules. They treat us like babies.”

Nell stifled a smile.

“What’s his name?”

“Whose name?”

“The man.”

Nell put her arm around her daughter, thankful Abby didn’t pull away. “Brady Logan,” she said in an even voice. “Abby, he’s no one you need to be concerned about.”

“That’s a relief.”

Nell turned her daughter so she could look into her eyes. “Honey, things don’t stay the same.”

“Duh. You think I don’t know that? If they did, Dad would still be here.”

Nell summoned every ounce of patience. “Someday you will have a boyfriend, go off to college, get married. And someday it’s possible I might have another relationship. Life isn’t about standing still. It’s about taking risks. Experiencing the unusual. Meeting new people. If I’ve learned anything at all, it’s that we must never lose sight of the potential in every person, in every day. But right now? I’m not looking for a man, okay?”

Abby looked down. “Whatever.”

Nell turned back to the casserole, vowing not to let Abby see the tears of frustration gathering. Behind her, she heard the lid of the cookie jar being lifted.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

Abby separated an Oreo and licked the filling off one wafer before continuing. “If he ever comes again, can I meet him?”

“Certainly.”

“He’s probably a dweeb, anyway.”

After Abby left the room, Nell slumped over the counter. She’d had no idea Abby would be so possessive of her. The last thing she needed was to upset the family equilibrium. What would she be risking if she continued her friendship with Brady?

Reflecting on the change in her mood from earlier in the day, she reached a conclusion. Fate quickly mocked anyone who claimed to be “too happy.”



AT NOON ON Wednesday Brady attended his first Rotary meeting since well before the accident. Avoiding all unnecessary human contact on the road, he’d never given Rotary a thought, but now it seemed like a viable way to learn more about the community and to meet some business leaders. As luck would have it, seated at his table were a local bank president and Buzz Valentine, a commercial realtor. From his offhand questions, he learned they were both high on the investment potential in the area. This optimism was further advanced by the speaker, who cited regional airport traffic figures in excess of estimated projections.

For a short time there, Brady realized later, he’d actually felt a sizzle of adrenaline at the prospects, proving his business instincts weren’t totally dead. After making an appointment with Buzz Valentine for the next day, he decided to spend the rest of the afternoon at the library researching local movers and shakers.

Yeah, Logan.

Okay, and getting a “loneliness fix” from Nell, who had provided him with the only moments of contentment he’d had in many months.



NELL BENT OVER her desk, studying the book list provided by the elementary school reading coordinator, tickled to find several of her favorite titles. She picked up the list and headed for the children’s area to pull some books for a shelf display.

“Nell?”

She glanced down and immediately felt her fair skin betray her. “Hi, Brady.” She noted the newspapers and business magazines spread on the table around him. “More research?”

“I figure if I’m going to be here awhile, I need to learn all I can about the area economy.”

She fingered a magazine cover sporting the wellknown face of a nationally prominent entrepreneur headquartered in Northwest Arkansas. “This region isn’t the sleepy little byway of yesteryear, thanks to people like him.”

Brady cocked an eyebrow. “Hardly. Pretty impressive financials.”

Nell fought the mesmerizing sensation produced by gazing into his brown eyes. “Let me know if I can locate anything for you.” She held up the lists in her hands. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do in the children’s area.”

He stood and started to walk along with her. “Can I help?”

“If you want.” Anything was better than having him study her with that unsettling stare. “Here.” She handed him the second page of the list. “You could pull some of these titles.”

He ran a finger down the page. “Johnny Tremain and The Outsiders. Wow. I haven’t thought of them in years.”

“Books have a way of transporting us to the time and place we encountered them, don’t they?”

He didn’t answer. When she glanced up inquiringly, she was taken aback. Rather than the pleased smile of recognition she expected to see, his jaw had tensed and a frown creased his forehead. Odd.

Finally he said, “I suppose.” He laid down a book and turned to gaze out the window. “I try not to think of the past.”

He’d said the words more to himself than to her, so she continued pulling volumes in silence. She could understand why the immediate past was difficult for him, but what childhood memories had the books triggered?

She didn’t know how long he stood at the window, but when he faced her again, his expression was more relaxed. “You seem to love what you do.”

She smiled. “Is it that obvious?”

“Your face lights up when you talk about books. Did you know that?” His voice held a tinge of yearning. “I used to feel that way about my work.”

“And now?”

“It seems meaningless. What lasting satisfaction does creating and marketing software provide? You never see the results of your efforts.”

“But isn’t the challenge of it fulfilling?”

“If you count the reward in dollars and cents.”

“You don’t?”

He stared over the tops of the shelves. “Not anymore.” After an awkward silence, he took a step toward her. “At this point I have more questions than answers, but this much I know. I’m due for a change. Sticking around here for starters.”

The intensity of his gaze caused her skin to tingle. “You could do worse.”

“Yeah,” he said thoughtfully. “There’s lots to like. For instance, you’re here.”

Nell didn’t know how to take his remark. Surely he wasn’t going to make some life-altering decision based on her. That would be ludicrous. She screwed up her courage. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He gave a crooked smile. “That didn’t come out right, did it? What I meant to say is that you’ve succeeded in helping me think about rejoining the human race.”

She hugged two books to her chest, then responded thoughtfully, “Believe me, I know how hard that is to do, but, Brady, it’s worth the effort. You have a lot of tomorrows left.”

“Tomorrows?” Slowly he shook his head. “Yeah. I like the sound of that.” He paused. “Especially from you.”

Before Nell could process her reaction to his last words, she sensed the approach of someone and looked beyond Brady. Lily. Her sister’s timing was as flawless as her carefully sculpted hairdo and perfectly understated makeup.

“There you are, Nell.” Lily sailed into the area. “When I couldn’t find you in your office, I thought I’d find you here.” With an assessing smile aimed straight at Brady, she said, “And you are—”

“Brady Logan.” He extended his hand and shook Lily’s.

Lily turned to Nell. “Your friend?”

Lord, now Brady would think she’d been talking about him to her family. “Yes. We met here about a week ago.” Nell’s voice box didn’t seem to be working properly. “This is my sister, Lily Roberts.”

Brady nodded acknowledgment.

“The way you were talking, so seriously and all, I figured you weren’t just another library patron.” Lily indulged in a tinkling laugh that to Nell’s ears was replete with sisterly innuendo.

Brady took command. “I am that, too. I’m trying to learn about the Fayetteville area and Nell’s been kind enough to assist me.”

Lily cocked her head. “In the children’s section?”

Nell prayed the floor would swallow her. She knew her sister. Beyond that flirtatious facade, Lily was determined to pump Brady for information.

Brady gestured toward the library table where he’d been sitting. “It seems I strayed a bit. I volunteered to help Nell.”

“How kind,” Lily said, ignoring the pleading look Nell was telegraphing her. “I understand you’ve only been in town a short time.”

“That’s right.”

Lily laid a hand on his arm. “Then you need to get better acquainted, and I have the perfect solution. Evan and I are hosting a barbecue Saturday night for family and some close friends. I dropped by the library to invite Nell, but this is even better. Of course you’ll come, too. All our guests will look forward to meeting Nell’s new friend.”

Nell couldn’t be sure, but it sounded as if Lily had put special emphasis on the word friend. She couldn’t stand by while her sister organized her life. “Lily, Brady may have other plans—”

She didn’t get out any more words before she heard Brady say, “Thank you, Lily. I’d like to come.”

Lily smiled triumphantly at Nell. “Well, that’s settled, then. Six o’clock.” Turning to Brady, she sprang her trap. “Since you’ll be coming with Nell, she can show you where we live.”

“Sounds great.” Brady handed Nell his page of the book list. “Guess I’d better get back to my research.” Smiling at Lily, he added, “Nice to have met you.”

He’d gone only a few steps when Lily grabbed Nell’s arm and purred sexily, “Do many of your customers look like that?”

Nell gritted her teeth. “Do I kill you now or later, sister dear?”

“Kill me? Unless I’m mistaken, which I’m not, I just did you a big favor.”

“I’ll tell you what I’ve already told Mother and Abby. Brady and I are just friends.”

Lily shot her an incredulous look. “Right.”

“It’s not like that.”

“But it certainly could be.” Lily faced her with that trust-me expression that set Nell’s nerves on edge. “So you’re just friends? Okay. I’ll buy that for now.”

“Good. He’s a grieving widower, Lily. I doubt he’s ready for what you have in mind.”

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry. But still, what’s the harm in bringing him to the barbecue?”

Trapped. “Nothing, I guess.” She swallowed her trepidations.

Eyeing her up and down, Lily said, “I’ll be calling you to set a time to go shopping for your new outfit. You’ll want to dazzle him.”

Lily quickly back-pedaled toward the door, giving her a ta-ta wave of the fingers. Nell was too angry to move. Hadn’t her sister understood a word she’d said?

A new outfit?

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d dazzled a man.

And she wasn’t about to start now.



WHEN BRADY RETURNED to his condo, the message light on his answering machine was blinking. He kicked off his shoes, padded to the refrigerator for a cold soda, then settled in the overstuffed chair staring at the offending light. It had to be Carl. Some crisis.

He swigged from the can, then rested his head against the back of the chair. He wished he could care. But he didn’t. What used to be as important to him as the air he breathed, now affected him not in the least. He’d always heard you weren’t supposed to make any major decisions within a year following a spouse’s death. But it had been months. Shouldn’t he be feeling something about his company? But pride, status, power—none of it meant a thing.

Hell, he’d worked up more energy about the idea slowly forming in his head to develop an upscale conference and resort center on Beaver Lake than he had about any of Carl’s importunings. It wasn’t about money, although he wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t want his money to work for him. It was about intangible rewards, permanence. Only with Brooke had he found that.

He closed his eyes and tried to bring her into focus—her long silky hair, her tanned shoulders, but the image kept shifting in his memory. Instead, he pictured the willowy body of Nell Porter topped by her heart-shaped face and big, knowing eyes, her arms cradling books protectively against her breasts.

The damn books. He’d been ill-prepared for the wave of nostalgia that had swept over him. Johnny Tremain. He’d suddenly remembered his mother’s animated voice reading to him. Remembered lying in bed listening, the words transforming him into a boy in Revolutionary War times. Then, after she closed the book, she tucked the covers around him and kissed him good-night. That was before…

He cursed under his breath. For years he’d pretty much been able to fend off such memories, feeding on his resentment and losing himself in work until forgetfulness became a habit.

What was Nell Porter doing to him anyway? Whatever it was felt way too much like pecking away at his armor. Yet he was drawn to her in ways that made no sense. All he knew was that he felt better when he was around her.

He sat up, drained the soda, punched the Play button on the machine and listened to Carl’s edgy voice fill him in on the latest emergency at L&S TechWare.

He should respond. Immediately. Regrettably, that wasn’t a priority.



NELL HAD GIVEN IN and gone shopping with Lily. Down deep, she valued her sister’s advice. Lily’s taste was impeccable. The floral print wraparound skirt and filmy lavender blouse were on sale and, as Lily insisted, were Nell’s “colors.” Nell had to admit she’d been flattered by the lift of Brady’s eyebrows when he picked her up Saturday evening.

Light from the fading sun filtered through the ancient oaks and dappled the manicured lawn as Nell led Brady to the back gate of Lily’s house. Stella, Evan’s mother and father, and several other couples were already there, clustered around the hors d’oeuvres table set up on the flagstone patio. In a far corner of the yard, Abby corralled Chase. Without consulting Nell, Lily had invited Abby to baby-sit with Chase and spend the night. The obviousness of her maneuver would be amusing if it wasn’t so darn uncomfortable. Nell disliked being the focus of Lily’s expectations.

“Here’s Nell.” Her mother broke away from the guests and came toward them, a fixed smile on her face. “And you must be Brady,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Nell’s mother, Stella Janes.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Brady said. “Nell has made me feel most welcome in Arkansas.”

“I’m glad to hear my daughter represents the best of Southern hospitality.”

“You taught me well,” Nell murmured.

Stella tucked her arm through Brady’s. “Come meet Lily’s husband and the others.”

Trailing the pair, Nell sought to unfist her hands, aware of the tension riddling her. This was no big deal, yet she knew her family. They would make something out of nothing. She glanced across the yard and her heart sank. Oblivious to Chase tugging on her shorts, Abby was watching Brady’s progress to the patio with narrowed eyes and thinned lips.

Somehow Nell made it through the introductions, ignoring the questioning looks some of the women angled at Brady and her. From the cooler Brady picked out a beer and a soda. “Which would you prefer, Nell?”

Before she could answer, Lily slipped in between them. “My sister doesn’t drink.”

Nell winced. Would Brady pick up on the pointedness of the remark or was she simply overreacting?

Brady handed Nell the soda, then smiled at the two women. “I don’t either, except for an occasional beer.”

After Lily excused herself, Brady looked down at Nell, his eyes soft. “I like your family. Nice people.”

Nell tore her gaze from him and glanced around. “Yes. They are.” Then she noticed Abby sitting in a swing, holding Chase in her lap. The girl’s eyes were fixed everywhere but on Nell. “Brady, I’d like you to meet my daughter.” She started walking toward Abby, confident Brady was following. “Abby, this is—” When she turned to include him in the introduction, he wasn’t right behind her as she’d expected. He had stopped several feet away and his face had gone pale. “—Brady Logan,” Nell finished lamely.

As if shaking off a trance, he ran a hand through his hair and approached the swing set. “Hello,” he said in a husky voice.

Abby gave him a brief glance, then continued swinging. “’Lo.”

Nell stepped forward, took hold of the ropes and brought the swing to a stop. “Brady recently moved here from California,” she said in a voice full of a mind-your-manners undertone.

“I know.” Abby’s stony face had softened not one iota. “Grandma told me.”

Nell could only wonder what other tidbits Stella had seen fit to divulge. She turned helplessly to Brady. “And this is Chase, Lily’s son,” she said running a hand over the toddler’s curly hair.

“Hi, Chase.”

The boy ducked his head into Abby’s shirt. Abby continued to stare at her mother in sullen defiance.

“What grade are you in, Abby?”

Slowly Abby turned to Brady. “Eighth.”

Brady’s voice sounded strangled. “Hope you enjoy the year.”

Nell was missing something. It was as if Brady, usually confident and assured in social situations, had become a tongue-tied adolescent himself.




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/laura-abbot/my-name-is-nell/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.