Читать книгу Hailey's Hero - Judy Duarte, Judy Duarte - Страница 10

Hailey wasn’t about to be taken in by a slick, fast-talking stranger.

If Detective Granger thought a badge gave his honor some kind of validation, he was mistaken. She wanted to boot him out the door, then sit at the window and watch him turn blue, although she wasn’t entirely sure why. Partly because he was a cop.

But more than likely she was feeling testy because her plans to seduce Steven had run amok, and it seemed to be Nick Granger’s fault.

“I’m hungry. And stranded.” He slid her an easy smile, one she suspected was meant to disarm her anger and gain her trust. “If you have a spare blanket, I could sleep in the rental car.”

She couldn’t believe he’d suggest something so stupid. Or was he playing on her sympathy? She couldn’t be sure. “You’d be a human Popsicle before midnight.”

“Does that mean you’ll do the humane thing and offer me dinner and a place to sleep?”

Hailey glanced at the table she’d set especially for Steven. She’d had big plans for this evening—plans that didn’t include a stranded detective.

Of course, she’d deal with her disappointment, as she’d long grown accustomed to doing, but did she want to offer lodging to a man she didn’t know? A man she shouldn’t find so darn attractive?

She wasn’t afraid of Nick Granger, although she wasn’t sure what made her think he was trustworthy. The fact that he was a cop? That part worked against him, although he probably didn’t know it. Still, she couldn’t very well send him out into a snowstorm with no place to go. “You can sleep on the sofa.”

“Thanks. I’ll get my bag out of the car.”

She looked at the worn leather jacket he wore. It wasn’t enough protection from the cold. “You get the roast out of the oven. I’ll get your bag.”

“You’re not going outside in the storm. It’s my stuff, I’ll get it.”

So his heroic side masked stupidity. She sighed heavily. “I’ve got a down-filled parka and boots. I doubt you’d make it back to the porch.”

“I’m tougher than you obviously think,” he said.

“And much bigger than me. I’d have a tough time dragging your dead weight back inside.”

He flashed her a bad-boy grin. “Then leave me on the porch.”

“Now that’s an appealing thought, but it would prey on my sense of decency to let a defenseless stranger from sunny California freeze to death.”

“That’s one way to be rid of me.”

She tossed him a naughty-girl smile, one she’d never perfected. “You’re right, but it would probably draw a few Minnesota detectives to my house, and I’m not too fond of police officers.”

Granger closed the distance between them and placed his hands on her shoulders. A sea-breezy scent, mingled with leather and musk, accosted her with his sexual presence. She found it tauntingly appealing yet unwelcome.

“You’re not going outside.” Those coffee-brown eyes settled on hers, stimulating her like an intravenous jolt of caffeine. His grip tightened—not in a threatening way but still rather convincingly. The detective was macho, it seemed. Too macho and bossy for her taste. Well, let him go outside and freeze his tush off.

In an effort to dismiss the arousing effect he had on her, she lifted her chin. “Have it your way. I’ll put dinner on the table, and if you survive the ice and snow, wash your hands.”

“I’ll be back.”

That’s what Hailey was afraid of. She stood her ground until the door closed behind him.

Nick made it to the car, but it was colder than he’d anticipated—monstrously cold. He tried to think about the balmy weather back in San Diego, but it didn’t help.

By the time he reached the porch, he was shivering so badly that he thought he’d never stop. When he opened the door and stepped inside the warmth of the small apartment-size house, he could see Hailey at work in the kitchen, and he expected her to say something to him.

Instead, she continued to wash tomatoes and leaves of romaine without looking up. She was a stubborn woman, so it seemed. The kind to serve a guy a good-size portion of hot tongue and cold shoulder when he didn’t let her have her way. He glanced at his snow-covered pants and shoes.

The powdery stuff fell to the floor, and he realized a puddle of water would form on Hailey’s hardwood entry. No need to set off Martha Stewart before dinner.

“Where…can…I…f-f-f-ind…a…t-t-t-owel?” he asked between chattering teeth.

“Oh, you made it back alive.” She smiled sweetly, and her eyes glistened with feigned sincerity.

He didn’t wait for an answer to his question, just joined her in the kitchen and snatched one of two dish towels from the oven door handle. He carried it back to the living room. By the time he had the floor nearly dry, she yelled, “Hey,” jarring him from his task.

“What are you doing with my good towel?” she asked.

“Wiping the floor.”

“Those are dish towels and they’re only for looks. You’re not supposed to use them.”

“They were hanging in plain sight.”

“That’s a decorating touch. Like the curtains. I keep the regular towels in the righthand drawer.”

If Nick weren’t so hungry, he’d tell her what she could do with her towels. And since he needed to convince her to come to San Diego, he’d have to get on her good side. If she had one.

She opened the oven and stooped to pull out the roast. The backside of her was pretty nice.

Down, boy, he told himself. Wrong kind of woman. Totally wrong.

“It’s ready,” she said.

Nick noticed a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon on the countertop. “Should I pour the wine?”

She shot him one of those lips-parted, taken-aback glances, like he’d suggested using Steven’s toothbrush. Then her expression softened. “Sure. Go ahead.”

He supposed drinking wine by candlelight made her feel uneasy, as if Nick was putting the moves on her, threatening poor Steven’s position.

But that wasn’t his intent. It just seemed a waste to let the bottle stay corked and lying on the countertop.

Besides, he thought, a grin tugging at one side of his lips, if he plied her with a bit of vino, she just might open up and tell him what she had against Harry. And Nick just might convince her to pack an overnight bag and fly back to California for the weekend.

Wham, bam, thank you ma’am—only without the sex.

Hailey, he noticed, prepared each plate before setting it at the table, a formality Nick wasn’t used to. His idea of dinner was Chinese take-out or a couple of tacos.

Of course, there were those special meals at the Logans’ house, but Harry’s wife, Kay, always set the food out family-style, which seemed more like the way people should eat, if they were inclined to sit down with a napkin and silverware.

Nick had to admit the table Hailey had set looked inviting. He couldn’t help wondering how a guy would go about getting seconds. Ask for them, maybe?

He poured the wine, then took the seat Hailey indicated was his. This was one woman who needed to loosen up, and he wondered if a bottle of Cabernet would be enough. “Do you want me to light the candles?”

She shot him another one of those you’ve-got-to-be-kidding looks, but strode to the kitchen and returned with a book of matches. Olsen’s Bar and Grill, Mankato. Not that it mattered, but noticing details had become second nature to Nick.

He lit each wick, then watched the tiny flames reflect upon the crystal goblets, making them glisten with a romantic ambiance. He felt a bit guilty taking Steven’s place, but not overly so. The conversation he meant to have with Hailey was better kept private. And intimate.

When she sat and primly scooted her chair forward, he lifted his glass in a toast. “To new friends and Mother Nature.”

“To odd acquaintances and unfortunate twists of fate.” She clinked her glass with his, then took a sip. Those baby blues studied him over the rim, and he couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking.

Hailey couldn’t keep her eyes off the man who sat across from her, the stranger who had taken Steven’s place at her table. She felt weird, as if she was cheating, which was crazy, since Steven had never suggested any kind of commitment.

Not yet, she corrected herself. The suggestion would have come tonight. She was sure of it.

She took another sip of wine and relished the warmth that slid down her throat, settling her nerves. And her conscience. As attractive and appealing as Nick Granger might be, he was definitely not husband material. She’d made up her mind to find a guy who was dependable. A real homebody who looked forward to weekends at the lake with his wife and kids.

A cop, no matter how good-looking, was the last person she would contemplate as a prospective life partner.

“Got a family?” He picked up a knife and began cutting his meat. “Brothers and sisters? Parents?”

The question surprised her, but she figured he was just trying to make polite dinner conversation. “No. Not anymore.”

There was so much she’d tried to forget, so much that was best left alone.

“What happened to them?” He speared a slice of pot roast and popped it into his mouth. Still, those rich brown eyes studied her, awaiting her response.

Hailey fingered the stem of her glass, felt the cool, hard spindle of crystal that broke so easily if one wasn’t careful when washing them. For a moment she considered telling him she didn’t want to talk about it. But what did it matter? The guy was virtually a stranger and would be out of her life, once the storm let up. “My mom passed away four years ago. I haven’t seen my dad in years.”

“When did you last see him? Your dad, I mean.”

She wasn’t sure why he was interested. Or why she bothered to even tell him. “Twenty years ago.”

Her thoughts drifted to that cold, lonely night, the night her mother had cried herself to sleep for the first time Hailey had been aware of. The evening Harry Logan chose one family over another.

It had been the night before her sixth birthday, and Harry had come by to see her mother. They spoke privately in the kitchen, which they often did. When the adults came into the living room, her mom closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, as though trying hard not to cry.

“What’s the matter?” Hailey had asked.

Harry walked to the sofa, but didn’t sit down. He reached for Hailey’s hand. “I can’t come to your birthday party, honey.”

“How come?”

Her mother’s eyes welled up with tears. “Harry needs to spend more time with his wife and children.”

Hailey hadn’t known her father had another family. “When will we see you again?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” Harry bent down and gave Hailey a kiss on the forehead, then reached into his wallet and handed her mother a wad of bills.

“Do you think this is going to make everything okay?” Mama asked.

“Come on, Marilyn,” Harry said. “I’m trying to do what’s right.”

“There’s nothing right about any of this, Harry.”

Mama cried after Harry left. Hailey cried, too. She hadn’t understood what had happened. But she understood it now. And there was nothing Harry Logan could say to make her forget the pain his leaving had caused.

She took another drink of wine, only this time it didn’t slide delicately down her throat. She choked, sputtered and coughed.

“You okay?” Nick looked at her with those coffee eyes, trying to be her best friend, she figured. Like two housewives who chatted about men and kids over a cup of the brew.

But Hailey wasn’t about to dig deeper and tell this man stuff she’d buried long ago, stuff she wanted to stay buried. “I’m fine. It just went down the wrong pipe.”

He flashed her a Brando grin, the kind a cop slid at a perp that had just backed himself into a corner. “Your old man must have really done a number on you and your mom.”

“It was a long time ago. I got over it.” She snagged a piece of meat with her fork and put it into her mouth, hoping that by chewing, she’d be unable to talk, and he’d take note of that.

“Twenty years ago you were just a kid.”

Instead of answering, she jabbed a carrot.

“He must have run off with your candy,” Nick said, a grin crinkling his eyes. “Or was it worse than that?”

“It was a lot worse.” Hailey studied her plate, unwilling to look into those freshly brewed eyes that tempted her to bare her soul.

“He ever apologize?”

“Yes. Sort of.”

“But you’re not ready to forgive and forget?”

Hailey had a hard time forgetting a lot of things—her mother’s broken spirit, for one. For all the mornings Hailey had to drag her mom out of bed, force her to eat a child-prepared breakfast, then encourage her to go to work so that the rent would be paid on time and groceries would be bought. “I’ve come to grips with the past. I don’t hate my dad, but neither do I want to have a relationship with him.”

“That’s too bad.”

“I’m doing fine on my own.” And she was. Hailey was the captain of her own ship, and her carefully laid plans guaranteed a life that was smooth sailing. Except for tonight.

As much as she wanted to avoid Nick’s eyes, her gaze caught his and locked. Something passed between them, although she wasn’t sure what it was. A kindred spirit kind of thing, it seemed. Like they had more in common than either would suspect. It momentarily warmed her heart, touched her soul. Whatever it was.

“What about you?” she asked. Lobbing the memories back in his court. “Do you have a family?”

“None to speak of, other than the cop who turned my life around. I was sixteen when I first met him. Back then I was a loudmouth kid who was angry at the world.”

She studied the rugged, good-looking detective and tried to imagine him as a troubled teen. It was tough to do, because he seemed grown-up. Together. “Congratulations on the U-turn. You’ve obviously made some changes in your life.”

“Thanks to a wise detective.” He tossed her a crooked grin. “I’ll never forget the first time I met him. It was Christmas Eve, and he caught me throwing rocks at a nativity display in Old Town.”

“Did he haul you in?”

“Nope. He took me for a cup of hot cocoa at an all-night diner. Said he’d just gotten off duty and was hungry. We talked for a while. The next thing I knew, I was having Christmas dinner with his family.” He flashed her a nostalgic smile, one that touched her heart with its sincerity. “I never knew what a real family was like, not until meeting them. And the fact is, I haven’t been the same since.”

“What about your own family? Didn’t they miss you on Christmas?”

“My mom had already died. Fell down the stairs, at least that’s what my stepdad told the cops. I guess they believed him, but I never did. Anyway, at that time I had no real place to call home, and no reason to celebrate the holidays.” He scanned the living room, those stimulating eyes taking in each nook and corner. “You gonna have a Christmas tree?”

“Yes.” She always did. In fact, she’d planned each and every holiday since Harry walked out of their lives. Her mom hadn’t been up to the extra effort. It really wasn’t so bad—taking over the household at an early age—because Hailey had come out on top. She was an organized dynamo at work and at home. Life ran smoother that way. No surprises.

Well, no surprises except the detective sitting across the table from her, but she’d grown adept at making the best of difficult situations.

They finished dinner with little conversation. Nick continued to refill their wineglasses until the bottle was empty. Hailey wasn’t sure how they’d handle the bedtime stuff, but she was no longer uncomfortable with the good-looking detective in the house.

She wasn’t entirely sure why. The wine maybe? The self-disclosures they’d shared?

Hailey didn’t open up to people, especially strangers. She’d learned to keep her thoughts and feelings locked away inside—where they belonged, hidden with her memories and dreams.

The lights flickered once, twice, then went out altogether, leaving Hailey and the detective in the dark—except for the soft candlelight and the steady flames in the fireplace.

“Do you have any more candles?”

“In the bedroom.”

He was heading down the hall before she realized she should have gotten them herself. She’d set the scene for romance in there, with aromatic candles glowing warmly throughout the room and the soft sound of love songs on the CD.

And in case that wasn’t enough to give Steven a hint, she’d taken great care to make the bed look inviting.

Under the white, goose-down comforter that begged to be turned down, freshly laundered sheets with a light sprinkle of lavender scent awaited first-time lovers.

Maybe Nick wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t know what she’d planned for the evening. But instinct told her a guy like Nick wouldn’t miss much. He’d have to be a dunce not to notice. And cops didn’t get to be detectives by not being observant.

Maybe he’d be gentlemanly enough not to mention anything about her bedroom—or her obvious intentions.

A long, slow whistle told her he’d found the candles.

And that he wouldn’t be a gentleman and keep quiet.

Hailey’s heart sank low in her chest, and heat blasted her cheeks. She quickly stood and began to clear the table, wanting to keep herself busy so that she didn’t have to look him in the eye when he returned from the bedroom, which now seemed like a den of iniquity, although she didn’t know why.

She was a grown woman, for goodness sake, and could certainly spend a romantic evening with anyone she wanted. Where had the guilt come from?

Nick carried two candles into the living room and set them on the coffee table. “I guess the storm and I really screwed up your plans for the evening.” Before returning to the bedroom for the other two candles, he chuckled. “I guess ‘screwed up’ was a bad choice of words.”

She grimaced at his inappropriate attempt to joke and continued to wipe the table that no longer bore a crumb or a dribble. What she actually wanted to do was sling the dishcloth at him.

“Sorry,” he said, as he reentered the room. “I guess that was out of line.”

“My plans are none of your concern.” She continued an overzealous attempt to scrub the table.

As he placed one of the candles on the mantel and the other on an end table, she blew out a ragged sigh. How was she going to manage spending an evening with this guy?

And what if they didn’t clear the roads for days?

If he were short and dowdy, instead of heart-zappingly gorgeous, if he were quiet and shy—like Steven—instead of so quick with the snappy comments and sexual innuendoes, then maybe time would pass without a hitch. But as it was—

“I’m sorry, Hailey.” His voice settled over her skin, like a blend of melted butter and warm maple syrup over a stack of hotcakes. And those freshly brewed coffee eyes offered a dose of compassion.

Coffee and hotcakes. Breakfast food. Another reminder this man would be spending the night.

She shrugged at the apology, hopefully brushing off thoughts of bedtime, rumpled sheets and morning.

He slowly made his way toward her and took the limp dishcloth from her hand, carelessly tossing it into the sink. She meant to reprimand him, and would have, had he not taken hold of her hand. His grip enveloped hers in a cocoon of warmth, and her skin tingled, her heart skipped a beat.

“I crashed into your life uninvited, and you served me one of the best dinners I’ve had in a long time. I’m sorry for teasing.”

“It’s okay.” Her anger seemed to dissipate in the romantic ambiance she’d unwittingly set into motion. Yet she wasn’t sure anything about this evening, this man or her growing attraction was even remotely okay.

He took the glass of wine she hadn’t finished and handed it to her, then snagged his own.

“Come with me.”