A New Life. Dana Corbit
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need to follow his, especially after Claire called off the wedding. But this was proof that even his sister was ashamed of the career that had become so much a part of his identity. Why should she be any different from the rest of the family?
“What exactly did your friend tell you about me?” He had to unclench his jaw to continue. “No, let me guess. Decent guy, twenty-nine, not a jerk, without any facial disfigurement. Goes to church. Has a job so he won’t expect you to pay for the movie tickets. That’s all, right?”
A strange sound, like an ironic chuckle, erupted in her throat. “That’s about it.”
“I can’t believe that. Jenny told me you worked part-time at Kroger, you were taking college classes, and you wanted someday to own a gourmet cooking store in Milford.” About him, his sister had purposely mentioned nothing. “If she didn’t tell you what I did, then why didn’t you ask?”
Tricia shrugged, her silence answering for her. It didn’t matter to her how he earned his living when she never intended to see him more than once. One blind date. No second one. Obviously, something had gone awry in her plan if she’d agreed to go out with him again. He remembered her reluctance to answer when he’d asked. Now it didn’t matter, anyway. She’d changed her mind about him. All because he was a cop.
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t get it. Why did you agree to be set up when it’s obvious you didn’t want to go?”
She sighed again. “It was easier than saying no and having Charity try to convince me. And it was easier to let someone do something for me than to let them feel sorry for me.”
Something struck inside him that he might have called a connection if he weren’t so determined to stay angry with the whole situation. “That’s why I agreed, too, but I made Jenny wheedle first.”
“And then I stood you up.”
The sides of his mouth pulled up against his will. “Yep, that’s the way I remember it.” He paused, searching for a safe topic. Since she’d finally started talking, he didn’t want to risk making her clam up again. “Hey, I think it’s time for that hockey quiz.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her turn slightly toward him, so he took it as a go-ahead. “What is the definition of a forecheck?”
“Hey, that one wasn’t on the study guide. I protest.”
“Okay, okay. A player forechecks when he blocks the progress of an opponent in his own defensive zone. So, what’s a face-off?”
“I know that one. That’s when two players from opposite teams stand in one of those circles and fight to get control of the puck.” She settled back into her seat, satisfied with herself.
Brett tried to continue the hockey quiz, but another question ate at him until he finally couldn’t resist asking it. “Tell me, how many blind dates have you been on…lately?” When she tightened, he was glad he hadn’t said “since your husband died.”
At first she didn’t answer, but finally she gave an exaggerated shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe fourteen.”
“Fourteen? Really?”
“It’s strange. I’ve been out with more people in the last year than I had in my whole life…before.”
He wasn’t the only one dancing around the subject of her late husband. “In the last year? That’s more than one a month. I wouldn’t have thought there’d be that many single guys around.”
She chuckled at that. “Not just single guys, single Christian guys. Remember?” For a second, she appeared relaxed, with her shoulders curving forward. “Almost every one of my friends knew someone I just had to meet. Some don’t realize that just because a guy has a strong faith doesn’t mean he’ll be the best date—for me, anyway.”
“Kissed a lot of frogs, have you?”
She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant.”
At her reaction, melancholy settled over Brett, though he’d only intended to lighten the mood with his joke. She probably hadn’t been kissed at all since becoming a widow, and he didn’t like the thought of this beautiful woman having no haven in someone’s arms. A voice inside suggested his arms might be a perfect fit, but he tried to ignore that nonsense. He was no more ready to leap into a relationship again than she appeared to be.
They drove in silence a few minutes as Interstate 696 merged into I-96, and they neared the Milford Road exit. Finally, Brett asked the question that had been twirling through his mind.
“I know you’ve had fourteen first dates recently, but how many second dates have you had?” Her sudden intake of breath showed she’d realized what he was really asking. Would she or wouldn’t she still go out again with him?
“I’m so sorry. If only I’d known—”
“What do you have to be sorry about?” He interrupted her to delay the kiss-off that was building. “You didn’t answer the question. How many?”
Her word came out like a whisper. “None.”
“But you said you would—”
This time she interrupted him, as if to prevent him from reminding her what she’d said. “I won’t be able to go out with you again.”
Frustration melded with resentment over past and present slights until Brett couldn’t take it anymore. “What’s the big deal about me being a cop? You’d think I was a convicted felon or something.”
“Your job involves risk.”
He acknowledged her comment with a shrug. That was a given. A trooper took a certain amount of risk every time he climbed into his patrol car, every time he stepped out of it to ticket a driver for a traffic violation. He accepted it as part of the job but didn’t waste energy worrying about it.
“And your point is?”
She scooted closer to the passenger door. “Did anyone tell you about how Rusty died?”
His head jerked and his stomach tightened at her question. They’d both been tiptoeing around the subject all night, and she’d just waded in waist deep. Now that she’d named him, the dead man seemed to be here, squeezed in the SUV between their two bucket seats. “A construction accident, right?”
“Yeah. He was walking the walls on the project, something that’s dangerous even in the best conditions. But that morning it was damp from the last night’s storm. It was windy. Rusty still thought he needed to be up there walking atop a two-story wall that was only three-and-a-half inches wide. He lost his balance. He hit a pile of bricks at the bottom.”
By the time she reached the end of the story, he wished he hadn’t encouraged her to tell it. She stared blankly into the darkness, reliving a moment no wife should have to endure. His hands ached so much to gather her into his arms that he gripped the wheel so he wouldn’t succumb to the need and drive them right off the road.
The worst part was her husband’s accident sounded preventable. The man had no business being where he was—Tricia had nearly said so herself. What kind of idiot would have taken that chance when he had a family to think about? When he had someone like Tricia to come home to?
“I’m sorry” was the only decent thing he could think to say, the only response that didn’t include referring to her beloved husband as an irresponsible imbecile.
Tricia nodded at the windshield but didn’t look at him. “Rusty was always taking risks.”
She said no more. She didn’t have to. In her roundabout way, Tricia had finally told him what he needed to know. His career mattered—a lot—because of the risks he accepted as part of the job. She’d buried her husband because of the risks he took. Now she didn’t want any part of someone else who took them.
Brett tried to focus on the road as traffic slowed to twenty-five