Hailey's Hero. Judy Duarte
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recognizing the petite, dark-haired beauty with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen had knocked him for a loop.
Apparently, she was angry enough at Harry to hang up the phone, rather than try to establish a relationship with the father she hadn’t seen in years. Nick supposed there was more to the story than met the eye. But that didn’t negate the promise he’d made to his friend and mentor.
Maybe Nick needed to play good cop for a while, before dropping Harry’s name.
Still, he couldn’t stifle his curiosity, and studied the pretty young woman who bore little resemblance to Harry.
She’d changed her clothes. Instead of winter wear, she had on a simple black dress. Not too revealing, but a hell of a nice fit.
“Have a seat,” she said, indicating an overstuffed, floral-print sofa.
He sank into the cushions, his knees hitting a glass coffee table where a copy of Better Homes and Gardens rested next to an issue of Modern Brides. He glanced at her left hand, noting the absence of a ring, diamond or otherwise.
“Getting married?” he asked.
“No.” A blush on her cheeks indicated embarrassment. She quickly broke eye contact, suggesting a lie or a reluctance to let him in on her private affairs. Still, the knowledge of those condoms lay before them in the awkward silence.
The aroma of pot roast filled the room. A small table in the dining room was set for two, along with wineglasses and new, red tapered candles. Nick slid her a slow smile. “No wedding bells, huh? Maybe the groom just doesn’t know it yet.”
She quickly stood, crossed her arms and flashed him a look of annoyance. The flush on her cheeks deepened, suggesting his comment had struck a chord of some kind. Then she scooped the magazines from the tabletop and placed them in a wicker basket that held other publications. “Did you have something to discuss with me?”
At this rate, Nick had better work on his manners and his ability to reason with her. Maybe he ought to turn on the charm, make nice, then hit her with his plan to take her to California. He’d leave Harry out of the discussion for the time being. “It looked as though you landed on the sidewalk kind of hard. Head injuries can be deceptive.”
She crossed her arms under her breasts, drawing his attention to the way they would fill a man’s hands.
Hell. Where had that misguided thought come from?
“My head is fine. And I bruised my…hip. Nothing’s broken.” The phone rang, interrupting the rest of her words. “Excuse me.”
She turned and walked toward the kitchen. The hem of her black midlength dress brushed against shapely calves. She was a striking young woman, Nick realized. And stubborn. He wondered whether he could break down her defenses. Touch some tender spot in her heart and make her agree to see Harry.
Not if he didn’t stop thinking about her as an attractive woman. A man didn’t hit on his friend’s daughter.
Nick scanned the small living room of the house she’d made into a home: floral-printed cotton, coordinating plaid pillows with ruffles, light oak furniture. Sheesh, Hailey was a nester—just the kind of woman Nick tried to avoid.
If there was one thing he didn’t need, it was a woman who expected a guy to be home by five and spend weekends doing fix-it projects. Nick wasn’t Ward Cleaver or Tim the Tool Man, nor did he want to be.
On the fireplace mantel, delicate picture frames—some silver, some crystal—displayed photographs. The feminine touch revealed a romantic side of the young woman, an emotional side he hoped to tap into.
He glanced to the kitchen, where she stood talking on the telephone. He figured she was going to ask him to leave. Well, what did he expect? A dinner invitation? His stomach grumbled like a small kid in the back seat clamoring for attention.
After talking to Harry at the hospital late last night, he’d gone home, packed his bags and headed for Lindbergh Field, hoping to catch an early-morning flight. He probably should have picked up a burger and fries along the way, but he’d been intent upon finding Hailey before checking into a hotel or grabbing a bite to eat. That might have been a mistake, he realized, as his stomach rumbled again. He should have eaten more at the airport than a sweet roll and black coffee, but he had been determined to reach Walden before the storm hit.
While Hailey talked quietly in the kitchen, Nick stood and made his way to the fireplace. He lifted a silver, heart-framed photograph from the mantel. A picture of a dark-haired girl in pigtails, missing a front tooth and straddling a two-wheeled bike, smiled at him, begging him to get to know the daughter Harry had let down.
He glanced at Hailey, who stood in a tidy, well-stocked kitchen. She had those cupboard doors that were mostly glass, the kind you could see right through. Every plate, cup and glass had been neatly stacked. Each can of vegetables lined carefully in a row. He thought of his own kitchen back home.
Thank goodness no one could see how he’d shoved his junk in each cupboard. And the drawers seemed to collect stuff he wasn’t ready to throw away yet. It was a man’s place, he noted. Just the way a guy liked it.
“Well, sure,” Hailey told the person on the other line. “I understand. I’m disappointed, but I’ll save you some leftovers.”
The guy who was going to have a candlelit dinner of roast beef? Too bad. Fast food, Nick’s usual dinner fare, wouldn’t taste half as good as this meal smelled. He actually felt sorry for the guy. Sort of.
He looked at Hailey again, watched as she balanced the phone on one shoulder and checked the pot in the oven. She looked at home in a kitchen. Competent and capable. A real homebody, the kind Nick steered clear of ever since that time he’d let Carla move into his apartment—a big mistake on his part.
Carla had questioned his every move and never understood why he couldn’t leave a stakeout to be home by the time dinner was ready. Nope, a cop needed a different kind of woman. One that didn’t expect promises a guy couldn’t keep.
“When do they expect the storm to let up?” Hailey asked the caller.
So Hailey’s dream date wasn’t going to make it at all.
She twirled her finger around the phone cord, then glanced Nick’s way. When their eyes met, something unspoken passed between them. An awareness, he supposed, of each other. The attraction he’d felt earlier and shoved aside muscled its way back—front and center. It caught him off guard. Her, too, he guessed, because she quickly turned her back to him.
“Take care, Steven. Bye.” The telephone clicked against the wall mount as she hung up the receiver, and several moments of silence followed.
“Does Steven have a last name?” Nick didn’t know why he asked.
“Not one that matters,” she said. “If you have something to talk about, you’d better get it said. The storm has hit hard just south of here, and at least one road is closed.”
He needed more time with her, time to figure out a good way to broach the subject and explain why he was here. And he needed time to understand why she wouldn’t speak to Harry and how Nick could persuade her to change her mind.
When he didn’t respond, she shook her head, then walked to the window and gazed out. She sighed heavily. “It’s snowing. You’d better get out of here before it’s too late to get back to your hotel. Where are you staying?”
“I haven’t gotten a room yet. I wanted to check on you first.”
“Didn’t you hear the storm warning?”
“I hadn’t planned on flying to Minnesota until late last night. I’ve got a change of clothes in a duffel bag in the car, along with a shaving kit. I’m not really prepared for a long, winter stay.” Nick joined her at the window. He didn’t get much chance to see snow, other than a couple of trips to the mountains near Julian.
“Well, you’re in one heck of a fix, then.