Mendoza's Return. Susan Crosby

that read simply Red Rock Occupational Therapy Group, Melina Lawrence and Quanah Ruiz, AOTA-Certified Therapists, Specializing in Stroke Rehabilitation and Autism Spectrum Disorders.

      The blinds were shut, but Rafe had glanced inside once before and knew it had a small lobby where Angie worked as administrative assistant, and a doorway leading to whatever other office space was in the back.

      By asking around a little, he learned that Melina lived around the corner in a twelve-unit townhouse complex, her two-bedroom end unit purchased less than a year ago. What he didn’t know was her phone number.

      He’d been headed to her place when he’d left his house. He just hadn’t admitted it to himself.

      Rafe used his cell phone to call Information, but she wasn’t listed. He tucked his phone back in his pocket then kept walking until he was in front of her building. Lights were still on downstairs, but he really couldn’t just drop in on her.

      Or could he?

      It was nine-thirty. Was that too late? He hesitated a little longer, then decided to go home. He had questions for her and had planned to catch her at her office the next day before the meeting with the Andersons. It was better to just stick with the plan.

      Rafe took about ten steps, stopped, then turned around and made his way into the courtyard of her complex, ignoring the chastising voice in his head. Steam rose from a narrow, rectangular, lighted pool. Someone was swimming laps, but it couldn’t be Melina, because she had a paralyzing fear of the water after a childhood experience.

      He moved around the courtyard as unobtrusively as possible, spotted the door to her unit then hesitated again. He had no idea how she would react to his just dropping in, yet for a reason he couldn’t articulate, he wanted to know.

      “Rafe?”

      He spun around. Melina was resting her arms on the pool’s edge, staring at him.

      “What are you doing here?” she asked.

      “You’re swimming,” he said in amazement, moving closer. “You never even liked bathtubs.”

      “Hand me my towel, would you?” she asked, pointing to one on a chair nearby. She swam to the steps and climbed out, her bright blue one-piece suit clinging like a second skin, her breasts firm, her nipples hard, her wet skin shiny.

      He’d almost forgotten how perfectly built she was, not lithe and athletic but curvy and lush. They hadn’t slept together all that many times, at least not overnight, but he’d loved being able to wrap himself around her in bed and touch her whenever he wanted. The few times they’d been able to afford a motel room, it’d seemed as if they’d made love more times than there were hours in the night. Otherwise, their dorm rooms had allowed for only quick get-togethers, pleasurable but not as satisfying.

      Now, standing in front of her, Rafe opened her towel and draped it around her. He was more than a little tempted to pull her against him and rub her through the towel to dry her off.

      “What are you doing here?” she asked again, not moving away but wariness settling in her eyes.

      “I was out for a walk.”

      Still she didn’t try to put space between them, as if frozen in place. He took it as a sign, inching closer, memories of her consuming him. His gaze dropped to her parted lips, her breath coming softly, quickly. He bent toward her….

      Melina spun away from him. “Let’s go inside,” she said, pulling her towel tightly around her, then pressing the button for the electric pool cover.

      Her body ached for him even as she called herself every kind of idiot. She’d almost kissed him, almost forgotten why they weren’t together. If she hadn’t come to her senses— She didn’t even want to think about it.

      Melina was trembling as she walked to her house, cold from the night air, but she’d also pushed herself hard in the pool. Seeing Rafe this morning had set her on edge all day. Caught between the past and present, she’d barely been able to focus on anything. Even Big John had called her on it—and if a sixty-two-year-old cantankerous stroke recovery patient noticed, it was a sure thing that everyone else she’d worked with today would’ve seen a different Melina.

      “I’ll be right back,” she said to Rafe once they were inside her living room, then she hurried up the stairs to her bedroom, stripped off her suit and grabbed her jeans and a sweatshirt.

      In a hurry, she knocked her robe off the hook in the closet. Her gaze landed on the framed letter that had hung under her robe. The letter he’d sent all those years ago. She’d finally stopped noticing it—until just this moment. Now it seemed to have its own spotlight.

      She didn’t have to read it to know what it said, as it was burned in her memory. She’d framed and hung it to remind her of what could happen if she let someone hold her heart, as he had done.

      She closed her eyes for a few seconds. He hadn’t even called her. After all those years, all that love, and he hadn’t even felt that he owed her a phone call ending their relationship.

      It all came back to her in one stab-in-the-heart moment—all the pain, all the loneliness, all the anger. And now she had to go downstairs and face him as if nothing was wrong.

      It’s been ten years, she reminded herself. You’re not the same person. He isn’t, either. Let it go. Just let it go.

      She towel-dried her hair, stared in the mirror for a few seconds, then padded downstairs. He was thumbing through the yearbook she’d left on the coffee table.

      “It seems so long ago.” Rafe straightened, no discernible emotion on his face, even though she remembered that the book had been open to the homecoming photos, when they were crowned king and queen.

      “A lot of life has happened since then, that’s for sure,” she said casually. “Would you like something to drink?”

      “I’m okay, thanks.”

      She went into the kitchen, separated from the living room by an open bar counter. She poured herself a glass of water, more to keep distance between them than because of any real thirst.

      “When’d you learn to swim?” he asked, leaning against the countertop.

      “A couple of years ago. I’d watched so many people conquer fears in order to recover from debilitating diseases or injuries that I decided it was hypocritical of me not to defeat my own.” Of course, she’d also advised a lot of her patients to forgive those people responsible for causing them pain and yet she had never forgiven Rafe—which was also hypocritical. The framed letter was proof of that. “It took me over a year of lessons twice a week.”

      “Good for you. So, the nightmares stopped, too?”

      “For the most part. I can still see my cousin drowning, but now I see myself diving in and saving her instead of standing by helplessly.”

      “You were five years old when it happened, Melina.”

      “I know.” And the impact of the experience had changed her life for years. She’d never spent a hot summer day in the river as a teenager. Never even splashed in a kiddie pool as a child.

      Melina set down her water glass. “Why are you here?”

      He didn’t answer right away, as if gauging her mood. She knew how to keep her expression blank, even though she wanted him to leave. She didn’t want to picture him in her house—or to give in to temptation again. Because no matter how much pain still lingered, she couldn’t escape the attraction that was still there, powerful and tempting. She’d wanted to kiss him by the pool. Turning away had been close to impossible.

      “I had a few questions before we meet with the Andersons tomorrow,” he said. “I would’ve called but I didn’t have your number.”

      “Yet you know where I live.”

      “Some information is easier to obtain than others. I’m guessing you don’t