Hailey's Hero. Judy Duarte

Hailey Conway,” Harry had asked Nick from his hospital bed.

      It was as simple as that.

      Nick looked at his watch. The sooner he found the woman, the better. He’d promised Harry not to return to San Diego without her.

      It was a promise Nick intended to keep.

      Hailey pulled aside the lace curtain and looked out the living room window. The sky had darkened to a threatening gray, giving credibility to the weatherman who’d announced a winter storm warning and predicted the next snow would be fierce and unusually cold.

      The first flakes began to sprinkle the ground, laying claim to the dormant grass that hid below the frozen surface. The temperature had dropped considerably since she’d left Granville well over an hour ago.

      Had Steven made it out of Mankato before the worst of the blustery storm hit? Hailey hoped he didn’t get stranded along the way, because she had big plans for tonight. And condoms in the nightstand to prove it.

      She thought about the episode in town, about the good-looking detective who’d known what she had planned for the evening, but quickly shoved the awkward memory aside. She’d had her first and last bittersweet run-in with a cop when she was six years old. A man she’d looked up to, until he abandoned her mother.

      Nope. Harry Logan hadn’t deserved the hero worship a starry-eyed child had offered him. That’s why she’d refused to talk to him when he’d called her after twenty years. A personal relationship with the man who’d fathered her was the last thing in the world she wanted.

      Since moving to Minnesota, Hailey had set her sights on home, hearth and a man she could trust. And she’d fought too long and hard for her goals to become distracted now.

      The little house she’d purchased with her own earnings had grown warm and cozy, and the aroma of roast beef filled the air. She glanced over her shoulder at the table she’d set for two and smiled at the result of her careful preparation. China, crystal wineglasses, tapered candlesticks.

      She’d invited Steven to dinner again. The hardworking accountant lived alone and made no bones about how much he enjoyed a home-cooked meal.

      The way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, the old adage said. And just in case a hearty meal of meat and potatoes wasn’t enough to make Steven pop the question, or at least make a commitment, Hailey had an alternate route to his heart—a well-plotted but subtle seduction.

      It had been a long time since she’d been intimate with a man, too long, probably. In college she’d found herself attracted to the wrong kind of guy, the kind who promised sexual fulfillment but couldn’t offer anything long-term. When she realized her penchant for falling for the devil-may-care type, she’d made it a point to look for the right kind of mate, even if he didn’t sweep her off her feet.

      She’d worked hard to make her world predictable and stable. And she intended to choose a husband in the same way she’d selected the little house and the dependable car she drove—with a great deal of care and foresight.

      Steven was her soon-to-be fiancé, although he didn’t know it yet. There weren’t too many men like the brilliant accountant. Handsome. Gentle. Honest. Loyal. He was a good neighbor, as well as a friend. His smile might not make her heart soar or do flip-flops, but it did warm her soul. And she had no qualms about pursuing a physical relationship with him.

      A glass or two of wine would take the edge off her nervousness. Any more than that, and she just might lose her head. Visions of Lois Lane removing Clark Kent’s glasses and kissing him senseless crossed her mind, and she quickly pushed it aside. This evening was more than a romantic game.

      A knock sounded at the door, drawing her from her daydreams. It was probably little Tommy Kuehn looking for his cat again or Mrs. Billings, the elderly woman who lived next door, wanting to share a cup of coffee. Those were the kinds of visitors Hailey had grown to expect in the small community in which she’d chosen to settle down and make a home.

      She opened the door and bit back a gasp when she spotted the rugged detective on her stoop, the man who had apprehended the mugger and returned her purse. Her heart began to race.

      He seemed nearly as surprised to see her as she was to see him, but he smiled, masking his thoughts, so it seemed.

      What was he doing here? Had he taken her name from the police report? Was this official business? Would she need to go to court?

      “Yes?” She leaned against the door, blocking him from entering the house, from getting too close, and scanned his broad length. Her gaze focused on a snow-speckled head of unruly dark hair that curled at the collar, a strong, aquiline nose that had probably been broken a time or two, a small but jagged scar that marred the left brow.

      “Hailey Conway?”

      She merely nodded, not trusting her own voice.

      “I had a tough time finding your place.”

      She didn’t doubt it. Some of the graveled streets didn’t have signs. “I guess you’re not from around here.”

      “I’m not.”

      That didn’t surprise her. But she figured it might be a good idea to take a look at the badge he’d flashed the police officer earlier. “Do you have some ID?”

      He showed her his badge, and she looked it over this time.

      A detective. From San Diego.

      “You’re a long way from home.”

      “Hopefully I can get back to the airport soon. Weather’s a heck of a lot nicer where I come from.”

      His stance mimicked that of a private eye, the kind seen on television. The kind women tuned in to watch on a lonely Saturday night. She could imagine him as a star.

      The Nielson ratings would probably skyrocket for his show, particularly with the female fans. He had a fearsomely attractive way about him, as though he’d just stepped off the set of On the Waterfront and “could’a been a contender.”

      “I came to check on you,” he said. “See if you’re all right after that tumble you took.”

      He was going above and beyond the call of hero duty, and Hailey hoped he’d leave before Steven arrived. She had half a notion to close the door in his face, but the guy had gone out of his way to chase down her mugger. She owed him some courtesy, to say the least. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

      “Can I come in? It’s cold out here, and I’d like to talk to you.”

      No, she wanted to say. But she figured he’d come to ask her something about the purse snatching. She loosened her hold on the door and stepped aside.

      Nick entered the warmth of Hailey Conway’s house, and even though he wanted to cut to the chase and tell her why he was here, why he’d come all the way from California on a moment’s notice looking for her, he held his tongue.

      He hadn’t expected her to be easy to convince. After Harry had tracked her down, found her phone number and gathered the courage to call, she’d given him what Harry referred to as “a well-deserved” piece of her mind and then promptly hung up.

      Nick had expected Hailey to be older, especially since Harry and Kay had been married for forty years and had three sons, one of whom had been killed during Desert Storm.

      Her age—mid-twenties—had surprised him, since he’d assumed she’d been the child of a previous marriage. But she’d obviously been conceived during the Logans’ marriage. That surprised him, too, but it wasn’t Nick’s place to judge Harry about an affair.

      “I lost touch with her twenty years ago,” Harry had said. “And I’m not sure I can fix things now, but I’ve got to try. I’ve got a lot of explaining to do, and not much time to do it.”

      Nick slid the small brunette an assessing glance. As a detective, he’d learned to read people, their body language, their