Stranger in Town. Brenda Novak

been one of the more determined girls-in-pursuit he’d known at Dundee High. Even the groupies who’d followed him around once he started playing in the NFL hadn’t had her perseverance. She’d asked him to the prom, after he already had a date, called him incessantly, sent him love letters, drove past his house three or four times a night. Once she even decorated his truck with hundreds of lipstick kisses interspersed with chocolate kisses. It had taken him hours to clean it off. “I remember…How is she?” he added when he realized his response had been a little too deadpan to be polite.

      If Hannah noticed, she didn’t let on. “She’s living in Boise, married with five kids.”

      “I’m happy for her,” he said. But he was even happier for himself now that he knew there was little chance of running into her, or once again becoming the object of her adoration. He’d expected his wheelchair to deter some of the women who’d chased him so brazenly, but the numbers hadn’t dropped significantly until he’d bought his cabin and disappeared from public view. He wasn’t sure what drew them. Maybe it was sympathy, the compulsion to feel needed, a craving for attention. Or maybe they simply saw dollar signs.

      Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how he looked at it—he’d known since the accident that he wasn’t interested in a romantic relationship. He especially didn’t want to keep company with a woman who sought him out because of pity or greed.

      “She’s doing well,” Hannah said.

      There was an awkward lull in the conversation, but instead of saying goodbye, Gabe hesitated, thinking of what Mike had told him earlier. He wanted to ask Hannah if Russ had won any spousal maintenance. The idea of an able-bodied man like Russ living off Hannah really bothered him. But what had happened between her and Russ was none of his business.

      “Well, have a nice weekend,” he said.

      “Gabe?”

      Lazarus yawned as Gabe brought the phone back to his ear. “Yeah?”

      “I was wondering…”

      Gabe’s muscles nearly cramped while he waited. What was she going to ask? Had Mike spoken to her after all? From the temerity in her voice, it certainly sounded that way. “What?”

      “Is there any chance you’d—”

      “No.”

      Lazarus barked, probably in response to the tension he sensed in Gabe. Then there was a long silence during which Gabe wondered how to smooth over the rejection that had just shot out of his mouth.

      “But you don’t even know what I was going to ask,” she said at last. “I mean, you make so much furniture. One chair can’t be all that important to you. Or, if it is, maybe you could make me one like it.”

      That took him aback. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

      “The chair on your front porch. I was hoping you’d sell it to me.”

      Gabe blinked in surprise—and felt more than a little foolish. “You want my chair?”

      “If I can afford it,” she said.

      Smiling at Lazarus, as if his dog could share his embarrassment, he shook his head. He had Mike to blame for his false assumption. Maybe his vanity had something to do with it, too, but it wouldn’t have been the first time a woman had asked him out. “You can have it,” he said.

      “No…I wouldn’t feel good about that. I’d rather…can you name a price?”

      Gabe had no idea what to charge her. He’d never sold any of his furniture before. And he didn’t need the money. He thought giving her the chair was a great idea. It could stand as a token of his goodwill, so she could go on with her life without carrying any baggage from the accident. Then, whatever happened—whether he walked or he didn’t—it would be his problem exclusively.

      “It’s no big deal,” he said. “Really. I’ll drop it by tomorrow after practice.”

      “Now I’m embarrassed I even asked.”

      “Why?” He began scratching Lazarus again.

      “Because I can’t take it unless you let me give you something in return. What if we worked out a trade?”

      His hand stilled. The suggestion piqued his interest, if only to see what she might offer him. “What kind of trade?”

      “I don’t know…Do I have anything you want?”

      Gabe waved Lazarus away and straightened in his chair. Was he the only one whose mind was suddenly painting erotic pictures? “Give me some suggestions,” he said. Since the accident, he’d tried very hard to cram his sex drive and anything related to male/female intimacy into a single compartment in his brain, a compartment he no longer used. Yet that innocent question from Hannah had his heart pounding as he imagined her naked beneath him, his lips gliding down her flat stomach….

      She seemed to realize that what she’d just said could be misinterpreted and sounded embarrassed when she scrambled to clarify. “I mean, I’m a pretty good photographer. I could do some portraits of you.”

      “Of me?”

      “Why not? You could use them as Christmas gifts for your folks, or put them inside Christmas cards.”

      Now that he had allowed the sexy images in his mind to take shape, he was having difficulty brushing them aside. Certainly, getting his picture taken sounded like a poor substitute for what he’d been thinking. He didn’t send out Christmas cards, and he wasn’t sure he’d be spending the holidays with this folks this year. Even if he changed his mind, a portrait was about the last thing he wanted to give them. “No thanks.”

      “I could photograph Lazarus.”

      “Uh…” He arched a questioning eyebrow at his dog, who’d returned to his favorite corner and was yawning again, then chuckled softly. “I love Lazarus, but I’m not really the type to hang up a big photograph of my dog.”

      She didn’t try to talk him into it. She immediately moved on to something else, which strengthened his suspicion that she was working hard to compensate for the “Do I have anything you want?” blunder. “Then maybe I can cook for you. You’ll be busy now that you’re coaching, right? If you like, you could swing by and pick up your dinner after practice each day, then heat it up when you’re ready to eat.”

      Gabe didn’t want to be distracted from the life he’d plotted out for himself—especially by the type of images he’d just entertained. But he knew Hannah’s offer wasn’t really about a chair. Despite the years that had passed, she was still looking for some way to feel better about her part in the accident. “I guess we could try it,” he said. “I could give Kenny a ride at the same time if you like.”

      Hannah quickly agreed and seemed eager to discuss the details. But Gabe knew almost instantly that he’d made a mistake. He might have given way to Mike’s pressure to take over the Spartans, but that didn’t mean he had to let other people intrude in his life.

      “Gabe?” she said when the conversation began to wind down.

      “What?”

      “What did you think I was asking for earlier?”

      “When?” He already knew the answer—when he’d given her a resounding “no” before she could even finish the question—but he hoped to buy himself some time.

      “When I was asking about the chair.”

      No good answer presented itself. “Oh, something else,” he said vaguely, then added a quick, “I gotta go.” He hung up before she could press him, but the memory of her voice lingered in his mind as Lazarus followed him into the house. He’d let her cook for a week or so, he decided, as he changed into his T-shirt and shorts so he could work out. Then he’d thank her, insist it was enough and get back to growing his wheatgrass.