Hailey's Hero. Judy Duarte

the floodgates threatened at the weirdest times.

      “Your mom looked a lot like you. Pretty. Same expressive eyes. You take after her.” He didn’t comment about her father, which was all right with her.

      “They had it taken in one of those little booths at the five-and-dime. They’re both smiling like crazy kids. Happy, you know. It was one of my mom’s most cherished possessions.”

      “But not something you cherished,” he said. “You don’t keep it on the mantel with the other pictures.”

      He was right. She didn’t place any sentimental value on the photograph or any of the other stuff her mom had saved. She wasn’t sure why she kept any of it, since the box of memories was a solid reminder of her mother’s descent into depression.

      Hailey supposed it was a cop’s job to notice the little things and make assessments. “I stashed the picture in a shoebox full of my mother’s personal belongings that I keep under the bed.”

      “What else do you have in that box?”

      A pretty pony my father gave me, after taking me to the park to ride the carousel. But she didn’t see any point in mentioning it to Nick. “Just a few letters my dad sent my mom, some of which contained cash—never a check. I think she would have kept the money as a memento, but we had a hard time making ends meet.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      Hailey figured he meant it, that he’d, at least on some level, had plenty of disappointments in his own life. Maybe that’s why she found it so easy to confide in him. “I’d always considered my dad a hero because he was a policeman. And I looked forward to every visit.”

      Nick nodded as though he understood, but she wasn’t sure he really did.

      “I could never understand why he didn’t live with us, like other fathers did, but I figured it was because he was busy. I didn’t know he had another family.” Hailey sighed softly, again recalling the painful night she’d seen her father for the last time.

      He’d promised to come to her birthday, and she’d told all of her friends they could meet him. But something had come up, he’d told her, and he couldn’t come to her party the next day. Then he’d handed her a twenty-dollar bill, as though the money would appease her. It hadn’t.

      She looked at Nick, caught him watching her, waiting for her to speak. “The night before I turned six, he and my mother had an argument in the kitchen. I’m still not entirely sure what it was about, but my mother spent the night crying. The next morning she got a wild hair, and we moved to Minnesota.”

      “Just like that?” Nick asked.

      She wasn’t sure what he meant.

      “Did your mother leave a forwarding address? Any way for your dad to find you?”

      “I don’t know. Maybe not.” Hailey bit her lip until it hurt. She supposed that might be one reason Harry had neglected to call until just two weeks ago. But he was a cop, a detective, and he’d found her in Walden, hadn’t he?

      “Maybe it was your mom’s fault he wasn’t there for you.”

      “In part, maybe.” She blew out a sigh. “But my mom still suffered from his rejection. She had good days and bad ones. Sometimes, during low points, she used to drink—Scotch and too much of it. One day, when I was about ten, I came home from school and found her passed out on the bed. She was clutching that photo in her hand.”

      “People get sentimental when they drink to forget.”

      “Yeah, I suppose they do. But mom had an empty bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand.” The tears Hailey had fought began to well in her eyes. “I called 911.”

      “Tough job for a kid.”

      “Yes. But at least help arrived in time.” She paused. “That day.”

      “That day?”

      “Four years ago, I came home too late. I called the paramedics, and they called for the coroner.” A sob escaped from someplace where it had lain dormant for years, and the man across from her reached out his arms.

      Hailey had never had someone to hold her, to offer comfort. And as much as she wanted to maintain an emotional distance, she fell easily into his embrace.

      Nick held Hailey while she cried, stroking her back. Her hair, clean and silky, sluiced through his fingers. The scent of lilac encompassed him, wrapping him in a swirl of softness.

      He’d never held someone so gentle, so vulnerable in his life. And he wasn’t sure what he should say. Something sappy, probably. But he couldn’t bring himself to utter a word. His hands just moved up and down her back, as though they knew instinctively what to do, how to comfort. The rest of him didn’t have a clue.

      Her sweet touch stirred his blood, aroused an erection he tried to ignore. Sexual feelings, he supposed, were the only ones he was adept at handling.

      Something mushy in his heart went out to Hailey—both the child who’d had to deal with a suicidal mother and the young woman who’d blamed her dad for the misery in her life.

      Harry had told Nick there was a lot more to the story than met the eye. And Nick had no trouble believing him. Harry wasn’t the kind of guy to father a child and not acknowledge her. He was too decent. Too moral and upstanding.

      Nick considered telling Hailey who had sent him and why, but thought better of it. Too much had been said tonight. He’d wait and discuss it over coffee in the morning.

      When Hailey’s tears had been spent, she pulled away and swiped at her eyes with the back of a hand—first one, then the other.

      “I’m sorry,” she said, sniffling again and offering him a weak smile. “I don’t usually get weepy.”

      He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing against the softness of her skin. “It’s been a tough evening.”

      “Yeah,” she said, again wiping her eyes. “And it’s time to call it a night. I’ll get you some bedding for the sofa.”

      When she stood, her eyes remained locked on his. And as she moved, her shin rammed the glass edge of the coffee table. “Ouch.”

      “Are you okay?” Nick reached for her hand, pulling her gently around. He stooped to look at her leg, taking the shapely calf in his hand.

      “I’m fine,” she said. “Really.”

      But something in her eyes told him she wasn’t fine. And neither was he. But it had little to do with pain from contact with the table, and everything to do with the heat of his touch.

      When he stood, facing her again, she swallowed hard, and her lips parted.

      Damn. He had an incredible urge to kiss her. Just once.

      She must have had the very same fantasy, because she placed a hand on his shoulder, then moved her fingertips toward his neck, his jaw, his cheek.

      Ah, Hailey. Nick was lost in her touch, in her springtime scent.

      He pulled her close and lowered his mouth to hers. She moaned in anticipation, or maybe surrender. He wasn’t sure, but when she opened her mouth, allowing his tongue to seek hers, the rebel in him took over.

      The kiss was deep and hot. Demanding. And Nick couldn’t seem to get enough of the woman in his arms. His hands roamed her back, her hips, and he pulled her flush against him. Against a telltale erection. If he’d frightened her, she gave him no clue, because she only leaned in closer.

      He didn’t know where this was heading. The decent side of him said to back off, but the rebel side wasn’t listening.

      When Hailey placed her hands against his chest and broke the kiss, he wasn’t sure whether he felt relief or frustration. Probably a combination of both.

      “I’m sorry about that,” she said.