Out Of The Shadows. Loree Lough

to your doctor. Just be careful, y’hear?”

      The accident hadn’t dulled his paternal senses one whit. “Don’t worry. Things are going to be different this time.”

      “Oh, really?” He inclined his head. “How so?”

      Truthfully, she didn’t know, exactly. “Well, I’m taking my time, for starters.”

      “Good girl.” He gave in to an enormous yawn. “Now give your old man a good-night kiss.”

      One hand on either side of his whiskered face, she pressed her lips to his forehead.

      “Don’t stay up too late, now. Tomorrow is Halloween and we have plans to make!”

      “How could I forget?” she teased. “There must be a dozen scarecrows and pumpkins on the front porch!”

      “Yeah, well, you ain’t seen nuttin’ yet. I made a tape today while you were at work.”

      “Did Molly help?”

      “I should say so. That woman has the most ear-piercing scream I ever heard. She oughta rent that voice out to the movie stars, for the scary parts of monster movies!”

      Laughing, Patrice turned out the lights. “G’night, Dad. I love you.”

      “Love you, too,” he was saying as she closed his door.

      “Hope you don’t mind,” Wade said when she entered the kitchen. “I rooted around in your cupboards until I found the coffee, got a nice head start on the brew.”

      With the back of his hand, he brushed chocolate chip cookie crumbs from his lips, then took a swallow of milk. “These are great,” he said, using a half-eaten cookie as a pointer. “So you’re a good cook, I see.”

      “I’m no gourmet,” she said, taking two mugs from the cabinet, “but I can whip up a respectable meat-and-potatoes meal when the situation calls for it.”

      He nodded approvingly. “Most professional women I’ve known seem scared of kitchens.”

      She wondered what it was about him that brought out this outrageously flirtatious side of her. Grinning, she said, “There’s not a gadget in this room that scares me, mister.”

      Suddenly, the friendly light in his eyes dimmed. “Yeah. You’re all kinds of brave, aren’t you.”

      Patrice had no idea what he was talking about, and said so.

      He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Far be it for me to tell you how to run your life. Seems to me, though, you’d live a lot longer if you’d stop blaming yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.”

      She could see by the caring expression on his face that he meant well, could hear the concern in his voice, too. Still, the advice irked her. “I’ve been on my own for a long time, Wade. I can take care of myself.”

      He took another bite of the cookie. “Well, you won’t starve to death, that’s for sure.”

      At least the mischievous grin was back. Patrice hadn’t realized how much she enjoyed looking at it until it disappeared. Finally, the pot hissed, signaling that the coffee was ready. “You take yours black, right?”

      He turned a kitchen chair around, straddled it and rested his forearms on its back. “Brave as a lion, memory like an elephant. Maybe you should’ve been a veterinarian.”

      She chose to ignore the remark, pouring milk into the creamer, instead. Wade took his time drinking the first cup of coffee, then helped himself to a second. For the next twenty minutes, he talked nonstop about guilt and blame and personal responsibility. Finally, lectured out, he stood and put his mug into the sink. “Promise me you’ll at least think about what I’ve said.”

      She did her best not to reply in a bored monotone. “I’ll pray on it.”

      His eyebrows rose high on his forehead. “Pray on it? What good do you think that’ll do? Religion, prayer, guilt—tools used by organized religion to make us feel beholden.”

      She’d pray, all right, but not about whose fault the accident was. She’d ask God to give her the strength, the wisdom, the words that would turn Wade’s heart toward Christ.

      He placed both hands on her shoulders. “I’m serious, Patrice. You’re a terrific woman. You should be living a full, happy life. How are you gonna do that if you’re emotionally exhausted from lugging around guilt that isn’t yours?”

      Narrowing her eyes, she regarded him with sudden suspicion. I’ll live a full, happy life—as long as I keep a safe distance from romance! she thought. If only she could back up the tape, erase this whole episode.

      With no warning, he gathered her to him in a warm, protective embrace. Automatically, her arms went around him.

      “What am I gonna do with you?” he sighed into her hair. “You’re as bighearted and pigheaded as they come,” he added, kissing the top of her head, “and while that’s a tempting combination, I have a practice to run. I can’t be—”

      She broke free of his hold and stood, hands forming fists at her sides. “So who asked you to be my protector? I told you, I can take—”

      “—care of yourself,” he finished for her. “I know, I know.” He opened the door, then clicked it shut again. “I never meant to insult you. I hope you know that. It’s just that, for some reason, you worry me.”

      Patrice couldn’t help admitting that she was touched by his concern. “There’s no need for that. I’m fine.”

      Wade grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him, his lips a fraction of an inch from hers. In the dim light of the foyer lamp, his eyes glittered like amber as his gaze flicked from her mouth to her throat to her eyes. She wondered what that thick, dark hair would feel like beneath her fingertips, and held her breath as she waited for his kiss.

      He inhaled sharply and stepped back. “Take care of yourself, you hear? Because…”

      Because what? she wondered. What did he care if her guilt was deserved or not? During the pause, Patrice thought maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe he didn’t intend to kiss her, after all.

      He cupped her chin with one trembling hand, brushed the hair from her face with the other. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, how much I want to—”

      “I had a lovely time.”

      Wade blinked several times before a low chuckle began bubbling deep in his chest. “That was the general idea,” he said. “And for your information, so did I.”

      “Well, that’s a relief,” she teased, “because I’d hate to add that to my guilt burden, too.”

      His soft laughter wafted through her hair as he hugged her. “You’re something else, you know that?” He sighed into her ear. “You’re in big trouble now, missy.”

      She looked up at him, into his sparkling hazel eyes, willing him to kiss her.

      “Something is happening here,” he whispered, lifting her chin, “and I don’t know whether to run from it or straight at it.”

      Patrice trembled as his muscular body pinned her to the wall. She inhaled crisp aftershave and sweet cookie breath. If he isn’t the guy for me, Lord, she prayed, speak now or forever hold Your peace.

      When his lips touched hers, Patrice gasped. The soul-stirring taste of him sent silent shock waves straight to her heart. Weak-kneed and light-headed, she felt his arms encircle her, providing surefooted and much-needed support. Slowly, his fingers combed through her hair, traced down her shoulders and back, gently caressed her cheeks. His lips skimmed, light as feathers, from her earlobes to her throat to her forehead, before sliding back to her slightly parted, waiting lips.

      Between kisses, he stammered and stuttered, and his words made no sense to her. “It’s been…never