Out Of The Shadows. Loree Lough

you had a hot date planned for tonight.”

      “Matter of fact, I do have a hot date—with the television set.”

      “Well,” Wade said, “are you ready, Patrice?”

      She grabbed her jacket from the hall tree, hung it over her forearm. “I’ll have my cell phone on,” she said, patting her purse, “in case—”

      “I won’t need you. There’s a boxing match on cable.” He winked. “That oughta keep me out of trouble for a couple of hours.”

      She kissed his other cheek. “All right, but if you get hungry—”

      “Are you kidding? You fed me enough supper to last till tomorrow night!” He laughed. “Now get a move on, or I’ll miss the first round.”

      “We won’t be long,” Wade told Gus.

      “Take your time…please.” And snickering over his shoulder, he rolled into the family room.

      “He’s quite a guy,” Wade said as she locked up.

      She nodded. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

      “Nah. I was a volunteer firefighter during my senior year in high school.” He opened the car door for her. “Got to know the area pretty well.”

      She slid onto the passenger seat. “So doing good deeds and saving lives has always been in your blood?”

      He slammed the door, hard. Routine? she wondered. Or in response to what she’d asked? Something told her it was the latter. But why would the question bother him?

      “How long has your dad been in the wheelchair?” he asked, revving the motor.

      She sighed. It was his turn, it seemed, to ask hard-to-answer questions. “Long time.”

      “Accident?”

      Nodding, she whispered, “Yes.”

      “Automobile? Or work related?”

      Patrice forced a sigh. “You’re off duty, Doc, so just relax, okay?”

      He shot a glance her way, and she could see by the puzzlement in his eyes that he didn’t understand her reluctance to talk about her father’s condition. She didn’t mind talking about that, exactly…it was how he got into the chair in the first place that she minded talking about.

      “So do you live near the hospital?”

      He shook his head. “I live a few minutes from here. Plumtree Apartments.”

      “How long?”

      “Little over a year.”

      “Wow. Amazing.”

      “That I live nearby?”

      “Well, that, and the fact that we haven’t run into one another in the grocery story, or at the pharmacy.”

      “So how’d it happen?”

      “That we haven’t run into one another?” Maybe playing dumb would get him off track.

      “Okay, I can take a hint.” He looked at her again. “Not your favorite subject, I take it.”

      She breathed a sigh of relief—

      “So what’s your mom up to tonight?”

      —and the breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t prepared for this eventuality.

      “Is she a boxing fan, too?”

      “Mom hated boxing,” Patrice blurted.

      “Hated? Past tense?” He shot a stunned look in her direction. “Oh, man. I’m sorry, Patrice. I had no idea….”

      She leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes. “Some fun date this is starting out to be, huh?”

      Wade reached over and took her hand. “If it was fun I wanted, I wouldn’t have asked you out.”

      That snapped her to attention! “Excuse me?”

      “Oh, wow. Oh, man. I, uh, I didn’t mean it that way. I only meant—”

      Laughing, she squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, Wade. I know what you meant.” She paused. “I think—”

      “After that crack, I feel I owe you something better than the dinner I’d planned.”

      “Don’t be silly. The Mexican place is just fine.” She smacked her lips. “In fact, I’ve been craving soft tacos all evening.”

      “Soft tacos? No foolin’?”

      She nodded.

      “My favorite,” they said in unison.

      This time, Wade squeezed Patrice’s hand. “Say, maybe this night is gonna turn out all right, after all.”

      Maybe, she thought. And maybe I’d better be real careful with this one.

      Because already, she felt the oh-so-familiar tugs at her heartstrings.

      Chapter Two

      His hand on the small of her back, Wade led her into the restaurant. She seemed so small, so vulnerable beside him. If he had to guess, he would’ve said Patrice was five feet tall, not a fraction of an inch more.

      The instant they stepped into the restaurant, an elderly woman hollered, “Dr. Cameron!” She hurried toward them, arms outstretched. “It’s been too long. We’ve missed you!”

      “Nice to see you, too, Mrs. Gomez,” he said as she wrapped him in a grandmotherly hug. “How are you?”

      She pressed a hand to his cheek. “Fine, thanks to you.”

      “And where is Mr. Gomez?”

      Her eyes twinkled with mischief when she released him. “In the kitchen,” she whispered, “telling Juan how to do his job.”

      “That’s a good sign.”

      Suddenly, she faced Patrice. “And who is your lady friend?”

      It seemed the most natural thing in the world to slide an arm around her waist. “Patrice,” Wade drawled, pulling her close to his side, “ah’d like you to meet Corrinne Gomez, sweetest li’l gal east of the Rio Grande.”

      Mrs. Gomez took Patrice’s hands in her own, then drew her into an embrace. Wade watched as Patrice returned the woman’s warm gesture, seemingly unperturbed by the uninvited physical contact.

      “Ah, theese one,” Mrs. Gomez said, “theese one, she’s a keeper.” She grabbed two menus from the hostess stand. “Come with me. I’ll find you a nice quiet booth in the back, where you’ll have some privacy.”

      As Patrice slid onto the burgundy leather seat, Mrs. Gomez winked. “I’ll send Enrique right over with tortillas and salsa,” she said, handing them each a menu. After whipping a book of matches from her apron pocket, she lit the candle in the middle of their table. “Suerte grande!” she said, winking again before hurrying away.

      Patrice’s gaze followed until Mrs. Gomez disappeared into the kitchen. She rested both arms on the table and leaned closer to Wade. “Lots o’ luck?” she translated, grinning as her eyes bore into his.

      Wade always brought women to Mi Casa for a first date. If they passed the Gomezes’ muster, he made a second attempt. So far, no woman had eaten here more than twice. He felt more than a little guilty, putting Patrice through her paces this way. For one thing, she hadn’t been the aggressor, like the others. For another, he genuinely liked her.

      He felt the heat of a blush, ran a finger under his collar.

      “And what was with that conspiratorial little wink?” she added, winking herself.

      He couldn’t very