Erin remembered Nick's account of the accident, and realized he'd left out most of the details. For the first time. his overprotective nature toward his daughter made perfect sense. "That's the accident that put Stephanie in the wheel-chair?"
Mrs. Thornsberry nodded. "He'd warned Rita about driving too fast, but she wouldn't listen."
"That must have been terrible for him."
"This family has seen more than its share of tragedy. I suspect Nick is so protective around Steph because he's afraid of losing her, the way he lost Rita. I keep telling myself he'll come around and stop being so … so vigilant. But it's been three years. He hasn't moved on. Not with Stephanie." The older woman looked at Erin. "Not with his own life."
Erin knew immediately they were no longer talking about Stephanie. or Nick's overprotective nature, but the fact that she and Nick had been caught in the throes of a passionate kiss the night of Stephanie's birthday party. The memory made her cheeks flame.
"There hasn't been anyone for him since the accident," Mrs. Thornsberry said. "That's a long time for a man to be alone."
"We're not involved," Erin said quickly.
"He's been … preoccupied since you came along. Nick isn't frivolous when it comes to women."
Translated, Mrs. Thornsberry was telling her that Nick didn't kiss just any woman out in his driveway. Erin didn't know what to say, didn't want this woman getting the wrong idea about her and Nick. There wasn't anything between them. Just that blasted, earth-shattering, mind-numbing kiss.
The older woman smiled wisely. "I've seen the way he looks at you."
"Like he wants to throttle me." Erin forced a laugh, determined to keep the conversation from going in a direction that would put into words a problem that had become increasingly difficult to deal with.
"You've shaken him up, Erin. You're strong willed and don't let him bully you. Until you came into his life, I didn't realize how badly he needed that."
Despite her efforts to keep the conversation light, Erin's heart beat hard and fast in her chest. "I'm not the right woman for the job," she whispered a little desperately.
"That, my dear, remains to be seen."
"I can't get my boots on!" Stephanie rolled her wheelchair into the kitchen, her face filled with disappointment, her sneakers on her lap. "My feet are swelled," she announced.
"Your dad will have to rub them for you tonight." Mrs. Thornsberry clucked her tongue. "For now, you can wear your sneakers." Kneeling in front of the little girl, she shot Erin a look over her shoulder. "Put that other sneaker on for her, will you, Erin? Bandito is waiting."
* * *
"Up and at 'em!" Erin lifted the little girl up onto an ever-patient Bandito's back.
"I can't get my leg over," said Stephanie.
"Yes, you can." Erin ducked under Bandito's neck and tugged the child's leg into place. "Sheesh, how much do you weigh?" she teased. "A ton?"
"No!"
"Feels like it."
"Hey, I'm on!"
The joy in Stephanie's voice struck a chord in Erin. The change in the little girl was dramatic. Her cornflower-blue eyes were alight with happiness, her lips pulled into a grin. Erin had never seen her so excited, and felt her own excitement build in her chest like a rainbow in the wake of a spring storm.
Stepping back, she studied girl and horse carefully. "You're going to have to hold on to the horn," Erin said. "Don't let go no matter what."
Biting her lip in concentration, Stephanie wrapped both hands around the leather horn. "'Kay."
Five minutes later, Erin led Bandito down the aisle toward the barn door, with Stephanie astride. The little girl's right foot dangled uselessly, but she gripped the horn with white-knuckled determination. Satisfied, Erin said, "Looks like we're set. Let's take Bandito into the round pen."
"I don't like not being able to use my legs. Bandito knows leg commands."
"You two will just have to compensate." Standing on the left side of the horse, Erin led him toward the pen a dozen yards away. "Horses are smart, Steph. Bandito can be retrained, can learn new ways to receive his commands."
On reaching the pen, Erin opened the gate. She looked up at Stephanie and found the little girl grinning from ear to ear.
"He remembers me," she whispered. "I can tell."
"Of course he does," Erin said. "Horses don't forget someone they love just because they haven't seen them for a while."
She led the horse around the pen, watching the animal, but barely taking her eyes from Stephanie. The September sun beat down on Erin's dark blue uniform, and she broke into a sweat. It was warm for fall in the Midwest, but she was so caught up in the magic on Stephanie's face, she barely noticed the heat. It was the perfect day for a little girl to ride her horse.
"I want to trot," Steph said.
"No way."
"I won't fall off."
"That's what people say right before they fall off."
Stephanie giggled. "Okay, at least walk him a little faster. He needs the exercise."
"I'm the one who's getting all the exercise," Erin grumbled good-naturedly, but she was thinking of Nick. "No trotting, kiddo."
"Okay, maybe we'll save that for next time."
Erin brushed a drop of sweat from her temple, hoping with all her heart there was going to be a next time.
"This is great!"
"Easy for you to say," she said. "Bandito and I are doing all the work."
Grinning despite the fact that she was breathing hard, and getting her clean uniform all sweaty, Erin continued around the pen. Dust coated her boots and the bottom of her pants. Her hair slowly unraveled from its knot at her nape, but she didn't care. She was having too much fun watching Stephanie—and feeling the heady rush of satisfaction that came with the knowledge that she'd made a difference in this sweet child's life.
At the far end of the ring, Erin finally paused.
"What's wrong?" asked Stephanie.
"I'm getting a stitch in my side." She was about to ask Stephanie if she wanted something to drink when movement at the end of the driveway drew her gaze. Erin's heart plummeted when she spotted Nick's Suburban speeding down the driveway, a rooster tail of dust in its wake.
* * *
Chapter 8
« ^ »
Nick's heart stopped dead in his chest when he saw Stephanie in the round pen astride Bandito, with Erin walking alongside. He couldn't believe his eyes. The horse was walking fast enough to seriously injure Stephanie if she lost her balance and fell.
How could Erin act so irresponsibly?
He brought the truck to a skidding halt in front of the barn, out of sight from the pen. Throwing open the door, he hit the ground running. By the time he entered the barn, he was breathless not only from the short run, but from the burgeoning anger that had his pulse racing like hot mercury through his veins.
Nick had always prided himself on control. A father at the age of twenty-nine, he'd trained himself to keep his emotions in check, keep a constant grip on his temper. But as he watched Erin lead the horse through the rear door of the barn with his little girl astride, his temper ignited.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.
Erin stopped, her gaze wary and level on Nick. "I was—"
"Don't be mad, Dad."
Stephanie's words struck him like a stinging lash. Nick looked at his daughter and felt the fist of emotion lodged in his chest tighten even more. "I'm not angry with you, Steph."
"Don't be mad at Erin, either," she said. "She didn't do anything wrong. Riding Bandito was my idea."
Shaking with the remnants of fear and a powerful anger he hadn't been prepared for, Nick approached the horse slowly and reached for Stephanie. "Come here." He dragged her into his arms. Her little-girl scent surrounded him like a soft cloud. "Are you okay?" he asked.
"Dad, I'm okay. Geez, we were just walking."
He closed his eyes against the ensuing burst of emotion. He wouldn't let this innocent child be h
urt. Not again. Certainly not by a reckless adult.
"You smell like Bandito," he said.
Stephanie grinned. "I like the way he smells."
Not wanting her to notice his state of mind, he forced a smile. "Go inside and ask Mrs. T. to fix a pot of coffee for me, would you, honeybunch?"
The little girl eyed him suspiciously. "You're going to yell at Erin, aren't you?"
He heard the woman in question behind him, putting Bandito into his stall, but Nick didn't look at her. He wasn't sure what it would do to him if he did. He was angry and wanted to stay that way. "Erin and I are going to have a talk."
"About what?"
"About boundaries and responsibility." Carrying Stephanie over to the wheelchair, he settled her in the seat. "Tell Em I'll be inside in a few minutes."
Stephanie looked past him toward Erin. Nick didn't miss the quick, uncertain smile, or the spark of newfound respect in his little girl's eyes. It had been a long time since Steph had smiled at anyone but him and Mrs. T—and she didn't do it nearly often enough to suit him. He wondered how Erin McNeal had managed to reach her in such a short period of time.
"I gotta go," Stephanie said to Erin. "Sorry you got all sweaty and dirty."
Erin looked down at her uniform. "Hey, a little dust never hurt anyone."
Ignoring Erin as best he could, Nick helped his daughter maneuver the wheelchair around, then watched her disappear through the door. Aware that his heart rate was dangerously high, he closed the door behind him and turned to face Erin.
In keeping with her tough-guy image, she raised her chin. "This isn't as … premeditated as it looks."
He started toward her. "Really?"
She stepped back. "Stephanie came to the station asking for you. She skipped school and needed a ride home. You were at the courthouse, so I drove her home. One thing led to another and—"
"One thing led to another?" Nick barely recognized his own voice. "That's a lame excuse, don't you think?"
"It's the truth."
"Just who do you think you are, walking into my home and endangering my daughter like that?"
"She wasn't in any danger."
Nick ground his teeth at her denial. "That horse weighs a thousand pounds. He hasn't been ridden in over three years. Don't tell me she wasn't in any danger."
"Bandito is well trained and even better behaved." Erin took another step back. "Stephanie wanted to ride, Nick. She begged me to take her riding."
"So you suggested she hop up on his back and go for a spin? And that's not irresponsible?"
"It's compassionate. She loves that horse—"
"She's a nine-year-old kid with a serious spinal condition. She isn't qualified to make the decision as to whether or not she can ride a horse. Neither are you."
"She did great. Nick, she laughed, for God's sake. She laughed! The instant she got on that horse, she came alive."
"I'm aware of her wants, McNeal. I don't need you pointing them out to me."
"Are you sure about that?"
Nick tried to bank his boiling temper, but she was pushing him too hard. "You don't know anything about her. You sure as hell don't know anything about me."
"Maybe I know more than you think."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I know about the accident, Nick. I know what happened to your wife. I know why. I think that explains a lot about you."
He paused two feet away from her. If he got any closer, he wasn't sure what he would do. Kiss her, maybe; he was too angry to be rational. He didn't have a rational bone in his body when it came to this woman.
"This doesn't have anything to do with Rita," he said.
"Maybe this has more to do with her than you realize."
"This is about you and your recklessness and the havoc that kind of recklessness wreaks on people's lives. Stephanie and I have been through it once, and I don't plan to let you or anyone else put us through that same hell again."
"Life is full of risks," she said softly. "You can't stop living because you're afraid of getting hurt."
"Don't get living and living dangerously confused, McNeal. Not everyone has your taste for adrenaline."
"This isn't about me. It's about you and the fact that you're holding on too tight—"
"This is about you risking my daughter's safety because you need some kind of personal absolution."
"Maybe I'm just a convenient scapegoat because you can't face your own fears."
Nick's control snapped with an almost audible click. Anger and fear and another emotion he didn't want to name burst free, like shrapnel exploding from a bomb. He reached Erin in a single, swift stride. Her eyes widened, but he didn't stop. Grasping her arms, he moved her backward. "You have a real gift for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time."
She gasped when her back met the wall. "You're out of control."
Nick knew he'd lost the battle for emotional distance—if he'd ever had that to begin with when it came to this woman. He'd somehow gotten tangled up with her, physically, emotionally, and the only way he knew how to save himself was to drive her away once and for all.
"Damn right I am," he said, and lowered his mouth to hers.
* * *
Erin hadn't expected Nick to kiss her gently. She'd expected urgency and heat and the fire she'd seen in his eyes.
What she got was nothing like what she'd expected.
His kiss spoke of desire. The raw sensuality of it overwhelmed her. He tasted of restraint and frustration harnessed by a tattered veil of discipline that was quickly disintegrating. The combination took her breath away and tested every ounce of control she possessed. A well of unleashed emotions rushed through her like a river bursting its banks. She rode with the current, letting it push her, tumble her, until she barely knew up from down, until she no longer cared.
His hands slipped from her biceps, down her arms, igniting every nerve ending along the way. His fingers entwined with hers. All the while his mouth undermined her judgment, tore down her defenses until she stood silent and still and accepted him with every fiber of her being. When he slipped his tongue into her mouth, she welcomed him. Vaguely, she was aware of him sliding her hands upward, until he pinned her to the wall, her hands stretched above her head, his body snug against hers. She felt the weight of him, the hard shaft of his arousal like steel against her belly. Blood pooled in erogenous zones she never knew existed.
Nick tore his mouth from hers. He was breathing hard, his breath warm and sweet against her cheek. He gazed at her through heavy-lidded eyes. "Let's have it out, McNeal," he whispered. "Right here. Right now. You know I want you. Let's cut to the chase and get this out of our systems once and for all."
Without waiting for a reply, he kissed her. Hard. Hungrily. With an unrelenting intensity that left her dizzy from a troubling mix of confusion and lust. She shouldn't be kissing him back. She knew better than to play with fire. And at the moment, Nick Ryan was like a powder keg about to explode. Erin knew she would be the one to get burned. He didn't care about her. He was angry with her.
So what was he doing kissing her? What was she doing letting him?
Her intellect told her to pull away. To stop the insanity before things went too far. But her body refused the command and proceeded to betray her. Vaguely, she was aware of his hands sliding down, skimming her shoulders, pausing at her breasts. The contact brought a moan to her lips. Her nipples beaded. Her breasts swelled against his hands, straining against the confines of her bra. The ache between her legs turned liquid and soft.
"What do you say, McNeal?" he whispered. "There's a loft a few feet away. I don't think we can ignore this much longer."
Anticipation coiled deep inside her. When his fingers went to the button of her slacks she didn't stop him. A gasp escaped her when his hand pressed flat against her belly. She wanted to protest, but his kiss battered her senses. Too much stimuli coming too quickly for her brain to process. She couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. She didn't see
m to need either of those things as long as he didn't stop touching her.
A mewling sound broke from her lips when his finger slipped inside her. The contact shocked her. His boldness stole her breath. Her body arched involuntarily. She cried out, but his kiss swallowed the sound. Control fluttered away, taking the last of her wisdom, the last of her dignity. Her body clenched, released. The madness built like a storm, promising a violent end. She opened to him. Felt the burn of his fingers against her most intimate place. He stroked her, driving her higher, closer to the edge, beyond the point of no return.
"Don't fight it, McNeal," Nick whispered darkly. "Don't fight me."
The meaning behind his words shocked her. She'd never known need could be so powerful. She wanted Nick more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life. More than she thought herself capable. But even as he kissed her like she'd never been kissed before, and caressed her body with hands that were driving her slowly insane, his anger stood between them as tangibly as a block of ice. She couldn't let him touch her out of anger.
Putting her hands against his chest, she twisted away from him. "I can't do this." She stumbled back, flushed, embarrassed, her body trembling. "Not like this."
Nick let her go, his eyes dark and menacing, his nostrils flaring with each breath. "Why not?"
Erin turned away from him, unable to face him, struggling to control her breathing. "You're angry."
"That didn't seem to bother you a moment ago."
"I don't want this to happen out of anger."
"What exactly do you think is going to happen?"
She stared straight ahead, starkly aware of him behind her, appalled that she'd stepped right into his trap. "Nothing," she said. "Nothing's going to happen."
"You sure about that?"
Erin knew what he was trying to do. Push her away so he wouldn't have to face the fact that there was more going on between them than either of them was willing to admit. Emotions and issues that didn't have anything to do with matters of the flesh.
Humiliation that she'd lost control burned through her. She didn't give her body on a whim. She hadn't taken a lover since her disastrous breakup with Warren years ago. Until she met Nick, she hadn't even missed the physical aspect of a relationship.
Cops and ... Lovers? Page 12