Looking for a Hero

by Debbie Macomber

  Bailey nodded miserably. So much for keeping one of her most humiliating moments a secret. She hadn’t even told Max! Her cat generally heard everything, but today’s encounter was best forgotten.

  If only she could stop thinking about it. For most of the afternoon she’d succeeded in pushing all thoughts of that man, that unreasonable insulting architect, out of her mind. Not so this evening.

  “And?” Jo Ann prompted.

  Bailey could see it was pointless to continue this charade with her friend. “And he confronted me, wanting to know why the hell I was following him.”

  Jo Ann closed her eyes, then slowly shook her head. After a moment, she reached for her coffee. “I can just imagine what you told him.”

  “At first I had no idea what to say.”

  “That part I can believe, but knowing you, I’d guess you insisted on telling him the truth and nothing but the truth.”

  “You’re right again.” Not that it had done Bailey any good.

  “And?” Jo Ann prompted again.

  Bailey’s sandwich arrived and for a minute or so she was distracted by that. Unfortunately she wasn’t able to put off Jo Ann’s questions for long.

  “Don’t you dare take another bite of that sandwich until you tell me what he said!”

  “He didn’t believe me.” Which was putting it mildly.

  “He didn’t believe you?”

  “All right, if you have to know, he thought I was an escaped mental patient.”

  Anger flashed in Jo Ann’s eyes, and Bailey was so grateful she could have hugged her.

  “Good grief, why’d you do anything so stupid as to tell him you’re a writer?” Jo Ann demanded vehemently.

  So much for having her friend champion her integrity, Bailey mused darkly.

  “I can’t understand why you’d do that,” Jo Ann continued, raking her hand furiously through her hair. “You were making up stories all over the place when it came to discovering his name. You left me speechless with the way you walked into his office and spouted that nonsense about being an old family friend. Why in heaven’s name didn’t you make up something plausible when he confronted you?”

  “I couldn’t think.” That, regrettably, was the truth.

  Not that it would’ve made much difference even if she’d been able to invent a spur-of-the-moment excuse. She was convinced of that. The man would have known she was lying, and Bailey couldn’t see the point of digging herself in any deeper than she already was. Of course she hadn’t had time to reason that out until later. He’d hauled her into the alley and she’d simply followed her instincts, right or wrong.

  “It wasn’t like you didn’t warn me,” Bailey said, half her turkey sandwich poised in front of her mouth. “You tried to tell me from the moment we followed him off the subway how dumb the whole idea was. I should’ve listened to you then.”

  But she’d been so desperate to get a real hero down on paper. She’d been willing to do just about anything to straighten out this problem of Michael’s. What she hadn’t predicted was how foolish she’d end up feeling as a result. Well, no more—she’d learned her lesson. If any more handsome men hit her on the head, she’d hit them back!

  “What are you going to do now?” Jo Ann asked.

  “Absolutely nothing,” Bailey answered without a second’s hesitation.

  “You mean you’re going to let him go on thinking you’re an escaped mental patient?”

  “If that’s what he wants to believe.” Bailey tried to create the impression that it didn’t matter to her one way or the other. She must have done a fairly good job because Jo Ann remained speechless, raising her coffee mug to her mouth three times without taking a single sip.

  “What happens if you run into him on the subway again?” she finally asked.

  “I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Bailey said blithely, trying hard to sound unconcerned. “What are the chances we’ll be on the same car again at exactly the same time?”

  “You’re right,” Jo Ann concurred. “Besides, after what happened today, he’ll probably go back to driving, freeway renovation or not.”

  It would certainly be a blessing if he did, Bailey thought.

  * * *

  He didn’t.

  Jo Ann and Bailey were standing at the end of the crowded subway car, clutching the metal handrail when Jo Ann tugged hard at the sleeve of Bailey’s bulky-knit cardigan.

  “Don’t turn around,” Jo Ann murmured.

  They were packed as tight as peas in a pod, and Bailey had no intention of moving in any direction.

  “He’s staring at you.”

  “Who?” Bailey whispered back.

  She wasn’t a complete fool. When she’d stepped onto the train earlier, she’d done a quick check and was thankful to note that Parker Davidson wasn’t anywhere to be seen. She hadn’t run into him in several days and there was no reason to think she would. He might have continued to take BART, but if that was the case their paths had yet to cross, which was fine with her. Their second encounter would likely prove as embarrassing as the first.

  “He’s here,” Jo Ann hissed. “The architect you followed last week.”

  Bailey was convinced everyone in the subway car had turned to stare at her. “I’m sure you’re mistaken,” she muttered, furious with her friend for her lack of discretion.

  “I’m not. Look.” She motioned with her head.

  Bailey did her best to be nonchalant about it. When she did slowly twist around, her heart sank all the way to her knees. Jo Ann was right. Parker stood no more than ten feet from her. Fortunately, they were separated by a number of people—which didn’t disguise the fact that he was staring at Bailey as if he expected men in white coats to start descending on her.

  She glared back at him.

  “Do you see him?” Jo Ann asked.

  “Of course. Thank you so much for pointing him out to me.”

  “He’s staring at you. What else was I supposed to do?”

  “Ignore him,” Bailey suggested sarcastically. “I certainly intend to.” Still, no matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the advertising posted above the seats, she found Parker Davidson dominating her thoughts.

  A nervous shaky feeling slithered down her spine. Bailey could feel his look as profoundly as a caress. This was exactly the sort of look she struggled to describe in Forever Yours.

  Casually, as if by accident, she slowly turned her head and peeked in his direction once more, wondering if she’d imagined the whole thing. For an instant the entire train seemed to go still. Her blue eyes met his brown ones, and an electric jolt rocked Bailey, like nothing she’d ever felt before. A breathless panic filled her and she longed to drag her eyes away, pretend she didn’t recognize him, anything to escape this fluttery sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  This was exactly how Janice had felt the first time she met Michael. Bailey had spent days writing that scene, studying each word, each phrase, until she’d achieved the right effect. That was the moment Janice had fallen in love with Michael. Oh, she’d fought it, done everything but stand on her head in an effort to control her feelings, but Janice had truly fallen for him.

  Bailey, however, was much too wise to be taken in by a mere look. She’d already been in love. Twice. Both times were disasters and she wasn’t willing to try it again soon. Her heart was still bleeding from the last go-round.

  Of course she was leaping to conclusions. She was the one with the fluttery stomach. Not Parker. He obviously hadn’t been affected by their exchange. In fact, he seemed to be amused, as if running into Bailey again was an unexpected opportunity for entertainment.

  She braced herself, and with a resolve that would’ve impressed Janice, she dropped her gaze. She inhaled sharply, then twisted her mouth into a sneer. Unfortunately, Jo Ann was staring at her in complete—a
nd knowing—fascination.

  “What’s with you—and him?”

  “Nothing,” Bailey denied quickly.

  “That’s not what I saw.”

  “You’re mistaken,” Bailey replied in a voice that said the subject was closed.

  “Whatever you did worked,” Jo Ann whispered a couple of minutes later.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Fine, but in case you’re interested, he’s coming this way.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Bailey’s forehead broke out in a cold sweat at the mere prospect of being confronted by Parker Davidson again. Once in a lifetime was more than enough, but twice in the same week was well beyond her capabilities.

  Sure enough, Parker Davidson boldly stepped forward and squeezed himself next to Bailey.

  “Hello again,” he said casually.

  “Hello,” she returned stiffly, refusing to look at him.

  “You must be Jo Ann,” he said, turning his attention to Bailey’s friend.

  Jo Anne’s eyes narrowed. “You told him my name?” she asked Bailey in a loud distinct voice.

  “I... Apparently so.”

  “Thank you very much,” she muttered in a sarcastic voice. Then she turned toward Parker and her expression altered dramatically as she broke into a wide smile. “Yes, I’m Jo Ann.”

  “Have you been friends with Janice long?”

  “Janice? Oh, you mean...” Bailey quickly nudged her friend in the ribs with her elbow. “Janice,” Jo Ann repeated in a strained voice. “You mean this Janice?”

  Parker frowned. “So that was a lie, as well?”

  “As well,” Bailey admitted coolly, deciding she had no alternative. “That was my problem in the first place. I told you the truth. Now, for the last time, I’m a writer and so is Jo Ann.” She gestured toward her friend. “Tell him.”

  “We’re both writers,” Jo Ann confirmed with a sad lack of conviction. It wasn’t something Jo Ann willingly broadcast, though Bailey had never really understood why. She supposed it was a kind of superstition, a fear of offending the fates by appearing too presumptuous—and thereby ruining her chances of selling a book.

  Parker sighed, frowning more darkly. “That’s what I thought.”

  The subway stopped at the next station, and he moved toward the door.

  “Goodbye,” Jo Ann said, raising her hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Me, too.” He glanced from her to Bailey; she could have sworn his eyes hardened briefly before he stepped off the car.

  “You told him your name was Janice?” Jo Ann cried the minute he was out of sight. “Why’d you do that?”

  “I... I don’t know. I panicked.”

  Jo Ann wiped her hand down her face. “Now he really thinks you’re nuts.”

  “It might have helped if you hadn’t acted like you’d never heard the word ‘writer’ before.” Before Jo Ann could heap any more blame on her shoulders, Bailey had some guilt of her own to spread around.

  “That isn’t information I tell everyone, you know. I’d appreciate if you didn’t pass it out to just anyone.”

  “Oh, dear,” Bailey mumbled, feeling wretched. Not only was Jo Ann annoyed with her, Parker thought she was a fool. And there was little she could do to redeem herself in his eyes. The fact that it troubled her so much was something for the men with chaise longues in their offices to analyze. But trouble her it did.

  If only Parker hadn’t looked at her with those dark eyes of his—as if he was willing to reconsider his first assessment of her.

  If only she hadn’t looked back and felt that puzzling sensation come over her—the way a heroine does when she’s met the man of her dreams.

  * * *

  The weekend passed, and although Bailey spent most of her time working on the rewrite of Forever Yours, she couldn’t stop picturing the disgruntled look on Parker’s face as he walked off the subway car. It hurt her pride that he assumed she was a liar. Granted, introducing herself as Janice Hampton had been a lie, but after that, she’d told only the truth. She was sure he didn’t believe a single word she’d said. Still, he intrigued her so much she spent a couple of precious hours on Saturday afternoon on the Internet, learning everything she could about him, which unfortunately wasn’t much.

  When Monday’s lunch hour arrived, she headed directly for Parker’s building. Showing up at his door should merit her an award for courage—or one for sheer stupidity.

  “May I help you?” the receptionist asked when Bailey walked into the architectural firm’s outer office. It was the same woman who’d helped her the week before. The nameplate on her desk read Roseanne Snyder. Bailey hadn’t noticed it during her first visit.

  “Would it be possible to see Mr. Davidson for just a few minutes?” she asked in her most businesslike voice, hoping the woman didn’t recognize her.

  Roseanne glanced down at the appointment calendar. “You’re the gal who was in to see Mr. Davidson the first part of last week, aren’t you?”

  So much for keeping her identity a secret. “Yes.” It was embarrassing to admit that. Bailey prayed Parker hadn’t divulged the details of their encounter to the firm’s receptionist.

  “When I mentioned your name to Mr. Davidson, he didn’t seem to remember your family.”

  “Uh... I wasn’t sure he would,” Bailey answered vaguely.

  “If you’ll give me your name again, I’ll tell him you’re here.”

  “Bailey. Bailey York,” she said with a silent sigh of relief. Parker didn’t know her real name; surely he wouldn’t refuse to see her.

  “Bailey York,” the friendly woman repeated. “But aren’t you—?” She paused, staring at her for a moment before she pressed the intercom button. After a quick exchange, she nodded, smiling tentatively. “Mr. Davidson said to go right in. His office is the last one on the left,” she said, pointing the way.

  The door was open and Parker sat at his desk, apparently engrossed in studying a set of blueprints. His office was impressive, with a wide sweeping view of the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz Island. As she stood in the doorway, Parker glanced up. His smile faded when he recognized her.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Proving I’m not a liar.” With that, she strode into his office and slapped a package on his desk.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Proof.”

  Four

  Parker stared at the manuscript box as though he feared it was a time bomb set to explode at any moment.

  “Go ahead and open it,” Bailey said. When he didn’t, she lifted the lid for him. Awkwardly she flipped through the first fifteen pages until she’d gathered up the first chapter, which she shoved into his hands. “Read it.”

  “Now?”

  “Start with the header,” she instructed, and then pointed to the printed line on the top right-hand side of each page.

  “York... Forever Yours... Page one,” he read aloud, slowly and hesitantly.

  Bailey nodded. “Now move down to the text.” She used her index finger to indicate where she wanted him to read.

  “Chapter one. Janice Hampton had dreaded the business meeting for weeks. She was—”

  “That’s enough,” Bailey muttered, ripping the pages out of his hands. “If you want to look through the rest of the manuscript, you’re welcome to.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “So you no longer have the slightest doubt that I wrote it,” she answered in a severe tone. “So you’ll believe that I am a writer—and not a liar or a maniac. The purpose of this visit, though, why I find it necessary to prove I’m telling you the truth, isn’t clear to me yet. It just seemed...important.”

  As she spoke, she scooped up the loose pages and stuffed them back into the manuscript box, closing
it with enough force to crush the lid.

  “I believed you before,” Parker said casually, leaning back in his chair as if he’d never questioned her integrity. Or her sanity. “No one could’ve made up that story about being a romance writer and kept a straight face.”

  “But you—”

  “What I didn’t appreciate was the fact that you called yourself by a false name.”

  “You caught me off guard! I gave you the name of my heroine because...well, because I saw you as the hero.”

  “I see.” He raised one eyebrow—definitely a hero-like mannerism, Bailey had to admit.

  “I guess you didn’t appreciate being followed around town, either,” she said in a small voice.

  “True enough,” he agreed. “Take my advice, would you? The next time you want to research details about a man’s life, hire a detective. You and your friend couldn’t have been more obvious if you’d tried.”

  Bailey’s ego had already taken one beating from this man, and she wasn’t game for round two. “Don’t worry, I’ve given up the chase. I’ve discovered there aren’t any real heroes left in this world. I thought you might be one, but—” she shrugged elaborately “—alas, I was wrong.”

  “Ouch.” Parker placed his hand over his heart as though her words had wounded him gravely. “I was just beginning to feel flattered. Then you had to go and ruin it.”

  “I know what I’m talking about when it comes to this hero business. They’re extinct, except between the pages of women’s fiction.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but do I detect a note of bitterness?”

  “I’m not bitter,” Bailey denied vehemently. But she didn’t mention the one slightly yellowed wedding dress hanging in her closet. She’d used her savings to pay for the elegant gown and been too mortified to return it unused. She tried to convince herself it was an investment, something that would gain value over the years, like gold. Or stocks. That was what she told herself, but deep down she knew better.

  “I’m sorry to have intruded upon your busy day,” she said, reaching for her manuscript. “I won’t trouble you again.”