A MAN TO TRUST

by Justine Davis

Shock enabled her to look at the portrait in a rather detached way. He'd been kind, she thought numbly. Her eyes were not that large or that pretty, her lashes not that long, her mouth not that soft and warm-looking. Nor was her hair really so smooth, sleek and beautiful-looking. And he'd taken her stubborn chin and made it look somehow delicate. In fact, he'd given the whole portrait a fragile air. But he'd caught her nose as it was, turned up just a bit too much.

  That he'd drawn her at all made her feel … she wasn't sure what. Why? Why had he done it? Simply because she was the only subject handy?

  She discarded that thought; he hadn't had his daughter handy, and it certainly hadn't stopped him from drawing her. Of course, he would know her features by heart. Perhaps he simply wanted a change from drawing from memory.

  She would not read any more into it than that. She simply would not. She said it to herself fiercely, determinedly, as if that alone could make it so. As if—

  "Why, that's lovely, dear. It looks just like you."

  Kelsey gave a start as she jerked around to look at the woman behind her. Dolores Lamana gave a start in turn. Quickly Kelsey apologized.

  "I'm sorry, I was … distracted." She frowned. "Do you really think it looks like me?"

  "Exactly," the woman said, leaning over for a better look. She was wearing a pastel blue suit, and Kelsey guessed she had come from church; Dolores rarely missed a Sunday.

  "I don't know, I think he was too … flattering."

  "That," Dolores said briskly as she straightened up, "is because you have no idea how lovely you really are." Kelsey blushed. Dolores smiled widely. "And that, my dear, is part of your charm. Don't ever change. So, who did the drawing?"

  Kelsey stood slowly, giving the woman a sideways look. In the past two years, Dolores had been her lifesaver in the cooking department around here; she brought extra meals in once a week when there were guests registered, carefully and deliciously prepared items chosen because they could be prepared ahead of time and frozen, and would keep until Kelsey needed them, adding great variety to her own breakfast menus. She provided the occasional dinner, as well, for Kelsey's own use, saying that if she didn't, she was afraid Kelsey would never see a hot meal.

  She had also more than once pointedly told Kelsey that Cruz Gregerson was the most attractive man she'd seen in ages, and were she not twenty-five years too old and a grandmother three—now four—times over, she would set her cap for him.

  "Cruz," she finally said.

  Dolores's warm, dark eyes widened. "Really? I had no idea he was an artist."

  And you still have no idea he's a cop, Kelsey thought, but she didn't say it. She doubted it would make any difference to Dolores, but the woman knew what Kelsey was doing here, and she didn't see any point in having somebody else worrying.

  "Neither did I" was all she said.

  Dolores started toward the kitchen to pick up her dishes from the meals she'd provided this week. Kelsey followed.

  "I'm sorry I missed him this year, but that baby simply would not wait."

  "You must be happy. I'm glad all went well."

  "I'm delighted. Every one of my children has done their duty now and presented me with a grandchild to spoil." She looked back over her shoulder with a teasing smile. "Now I can concentrate on getting you settled with some babies of your own."

  Kelsey laughed, as she always did when Dolores's thoughts inevitably turned in that direction, but this time it was a hollow-sounding laugh, even to her own ears. Once she'd believed the idea of a loving, happy marriage was a fantasy, far removed from the dreary and sometimes grim reality. She'd learned better since those early days, come to realize that there were good relationships, that it was just not in the cards for her. She hadn't really minded, hadn't felt she was missing much.

  But Cruz had made her wonder. He had upset her hard-won equilibrium, and that it had happened because she had little choice but to make it happen was nobody's fault but her own.

  It was all a scam, wasn't it?

  His words, and the sound of his voice when he'd said them, rang in her ears.

  No, she whispered silently to him, to herself, not sure who the pleading denial was really aimed at. No, it wasn't all a scam. I had to do it, but it was still real. It was still real.

  "Kelsey? Are you all right?"

  She hastily composed herself. "I… Yes. I'm fine. I'm just a little tired."

  Dolores gave her a look of motherly concern. "You do too much, baby. Running this place would be enough, but the rest on top of it?" She shook her head. "I know you mean well, but you should think of yourself a little more."

  "I'm fine," Kelsey insisted, although she made sure to smile; Dolores was her only confidante, the only one who knew, and Kelsey sometimes desperately needed that outlet.

  "Well, at least Melissa came around."

  "She hasn't yet. In fact, we're not communicating at all at the moment," Kelsey said dryly.

  "Oh?" Dolores looked puzzled. "I assumed you'd gotten her taken care of, since her room is empty."

  Kelsey went still. "What?"

  "Her room—"

  Kelsey didn't wait to hear the rest. She spun on her heel and ran for the small back room Melissa had been using. It was tidy, the bed neatly made … or never slept in. Kelsey walked quickly to the closet and pulled open the door. The girl hadn't had much, but even that was gone, empty hangers rocking from the air currents Kelsey had stirred with the door. The floor was bare, as well, although all that had ever been there was the one spare pair of tennis shoes Kelsey had bought for her.

  There was nothing else, no sign anyone had been here, not even a goodbye note. But there was no denying the truth.

  Melissa was gone.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  Cruz stared at the drink he'd poured, wondering why he'd bothered. It wasn't going to help him sleep. Nothing had helped much in the past two days. Here he was, on vacation, supposedly to relax and catch up on the sleep all cops found at a premium, and he was sitting in the dark, staring at a glass half-full of liquor from some bottle he hadn't opened since the day Sam broke her arm falling out of the tree beside the garage.

  He would never forget that day, how his tough, gritty little girl had picked herself up and walked into the house to find him, cradling her left arm, her eyes wide and dark with pain, her cheeks streaked with tears and dirt as she faced him and said quietly, "Daddy, will you fix my arm? It really hurts." As if he were some kind of miracle worker. As if she had all the faith in the world that he could do it. And then she had truly blown him away by asking that he put the baby bird back in its nest first, before he tended to her.

  He set the glass down untouched and got to his feet. Driven by an urge he knew from long experience was useless to fight, he walked across the living room, past the den that he'd long ago ceded to Sam's zoo, past his own bedroom, and quietly opened the door to his daughter's room.

  As usual, she had kicked free of the covers and was curled up in a small ball at the top of the bed. She hated the confinement—that was something Cruz was sure was going to be a lifelong trait—even if she had to curl up for warmth. But he did as he always did, crept in quietly and pulled the blanket over her, not tucking it in, because he knew she hated it, and forgoing the extra weight of the quilt, judging it not quite that cold.

  For a long moment he just stood there looking at her, this tiny miracle, this combination of gentleness and strength, this little being he'd helped create and who owned his heart in a way no one else ever would. Her long blond hair was a tangled mess he would have to deal with in the morning, and she'd missed a spot on her arm in her hasty washing before tumbling into bed.

  She was beautiful.

  He'd heard about nothing but the exciting week she'd had at camp since she got home on Saturday night. He'd listened carefully, grunting noncommittally at her assurances that Slither had been well behaved, made a mental note to keep track of the new interest she seemed to ha
ve developed in astronomy, and nearly cried when she stopped in the middle of her chatter to earnestly tell him that no matter how good camp was, she liked being home with him better.

  Even now he found himself blinking rapidly at the memory, and his vision blurred a little as he watched her sleep. This was the only time he ever saw her completely still, the only time she didn't look as if she were about to burst into motion at any second.

  You were a fool, Ellie, he thought. This is what matters. This is where the real living happens. Not out there, wherever you went looking for it.

  He shook his head and backed quietly out of the room. Maybe he would have that drink after all; it had been a long time since he spent any time dwelling on his former wife. He'd long ago dealt with the facts and effects of what had happened and what she'd done, and thinking about it now would hardly change anything. He knew why she'd done what she did, he even understood it, and there was no point in dragging it out to look at again. It never changed. He just wished it would go away.

  He went back to his chair, sat, picked up the glass, looked at it, then set it down again. And faced the fact that the last thing his stomach needed right now was the burning heat of alcohol.

  The clock over the fireplace—Sam's whimsical choice, a bear on its back, balancing the dial precariously on its paws—ticked off the last few minutes before midnight. He let his head loll back, but a tug from the tense muscles of his neck stopped the motion. The chair wasn't as comfortable as the chairs at Oak Tree. Maybe he should find out where Kelsey had gotten them—

  Stop it, he ordered himself, as he'd been doing for almost all of those two days now. The orders did little good, even though he knew this was damn near as pointless as thinking about Ellen, this constant wondering about Kelsey Hall and what kind of mess she'd gotten herself into. Just let it go, leave it behind. It's not your problem; she's not your problem. He chanted the phrases in his mind as if they were a mantra that would ward off thoughts of her, would enable him to put out of his mind what a fool he'd been to think there was something genuine in her sudden interest in him.

  And what a fool he was because he couldn't seem to just drop it, couldn't forget the look on Kelsey's face when he saw Melissa, that look of distress and panic and fear. Having suspects afraid of him was one thing, having a woman like Kelsey afraid of him was something else. And no matter how much he told himself that she wouldn't be afraid of him unless she had something to hide, and therefore it was her fault, not his, it didn't quite take.

  And no matter what he did, he couldn't seem to put her out of his mind.

  "You have been alone too long," he muttered.

  But if that was all it was, then why the heck hadn't it bothered him before? He'd been cruising along, doing fine, with few problems outside his caseload. And now that Lacey and Ryan had put their marriage solidly back together, relieving him of the awkward position of being caught between two people he cared a great deal about who were hurting each other and hurting for each other, his worries were minimal. Sam, of course, but she was amazingly—sometimes frighteningly—self-sufficient for a ten-year-old. Lieutenant Robards, who was going to drive him crazy with his cigar-chomping arrogance and old-school ways. And the constant worry that somehow that damn snake was going to get loose in the house.

  But rarely had he thought about being without female companionship, except maybe early in the morning, when he rolled over and came stark awake from the shock of cold sheets. In fact, he'd thought himself cured of the need for it, when the few women he dated had failed to interest him beyond dinner and a movie, when he couldn't even stir up enough interest in his obviously open and amenable—not to mention attractive—next-door neighbor to stir himself to respond to her invitation to get to know her better. He had female friends, but not a one of them, not even Kit, great as she was, had made him consider it worth the possible loss of the friendship to make it into something else.

  No, he hadn't thought a damn thing about it one way or the other until Kelsey Hall insinuated herself into his mind, until she resorted to throwing herself in his path to keep him too occupied to notice just what she'd been hiding.

  And she'd succeeded nicely, he thought dryly. He'd been occupied, all right. He still was. So much so that he was even considering taking a drive back to the inn tomorrow. He could take Sam with him. She'd never seen where he stayed those weeks she was in camp, and he—

  The scraping sound at the front door brought him up out of the chair in a rush. He confirmed the late hour with a glance at the bear chock and felt a rush of adrenaline as his cop's mind turned over the possibilities. They were few; most everyone he knew who would want to see him at this hour would have called first.

  He thought briefly about getting his off-duty two-inch Colt, but it was locked safely in his desk drawer, for Sam's sake. He headed for the door instead. He peered through the peephole just in time to see a shadow turning away and heading for the porch steps.

  His body tightened in the instant before he saw who it was, and he grimaced at the irony that his hormones had known it was Kelsey before his mind did. Belatedly his mind kicked in, and he yanked the door open and simultaneously reached for the switch beside the door. She spun around at the sound and the sudden flare of the porch light, her hand flying up to her throat as she let out a startled little yelp.

  "Kelsey?"

  He felt like an idiot the instant after he said it. Of course it was her, he knew it was. But he was so startled to see her standing right in front of him, as if he'd summoned her somehow by thinking about her so much, he didn't know what else to say.

  "I … I'm sorry." She sounded as flustered as he felt; he could only imagine how he must have startled her. "I didn't knock because it's so late, and there was no light, so I didn't think anyone would be awake."

  "I was…" His words trailed off into silence as he realized that the truth, that he'd been sitting in the dark thinking about her, was not something he wanted to admit. "I was awake," he amended awkwardly.

  "I'm sorry," she repeated. "I didn't mean to bother you."

  He glanced out toward the street and saw the green sedan with Oak Tree Inn painted on the door in white letters parked at the curb. He hadn't heard the car at all, which was highly unusual for him, and he supposed a statement on just how lost in those thoughts of her he'd been.

  Then what she'd said registered. She hadn't meant to bother him? Then why was she here? Never mind that she'd been bothering him in one way or another for days…

  His gaze slid back to her. She was edging toward the steps, away from him, and that stung in a way he'd never experienced before.

  "I don't bite," he snapped. When she winced, he immediately regretted the sharpness of his tone and let out a short breath.

  "Just don't look at me like you think I'm going to…"

  He wasn't sure what she was thinking, only that he hated to see her acting like this. He forced a soothing tone into his voice. "What did you want, Kelsey?"

  "I… Nothing."

  He managed not to point out the obvious absurdity of her standing on his doorstep at midnight claiming there was no reason. But at least she had stopped edging away.

  "You were just in the neighborhood?" he asked mildly.

  She had the grace to look chagrined. "No, I … just wanted to drop that off. You forgot it."

  She pointed down toward his feet. He followed the gesture, but because of his own shadow it took him a moment to see the dark blue cover of the sketchbook she'd left on the mat.

  "Oh," he said, feeling a little silly himself that there truly was such a simple explanation.

  He bent to pick it up, straightened, then went very still when he remembered that this was the book he'd just begun to use on this trip—and remembered what he'd put in it. His gaze shot to her face. Had she looked? It was in the back, maybe…

  "I had your address on file," she said, as if he'd asked. "And I thought you might … need it."

  Of course she'd looked. W
hy wouldn't she? She'd been effusive enough about his amateur attempts at portraits to be curious. Unless, of course, that had been an act, too.

  "Thank you," he said abruptly, not wanting to dwell on that idea. And besides, it had just hit him that this explanation of her presence wasn't really simple after all, given the hour. "But you hardly had to drive out here at midnight to deliver it."

  Her mouth quirked. "I was in the neighborhood."

  He wasn't sure if she was teasing, using his own words back at him, but he smiled anyway.

  "You really are very good," she said. "Have you studied?"

  "No. My mother kept telling me I should go to art school, but…" He shrugged.

  "But … you didn't want to?"

  He shook his head. "I didn't want to be a doctor, either, like my dad wanted. All I ever wanted to do was be a cop."

  She lowered her eyes. The light of the porch fixture threw stark shadows across her face, and he couldn't see her expression.

  "He must have been … angry."

  "Dad? No. Maybe a little disappointed. But he got over it. Then he tried to talk me into being a lawyer, if I was so set on something to do with the law."

  "You didn't want that, either?"

  "I told him I'd rather clean birdcages," Cruz said dryly.

  He heard an odd sound, as if she'd caught her breath sharply. "You … said that to him? To your father? To his face?"

  Cruz's brow lowered. He'd never met the man, and he supposed it wasn't kind to think ill of the dead, but right now he didn't care much for Kelsey's father.

  "And lived to tell about it," he said quietly. "Dad's got a good sense of humor. And he finally got the point. Told me if that's what I really wanted, then he'd back me all the way. He cheered louder than anyone when I graduated from the academy."

  She gave a tiny, almost forlorn shake of her head, and Cruz had to fight not to reach out and envelop her in a crushing hug.

  He knew on some deep gut level that life hadn't been easy for Kelsey Hall; he'd seen the signs too often to mistake them.