by Beth Andrews
He stepped out of her arms. “Do I have to unpack my bag?”
“Not if you don’t want to,” she said slowly, unwilling to take such a small comfort away from him. Thunder rumbled, closer this time. She forced a smile. “Why don’t we have a no-TV night tonight?”
“Can we finish Hatchet?”
They had at least one hundred pages of the classic Gary Paulson book to go. “Sure. I’m not working tomorrow so we can both sleep in.”
Austin pumped his fist. “Yes!”
“Get the book and meet me in the living room. I’ll make some popcorn.”
Faith picked up the laundry basket and trudged down the stairs. Alone in the kitchen, she gripped the edge of the sink as she battled tears.
She filled a glass with water and gulped it down, using both hands to hold the glass steady. She had to get ahold of herself. Had to be strong. Smart. And, God help her, she had to be devious.
Her husband held all the cards, always had. He would never stop searching for them. She’d been fooling herself to think she could run from him forever. It was only a matter of time, but he would catch up to them—as he had in Serenity Springs. Luckily, quick thinking and quicker actions had saved them. When—if—he got close to them again, she needed to make sure he couldn’t take Austin.
And to do that, she needed help. She couldn’t do this on her own. Not any longer.
Her fingers tightened on the glass and she carefully set it down before she gave in to the urge to heave it across the room. Lightning flashed, followed a few seconds later by a loud clap of thunder. Rain suddenly poured from the sky as if someone had turned on a faucet.
Staring blindly out the window, Faith chewed on her thumbnail. One thing she’d learned was that having the right connections meant the difference between success and failure.
With well-connected, powerful people in her corner, she could finally stand up to her husband. She could stop running. She needed someone, someone strong and honorable and protective of those he loved. And she knew the perfect person.
She needed Nick Coletti.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“HEY, COLETTI,” fellow officer Martin Hill said late Monday morning as he walked up to Nick’s desk at the police station, “someone here to see you.”
Nick looked up from the keyboard he’d been pecking away at, and then frowned. “Faith? What are you doing here?”She smiled tremulously and lifted the hand holding a closed umbrella in a wave. “Hi.”
He stood as Marty walked away, and Faith’s smile faded.
“Is this a bad time?” she asked, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “It is, isn’t it? I’m sorry to drop by like this. I…I should’ve called or something. I can come back….”
He rounded his desk and caught her by the elbow before she could take off. “No. Sorry, I’m just…” He shook his head. “Sorry. Now’s fine.”
“Oh. Good.” He followed her nervous glance around the room and noticed his coworkers watching them.
“How about a cup of coffee?” he suggested, guiding her out of the large room with his hand on her lower back. Surprisingly, though she tensed, she didn’t pull away.
There was something…different about her today. Her hair was the same—loose and wavy to her shoulders—but she’d smudged her eyes with color, making them seem bigger, and her lips were a glossy pink. And while he wouldn’t classify her light brown pants and loose white shirt sexy by any means, at least they weren’t two sizes too big. And the top had a wide neck that showed her collarbones, which was for some crazy reason as sexy to him as if she’d had on a low-cut top.
Once inside the small break room, he shut the door. “Have a seat,” he said, crossing to the coffeepot on the counter. “Chief makes the coffee pretty strong so I suggest you add something to cut it back to only slightly toxic.”
“Creamer’s good. Thanks.” She set her purse down on the scarred wooden table and sat on the edge of a metal chair. She reached to put her umbrella underneath.
He poured two cups of coffee and added a hefty amount of powdered creamer to both. Sitting opposite Faith, he placed one cup in front of her. “Everything okay?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Fine.” She sipped her coffee, made a face and quickly put the cup back down. “I’m off today. From the salon.”
“I know where you work, Faith,” he said. Since nothing was wrong, he leaned back and drank his coffee. Hell, he might as well let her tell him what she wanted in her own time. It wasn’t as if he had anything more pressing to deal with than filling out arrest reports. Until a call came in.
She dropped her gaze. “Right. I…actually, I came to give you something.” She hauled her bag onto her lap and, after a moment digging through it, handed him an object wrapped in a red-and-white-checked dishcloth. “You must’ve left this behind when you fixed the water heater.”
He unwrapped it. “I appreciate you coming down here on your day off, but this isn’t mine.”
She frowned prettily. “Really? Maybe it’s Ethan’s?”
Nick held up the tarnished brass tool. It was as long as his hand, flat and light, with a long notch cut out of its center. “I don’t think it’s Ethan’s, either. Unless he’s taken up lobstering.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s a lobster measure. Far as I know, Ethan doesn’t do any lobstering.”
“Austin found it in the basement last night and I thought it was yours…”
Grinning, Nick tapped the end of the tool on the table. “So you didn’t bring this in as an excuse to see me again after blowing me off the other night?”
She blinked several times. “I—I didn’t… I mean…of course not.”
Well, well. Maybe his teasing hadn’t been all that far off base. “Why don’t I ask Ethan if he’s missing this? Maybe he’s gotten tired of golf and has taken up a new hobby.”
“I didn’t blow you off,” she said as he stood.
“You shut the door in my face,” he reminded her.
“I said good-night first.” She wrapped her hands around her cup, then looked up at him from under her eyelashes. “You haven’t called me.”
He narrowed his eyes at her chiding, flirtatious tone. “I didn’t think you wanted me to.” To test her, he added, “If you wanted to talk to me, you could’ve gotten hold of me at any time.”
“I was going to,” she stated, so quickly he knew it was a lie. Especially when she said it to the table. “I meant to, it’s just that I was busy. With work. And Austin, of course.” Reaching for the dishcloth, she smoothed out the wrinkles before folding it. “I would’ve called you yesterday,” she continued, folding the cloth again, “but I had so much laundry to do and then it rained….”
“It’s still raining. And yet here you are.”
She sighed and slumped in her seat. “I need your help.”
Why hadn’t she just said that in the first place? That pride of hers was an almost tangible thing. He set his coffee down and gripped the back of the chair. “What’s up?”
“Does that offer to help Austin get on the baseball team still stand?”
“He said he wasn’t interested.”
“He was. He is. I think he’s nervous about being the new kid. I guess I hadn’t realized how much his…shyness…was affecting him until the other night, when he wouldn’t even go with your nephew to play video games.”
“I can appreciate you wanting Austin to break out of his shell,” Nick said, “but if he’s not interested in baseball, forcing him to join the team might backfire.”
“That’s just it,” she said, leaning forward so far that her shirt caught on the edge of the table, pulling the material down. Averting his eyes as she tugged it back into place, he gulped down more coffee to ease the sudden dryness in his mouth. “Austin loves baseball. He’s been doing those drills you told him about every free minute, and he follows the games on TV. Plus he scours the sports section of the newspaper every morning at the salon.”
“I’
m not sure what I can do,” Nick admitted. “We’ve already started practicing.”
Faith stood and rounded the table toward him with a slow, sensual sway of her hips. He’d never seen her walk that way before. Laying her hand on his forearm, she tilted her head so that her hair slid over her shoulder. “I’d be so grateful if you could help us out.”
The soft, lyrical tone of her voice reminded him of the South. Her hand was warm and she traced tiny circles on his arm with her forefinger, while ever so subtly pressing close enough so that if he moved, he’d brush against her breasts.
Nick stood stock-still, his jaw clenched.
Something was way off here. He’d had women come on to him before—plenty of times. Some flirted in an attempt to get out of a ticket. Some wanted him in their bed. But Faith? What could she want from him?
“Yeah?” he asked huskily. “How grateful?”
She swallowed, but the determination in her face didn’t waver. Neither did her eyes from his. While his instincts told him she might not like acting the part of a woman willing to use her body to get what she wanted, she wasn’t new to it, either.
And what in the hell was that about?
She moved her hand farther up his arm, her short nails gently scratching him. “Grateful enough to repay you. However you want.” But she couldn’t hide the slight tremor in her voice or the tightness around her mouth.
“What I want,” he said quietly, “is for you not to insult either of us any more than you already have.”
Her brows drew together as she removed her hand from his arm. “What?”
Nick strode to the door because, damn it, he’d been tempted to take what she’d been offering. And that was wrong on so many levels, not the least of which being that when he’d kissed her a few days ago she couldn’t get away fast enough.
“Wait,” she called, stopping him at the door. “Where are you going?”
“Back to work.” He squeezed the doorknob. “I’ll put in a call to the baseball league’s president. I’m sure once I explain the situation, he’ll let Austin join the team. If the rain lets up, we’ll have practice tonight at six at Case Field. Have Austin there half an hour early so you can fill out the necessary paperwork.”
Then he walked away.
THE BASEBALL SAILED toward her. Faith squealed and cowered, covering her face with her arms as it bounced a few feet from her and rolled past, hitting the chain-link fence around the sunken dugout before landing in a puddle.
“Mom,” Austin said in disgust, “you’re supposed to catch it. I didn’t even throw it hard that time.”“I’m doing the best I can, Austin.” Well, as best as she wanted, anyway. She didn’t have some secret yen to be in the NBA or wherever it was baseball players played.
The rain had let up and Faith had brought Austin to the baseball field after an early supper. Jogging through the wet, spongy grass to the ball, she grabbed it, wound up and threw it as hard as she could. Once again her aim was off, and instead of arcing toward Austin, it went left. Her son raced over, dived and caught it in his glove as he slid across the outfield in his brand-new, had-to-have-them-today-so-she-paid-full-price-for-them baseball pants.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to get grass stains out of white pants?” she asked, but Austin couldn’t hear her over his self-congratulatory whooping. The only reason they’d bought white was because that was the last pair the small sports store had in Austin’s size.
“Bleach should get them clean,” a deep, familiar voice said.
Her heart stopped for a moment. Nick walked toward her, carrying a large duffel bag over one shoulder and some folders and a large binder under his other arm. The baseball cap he was wearing backward made him appear somewhat younger. But no less intimidating.
“Nice dive,” Nick told Austin as he tossed the huge bag into the dugout.
Austin grinned, his own ball cap covering his entire forehead. “Thanks. Okay, Mom, here comes another one.”
He threw the ball, a hard-liner right at her. Though she wanted to squeak and drop to the ground—stains be damned—Faith held her gloved hand out and prayed the stupid ball wouldn’t hit her. Again.
It was whizzing toward her when suddenly a hand appeared in her line of vision and caught it.
“You hold your glove like that,” Nick said evenly, “and the ball’s going to catch the tip of it and hit your face. You need to hold the glove up—” he pulled her hand back “—like this so you can catch the ball in the pocket. Pop fly,” he called, before tossing the ball into the air. Austin raced after it. “And it might help,” Nick added, “if you kept your eyes open.”
“They were open,” Faith insisted. She let her arm drop to her side. “Thank you for saving my nose. But didn’t catching the ball like that hurt your hand?”
He flexed his fingers. “Stings like a son of a bitch.”
Trevor raced onto the field, hauling a bag almost as big as the one Nick had carried, a bat with a mitt on its handle slung over his shoulder. He wore gray baseball pants—at least Faith hoped they were supposed to be gray and hadn’t started out white—a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, revealing his skinny arms, and a muddy pair of cleats. His ball cap had a bent rim, at least an inch of grime, and barely covered his curls.
“Want me to help Austin warm up, Uncle Nick?” Trevor asked when he reached them.
“That’d be great,” Nick said. Trevor dropped the bag, slid his mitt off the bat and joined Austin in the outfield.
Faith took off the glove Britney had lent her and wiped her sweaty palm down the side of her jeans. “Now that you’ve taught me the proper way to catch, maybe next time you could show me how to throw. I’m afraid Austin is losing patience chasing after the ball.”
“I’m sure he appreciates that you’re trying, even if the end results aren’t all that great. And if he doesn’t, he will someday.”
“So your mom throws like a girl, too?” Faith asked, hoping to get him to smile. To get him to forget the way she’d made a complete ass of herself with him earlier at the police station.
He glanced at her. “My mom didn’t play catch with me.”
“I’d just assumed…”
“After my dad died, she couldn’t get out of bed for three months, let alone take care of five kids.” He picked up the bag Trevor had dropped. “When the worst of her grief passed she was too busy trying to keep us all clothed and fed to play games.”
“Is that why you had to take care of your sisters?”
He sent her a sharp look.
“I heard…well, Britney mentioned you helped raise her….” What had he said when he’d defended his paying Austin to run to the hardware store for him? You think I don’t understand what it’s like for Austin, sitting here while you work?
Faith had no doubt now that Nick did understand.
He shrugged, uncomfortable either with her question or the subject as a whole. “I did what I had to do.”
“How old were you?”
“Eleven.”
Eleven? Dear Lord, that was only two years older than Austin. Faith couldn’t imagine her son having so much responsibility thrust upon him, and she couldn’t stop her heart from going out to Nick, to the little boy who’d had to take on so much at such a young age. No wonder he was so protective of his sisters. He’d spent most of his life caring for them.
“You’ll need to fill out a couple of forms,” Nick said. “The waiver for insurance purposes will have to be signed before he can participate in a practice with us, but the others can wait until later.”
“I can fill them out now,” she said slowly, following his abrupt change of subject. “It’s no problem.”
He nodded.
Faith followed Nick into the dugout. He set his folder on the bench and leafed through the papers, not giving her a second glance. She couldn’t help noticing how standoffish he was being.
Finally, he straightened and handed her some forms. “The top one is the release.” He gave her a pen
and gestured to the bench. “You can fill them out in here before the rest of the team shows up. Just leave them and the check in that top folder.”
“Check? You have to pay to join the baseball team?” That seemed sort of…un-American somehow.
“Aren’t you the one who lives by the belief that nothing’s free?”
“Ouch,” she whispered. No doubt about it, he was still angry with her about her come-on.
He took his hat off and raked his free hand through his hair. “Sorry.” Slapping the cap against his thigh, he added, “The registration fee helps cover the cost of insurance for the kids, plus equipment. Between our local fundraiser and the money from the concessions during games, we make enough to buy the uniforms and have a picnic at the end of the season. But if you can’t swing it at this time—”
“I can. And I want to thank you for allowing Austin to play.”
Nick settled his hat back on his head. “I didn’t have a full roster so it’s no big deal.”
The sound of her son’s laughter drifted to her. “Maybe not to you, but to Austin it is a big deal.” Inhaling a fortifying breath, Faith skimmed a finger over the back of Nick’s hand. “And to me.”
He stepped back and she curled her fingers into her palm. “All I did was call Bill Snyder, the president of the league, and explain the situation to him.”
Faith winced at Nick’s cool, dismissive tone. She’d really made a mess of things. The best thing to do, the smart thing, would be to let it go. Give him a few days.
“Practice is over at eight,” he said, picking up a large mitt and turning to leave. “You’re welcome to stay and watch.”
“I’m sorry.”
His shoulders tensed. “For what?”
She crossed her arms and glanced at the boys to make sure they weren’t within hearing distance. “For what happened earlier. At the police station.”
Two long strides and Nick stood before her. “You mean when you offered to do whatever I wanted in exchange for me getting Austin on the team? Tell me, Faith, what if I’d taken you up on it?” His eyes glittered and his mouth was an angry slash. “What if I’d said the price for my help was that I wanted you in my bed?”