by Lois Richer
“I’m sorry—I wasn’t thinking. Was the surgery successful?” Shay frowned.
“The doctors said it was a total success. Now it only hurts when I move,” he joked. Shay didn’t laugh. “I can’t throw a football fifty feet,” he admitted. Her eyes darkened with sympathy that Nick didn’t want, so he moved the focus back to her. “Why did you buy the farm, Shay?”
“Because it’s my home. I know every nook and cranny of that land, and I always liked living there.” She smirked. “I like it even more now. The old house was a wreck, so I had it torn down and built a new one. You should visit me. I’ve got the best view in this county.”
“But surely you don’t intend to farm? The orchards must be in very bad shape.” Nick couldn’t fathom what this model-turned-physiotherapist would do with a pecan farm.
“Well, I was told the harvest in December didn’t yield much. But I do think the trees will come back eventually. I’ll wait and see. For now I have to concentrate on my practice.” Her voice softened. “Anyway, it’s not the orchard I wanted, Nick, as much as my home. Dad had big plans for the family place. I’d like to fulfill some of them, but that’s down the road. For now, I have to live somewhere, so it might as well be on familiar territory.”
Nick searched her face. He knew her well enough to know there was something she wasn’t saying. Shay avoided his intent look by tossing the scant remains of her cone in a nearby trash can. She offered Maggie a tissue to clean up her hands then asked, “Would you like to try the swing, honey?”
The little girl frowned, her eyes speculative. Finally she nodded, very slowly.
“I’ll help you.” Shay lifted his niece into her arms and carried her to the swing. With an ease that surprised Nick, she set Maggie on the seat, told her to hang on then gently pushed until the swing swayed back and forth.
Concern grabbed at Nick as alarm filled Maggie’s face.
“Uh, Shay, maybe you shouldn’t—”
She pinned him with her world-famous stare. “It’s okay, Nick,” she assured him, her quiet, firm tone communicating that she had everything under control.
Nick’s argument died on his lips. He nodded and she continued pushing Maggie, offering encouragement.
“Can your toes touch the sky, Maggie?” Shay’s casual gaze intensified as she assessed the child. “Wow! That’s amazing.”
Nick sat on the end of a child’s slide and observed Shay coax Maggie through a series of moves using little dares that began with “Betcha can’t…” Maggie responded every time, engrossed in the tasks as she pushed herself to prove she could do it. After a few minutes Shay slowed the swing, hugged the little girl and said something that widened Maggie’s grin. Shay took the swing beside her and together they swayed back and forth, chattering like magpies. Eventually Shay beckoned him over.
“I think Maggie has had enough swinging,” she said, tilting her head to indicate Maggie’s drooping body.
Nick took his cue, strode forward and bent to lift his niece free. Before he could, Shay reached out and touched his hands, her fingers firm as she rearranged his grip.
“Higher,” she murmured in his ear. “Like this. Not under her knees.”
So he had been hurting Maggie. Inside him, anger exploded at his clumsiness and the seeming hopelessness of her situation. The doctor’s words today hadn’t been encouraging. Maggie wasn’t moving as much as expected. Small wonder. She had missed so many therapy sessions in Las Cruces. It wasn’t his mom’s fault but—well, at least he was here to help now. If only he could do more.
Using great care, Nick set Maggie in the truck and fastened her seat belt. He waited for Shay to climb inside, but she pushed the door closed.
“I’ll walk back. I need the exercise after that gigantic cone.” She patted her flat midriff and grinned. “I’ve gained five pounds since I’ve been back.”
He couldn’t see where. Shay looked fantastic in her white fitted pants and navy blue shirt. Her peaches-and-cream skin, flawless except for the trademark spattering of freckles across her elegant nose, glowed radiant in the unrelenting desert sun.
Nick blinked in surprise as a thud of male appreciation hit him. Shay was gorgeous, of course. Always had been. But he wasn’t attracted to her—they’d been friends, that’s all.
“Uh, we’d better get—”
“Nick, can you come to my place tonight?” Shay asked quietly. “I need to talk to you about Maggie.”
Since that was exactly what he wanted to talk to her about, he nodded. “Seven-thirty?”
She agreed. “Good seeing you, Nick.” Shay lifted her hand and almost touched his arm before she quickly backed away.
“Good to see you, too, Shay,” he said, confused by her abrupt actions, almost as if she were afraid of the contact. “I’ll see you later.”
As he drove away, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Shay stood where he’d left her, staring after them, copper hair glistening, her lovely face pensive.
“Is Shay your girlfriend, Uncle Nick?”
“Huh? No.” Nick laughed. That was absurd, of course. Nick didn’t do relationships—well, not with the memory of his father’s abandonment melded into his brain. The entire town had gossiped and mourned Cal Green’s lack of consideration for his family. When his father had finally walked out for good, Nick had heard enough whispers and pity to last a lifetime. He’d tried once to rebuild his connection with his father and twice to have a romantic relationship and he’d failed badly at all three. Fearing he might take after his father, Nick now avoided those kinds of emotional entanglements.
“Then how come you know her?” Maggie asked.
“Shay’s a friend. We grew up together.”
“I like her,” Maggie said while yawning. She closed her eyes and drifted to sleep as he drove home.
But Nick was wide awake. And foremost on his mind was why Shay hadn’t mentioned anything about their encounter in New York. Maybe he’d ask her about that tonight.
He looked again in his mirror and saw her walking across the park, her pace furious.
As if she was running away from something.
Or someone.
Yes, Shay Parker was most definitely not telling him something.
Chapter Two
Shay checked her yard for the third time in less than five minutes, sat down to knit, then rose and peered through the window again, anxious to determine what had caused the crunching sound on the gravel driveway.
Nothing there.
She inhaled and counted to ten while fighting back the burgeoning cloud of alarm now swelling inside her head. This was what no one understood, what she’d only recently learned for herself. Her panic attacks were about losing control. That’s what her stalker had left her with—the fear that her world would go careening out of control and that she’d unravel worse than she ever had before.
And there would be nobody there to help her put herself back together again.
Think about Nick, she ordered her jittery brain. Nick was a friend, a very good friend.
Had been a friend, her brain corrected without her permission. Because if he was a friend, why, when Nick’s fingers had brushed hers when he’d handed her the cone, had she felt fear? Sure, she’d covered by making a joke about his ice cream choice, but later when she’d almost touched his arm, her pulse had skittered and she’d jerked away because she’d had a flashback.
Her stalker’s name was Dom. Or at least, that’s what he’d called himself. He’d said he touched her, and she hadn’t known.
The memory of someone brushing her shoulder and touching her arm before a shoot still haunted her. Back then Shay hadn’t suspected anything untoward, not until she’d received that phone call—I’m closer than you think. I can touch you whenever I want. In fact, I already have, lots of times. Almost three years later and she still hadn’t rid herself of the panic. That’s what had ruined her relationship with Eric. What man wanted to be with someone who froze like a nervous Nellie whenever he embraced her?
&nb
sp; Eric had taught Shay that she could never have a normal relationship with a man. The shame, the embarrassment and, most of all, the longing to love haunted her still.
“Shay?”
Shay yelped as she jerked back to awareness. An involuntary rush of fear clutched her throat until she realized Nick stood outside her door.
“Uh, can I come in?” He rattled the handle, studying her with a quizzical look.
“Yes. Of course. Sure. Come on in.” She flushed as she unlatched the two locks and pushed open the door. “Sorry. I was woolgathering.”
He frowned when she flicked both locks back into place once he was inside.
“You’re expecting pecan robbers or something?” he joked. “Not that you shouldn’t take precautions,” he added when she frowned at him. His gaze followed her motions as she checked and rechecked the two very solid locks.
“Can’t be too careful.” Embarrassed that he’d noticed her obsessive security measures, Shay regrouped, led the way into her living room and waved a hand. “Have a seat, Nick. Iced tea or coffee?”
“Whatever you have is fine. Um—” Nick eyed the furniture and remained standing.
Shay suddenly realized all the seats were covered with skeins of wool she’d sorted earlier. “Oh. Sorry.”
He remained silent while she scooped her yarn, needles and a pattern book from the biggest, roomiest chair. Then he said, “That looks complicated.”
“It’s going to be a blanket for Jaclyn’s baby. I just hope I can get it finished before she delivers.” Shay set the project in a woven basket on the floor next to the chair facing her wall of windows. “There. Now you can sit down.”
“Why did you pick something so difficult to make?” he asked.
“If it was easy, it wouldn’t be much of a gift,” she said with a quick smile. “I want my gift for this baby to be as special as Jaclyn is to me. I’ll be right back.”
When she returned with a tray that had two drinks and a dish of tortilla chips and salsa, he said, “You weren’t kidding about your view, were you? The orchards don’t look bad from here.”
“I hired someone to prune things a bit.” She sat down, aware of his wide-eyed scrutiny of her home.
“Maybe you should hire the same guy to cut all that tall grass in your backyard,” Nick suggested. “The rains in January spurred a lot of growth, but now it’s so dry that if a wildfire starts, that grass will feed it like gas. Your house could be in jeopardy.”
“I’ll get it done,” she promised, and added “soon” when he kept staring at her.
“Good.” Nick’s bemused gaze took in the splashes of color on the walls, the floors and the furniture. “This sure isn’t what I expected your place would look like.”
“What did you expect? Steel and glass and leather? Glitz and glamour?” Shay burst out laughing at his nod. “But, Nick, that’s not me.”
“Are you kidding?” He scowled. “How is glitz and glamour not you?”
“That’s what I did,” she said gently. “That’s how I made my living.” She pointed to the wall opposite them. “That’s the real me.”
“You made this?” Nick got up to examine an intricately stitched design of a little girl paddling at the seashore. It could have been Shay once, a long time ago. “It’s very nice. But—”
“Being a model only looks glamorous, Nick. There’s actually a lot of downtime, waiting for the photographer or the makeup person or hairstylist, and more endless hours in airports. Dad encouraged me to do handwork to pass the time. When I finished something, I’d put it away in a box he gave me.” She was not going to call it a hope chest. “That’s it there.”
Nick knelt in front of the intricately decorated trunk. “It’s lovely.”
“I kept putting things in there because I knew one day I’d have my own place, a place I could make into my home.” She waved a hand. “Most of what you see here is stuff I’ve made.”
Nick rose, examined cushions, hangings and the little stool she’d recovered with a tapestry she told him she’d found in Italy.
“Did you make this, too?” he asked, indicating a canvas dotted with handprints that took up the entire wall behind the dining table.
“No. That was a gift from the kids I worked with before I came here.” As always, the colorful finger-painted mural made her smile. “I have the other half of it hanging in my office.” Shay waited for him to sit down again, sipping her drink as she puzzled over how to broach the subject she’d been musing on since she’d met with Maggie’s medical team earlier. “Catch me up on your world, Nick.”
“Not much to tell since we talked after Maggie’s accident.” He returned to his seat and took a drink before he spoke, his voice flat and emotionless. “Tore my shoulder, had surgery, gave up pro ball.”
“And now?” she prodded. “I know some athletes go into broadcasting. Is that what you’ll do?”
“No. I’m lousy at that. I get too caught up in the game and forget to make the comments they want. The only thing I know is playing football.” Nick’s face tightened into tense lines. His brown eyes deepened to that dark shade that told her he was brooding over something.
“You know a lot more than football, Nick.” Shay could see him mentally reject that but she let it hang, waiting.
“It seems I don’t know much that makes me employable. Anyway, I have six months’ leave and then I’ll go back to the team. They’ve offered me a job with the coaching staff.” Nick sounded—discouraged?
“Six months is lots of time,” she told him optimistically. “I’m sure you’ll be all healed up by then.”
“Oh, I’m healthy now. I asked for the six months so I could help Mom with Maggie, but I have to go back then for sure.” His response sounded less than thrilled.
“Well, a job is good. Isn’t it?” Shay added when he got lost in his thoughts.
“Yeah, a job is very good. Only I don’t like the thought of leaving Mom here, alone, to manage with Maggie,” Nick admitted. “It’s a lot for her to take on a kid Maggie’s age. Mom did so much for us, raising all of us on her own. She deserves to have some time for herself.”
“Knowing your mother’s great big heart, I seriously doubt she feels that way.” Shay sipped her tea and made a mental note to talk to Mrs. Green about her arthritis. But first she had to deal with the past. “I need to say something to you, Nick.”
“Go ahead.” He leaned back and waited.
“I—uh, never did thank you properly for your help in New York.” She swallowed hard and forced herself to continue, feeling nauseous. “What you did for me—well, it was more than I ever expected. I just wanted to make sure you know how much I appreciate it.”
“What are friends for, if not to chase away stalkers?” Nick joked. When she didn’t smile, his eyes narrowed. “You haven’t heard from him, have you?”
“No. Why?” Panic reached out and clamped its hand around her throat, taking away her breath. Her fingers involuntarily pinched the fabric of her capris. “Have you heard something?”
“Me?” Nick shook his head, his face confused as he studied her. “No.”
“Oh. Good.” She knew she’d just made a fool of herself with her reaction, but she still struggled with a sense of dread. “I—I never heard from him again after you read him the riot act.”
“That’s great.” Nick kept looking at her. “Isn’t it?”
Shay offered an unconvincing nod, still unable to shake her memories of those horrible days.
When the police couldn’t help, she’d fought to hold her world together on her own. And she’d been losing that war, until Nick arrived. She’d been so relieved to see a friend that day that she’d dumped the whole sorry tale on his broad shoulders. Being the good guy he was, Nick had insisted on knowing the details. Then he’d heard Dom’s voice, demeaning, threatening and mocking her.
Shay couldn’t believe it when Nick told Dom he’d taped the conversation and threatened police action and reprisals from what Nick cla
imed were legions of Shay’s friends. It worked—she’d never heard from the stalker again—but she’d never been able to shed the panic from those months of persecution. She always felt Dom was out there, lurking, waiting for her weakest moment to appear again.
“Did you ever figure out why this guy focused on you?”
“No. The first couple of times he emailed me through my fan page, he was very nice. He complimented me on my latest cover, said he’d seen me on a talk show, asked if I might throw my support behind a pet hospital, that kind of thing. He was very friendly.” Shivers speed-walked up her spine. “But by the time you came to New York, he’d become very aggressive. He told me he’d touched me without my realizing it. I didn’t believe him, but then he gave details and I knew he’d been near. Too near.”
“Nobody ever remembered seeing him?”
“No, and believe me, I questioned everyone, though I never actually told anyone what was going on. Later I learned some of the other models had faced the same thing, so they would have understood how worried I was, but…” She shrugged. “At the time I was too scared and embarrassed to talk about it.”
“Maybe he was someone you worked with.” Nick’s lips tightened into a grim line.
“I thought of that. But I never had any concrete proof to give police, no personal details. After the fourth or fifth call, I think they stopped believing me. And he knew it.”
“Hey, relax now. You’re safe here,” Nick reminded her.
“Yes.” Shay inhaled to regain control. “It’s just…I have no idea how he found my number or knew my new address. I changed phones and moved, but that only seemed to aggravate him. Police traced the calls, but they always led to a dead end. Dom was very careful. When he did call—well, you heard him. He’d taunt me with what he’d do when we were alone—” She gulped and forced her breathing to slow. “Sorry. I still struggle a bit with his—you know.”
“Abuse.” Nick’s cold, hard word made her flinch.
“Well, yes.” She exhaled. “I tried a hundred different things. I ignored him. I monitored every move I made to see if I could figure out who he was. I became suspicious of everyone. But I was helpless. I had no idea how to—” Shay paused. It sounded weak and pathetic to say escape, as if she’d been a prisoner. Yet that was exactly what she’d felt like.