by Irene Hannon
She took a deep breath. “You were right yesterday, and I apologize for my short temper. I should have gone home. Because now I’m worse. Listen, I know this is really short notice, and it sounds like you already have other plans, but is there any way you can fill in for me at the shop today? Or part of the day? I’d call Nancy, but she’s busy with Eileen’s birthday party.”
Blake glanced at his watch. He was due at a finance meeting for the homeless shelter in half an hour, and he had a Big Brothers board meeting at one o’clock. There was no way he could get out of those commitments. Both groups were counting on him.
“I’m sorry, A.J. I can’t. I’m already running late for one meeting, and I have another one after that.”
Her heart sank. But what did she expect? Blake lived a structured life. Flexibility wasn’t in his vocabulary. Last-minute changes would wreak havoc with his carefully made plans.
“Okay. I understand. I wouldn’t want to disrupt your schedule. Thanks anyway.”
“I’d help you out if I could.”
“Like I said, I understand. Have a good day.”
Before he could respond, she hung up. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he put his own phone back in its base with more force than necessary. Her implication had been clear. He was too rigid to adjust his schedule to accommodate an emergency. She’d judged him without even asking the details of his refusal, which made him mad. So, fine. Let her deal with this predicament on her own. She’d brought it on herself, anyway, with her impromptu trip to Washington. She’d told him yesterday she could take care of herself. Well, today she’d have to.
Except that he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Twice at the finance meeting he’d had to ask someone to repeat a question. And at the Big Brothers meeting he looked at his watch so many times that the president finally made a comment about it—and he was only half joking. By the time the meeting ended at three-thirty, Blake had made up his mind. He had to relieve A.J. at the shop. If she looked half as bad as she’d sounded that morning, she was probably about ready to drop.
In fact, she looked worse. After entering the shop from the rear, through the office, he paused on the threshold of the main room. A.J. was checking out a customer, but she was sitting behind the counter on a stool, not standing as she always did. And when she reached for a bag, he could see her hand shaking.
In several long strides he was beside her. He took the bag from her almost before she realized he was there, and when their hands brushed briefly her fingers felt hot and dry. She gazed at him blankly, her eyes dull with fever.
“I’ll finish up this sale,” he said close to her ear. “Stay put.”
A.J. didn’t argue. Which told him that she was really sick.
He dispensed with the customer as quickly as he could, then turned to her. Her shoulders were drooped, and her face was flushed. “I got here as quickly as I could. Did you take your temperature this morning?”
She nodded.
“What was it?”
“A hundred and one.”
He muttered something under his breath, then spoke aloud. “Why didn’t you tell me that when you called?”
She tried to shrug, but the effort seemed to require more energy than she had. “Would it have made a difference?”
He expelled a frustrated sigh. “I’m not even going to answer that. Did you call the doctor?”
“It’s just a bug.”
He thought about another bug…the persistent parasite from Afghanistan. Which might have weakened her immune system, made her more susceptible to other bugs. He doubted she should take any chances. He considered arguing—then thought better of it. She was probably right, and he was probably overreacting. It was most likely just a virus. But if she wasn’t a lot better in a day or two, then he’d argue. Right now she needed to rest. “Fine. I’ll get your coat.”
“Why?”
“I’m taking you home.”
“There’s no one to watch the shop.”
“I’ll put a sign in the window.”
She stared at him. “We’ve never closed the shop in the middle of the day before.”
“I guess there’s a first time for everything.”
“But…we might lose customers.”
“They’ll come back.”
Suddenly she frowned. “You can’t drive me. My car’s here.”
“You’re in no condition to drive.”
“Blake, I appreciate the offer, but I can get home on my own.”
As if to demonstrate her point, she stood. Then lost the argument when she swayed. He grabbed her upper arms to steady her, and she closed her eyes.
“Maybe…maybe you better drive me after all,” she said faintly.
When she lifted her eyelids, Blake’s intense eyes were riveted on hers. There was concern in their depths—and in that brief, unguarded instant, an unexpected tenderness that made her breath catch in her throat. She was only inches from his solid chest, and his strong arms held her steadily, protectively. For a fleeting moment, A.J. wanted to step into his embrace, to lay her head on his broad shoulder, to feel his arms enfold and hold her. It was a startling impulse, surely brought on by her weakened condition. To counter it, she tried to step back. But he held her fast, and their gazes locked.
Blake stared at A.J. Despite her attempt to move away, he didn’t want to let her go. He wanted to protect her. It was a primitive instinct, one he had never before experienced. He’d dated a fair amount, but no one had ever elicited this response. It was…weird. Especially since he and A.J. were simply business associates. They hardly liked each other.
Someone cleared his throat, and Blake and A.J. turned to find a customer waiting to be checked out. Reluctantly, Blake released her, but not before he gave her one more quick, searching gaze. “Are you steady enough to go get your coat?”
She nodded mutely. For some reason her voice had deserted her.
“Okay. I’ll meet you in the back in five minutes.”
As A.J. waited for him, she tried to figure out what had just happened between them. It was almost like…attraction. Which was crazy. They were nothing alike. In fact, they were completely opposite. And they clashed all the time. There was no basis for any chemistry. Oh, sure, Blake was a nice-looking guy. In fact, as Morgan would say, he was a hunk. But he wasn’t her type. Whatever had happened out there had to be a fluke. Maybe it had something to do with her fever.
But that didn’t quite ring true. Because based on what she’d seen in his eyes, A.J. was pretty sure that Blake had experienced the same thing.
And he wasn’t sick.
Someone was using a hammer. In the middle of the night. A.J. pried her eyelids open and squinted at the clock. Seven o’clock. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the middle of the night after all. But it sure felt like it was.
The pounding started again. This time it was accompanied by Blake’s voice, which had a slightly desperate edge.
“A.J.? Open the door! I’m calling the police if you don’t!”
She struggled to her feet, favoring her hip, which had started to ache again. She limped to the door and fumbled with the locks in the darkness. When she finally pulled the door open, she caught a glimpse of Mr. Simmons, her elderly neighbor, peering through a crack in his door across the hall.
“Everything all right, A.J.?” he asked.
“Fine, thanks, Mr. Simmons. Sorry to bother you,” she said hoarsely.
She stepped back, and as Blake came in she did some mental arithmetic. It was still an hour to closing. “Who’s at the shop?”
“I called Nancy. The party ended at five-thirty and she came in.” He flipped on a light and studied her. “How are you?”
“I took some aspirin. And I’ve been sleeping.”
Which didn’t answer his question. But her appearance said it all. Her eyes were watery and her face still looked flushed. “Have you taken your temperature lately?”
She shook her head. “Like I said, I’ve been sleeping.”
/> “Why don’t you go do that while I reheat this soup?”
She stared at the bag in this hand. “You brought me soup?”
“I figured you probably hadn’t eaten all day. Rose said chicken noodle soup was perfect for a cold. And she told me to tell you to get a lot of rest and drink a lot of water. She said we need you in fighting form for our battle with city hall, and made me promise to report back to her that you were taking care of yourself.”
A.J. could imagine Rose issuing those instructions. What she was having a hard time imagining was that Blake had gone to all this trouble on her behalf. She looked at him quizzically. “Why did you do this?”
Blake had been asking himself the same question all the way over here. And he hadn’t come up with a good answer. Or at least one he was willing to live with. “Let’s just say it’s Christian charity.”
“I might buy that if you were a religious man.”
He gave her a frustrated look. “Are you going to stand here all night, or are you going to take your temperature?”
She certainly didn’t feel like standing here all night. In fact, she didn’t feel like standing, period. She was starting to get light-headed again. Instead of responding, she just headed for the bathroom to retrieve the thermometer. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and stuck it in her mouth. She heard Blake rummaging in her kitchen, heard him open the microwave, heard the beeps as he programmed it. He hadn’t really answered her question about why he was here. And she was too weary to try and figure it out today. But whatever the reason, she was glad he’d come.
A.J. was still sitting on the edge of the bed, thermometer in hand, when Blake appeared at her door holding a lap tray with a large glass of water and a bowl of soup.
“May I come in?”
She almost smiled. It was so like him to ask a question like that. After all, it was the conventional thing to do. “Of course. Where did you get the tray?”
“Rose had it in the back of her deli and insisted I borrow it. So what’s the verdict?” He nodded toward the thermometer.
“One hundred.”
He frowned. “Not good.”
“It’s a little better than before. The aspirin must be starting to work.”
“Do you want to get back into bed? It might be easier to balance the tray.”
She nodded. With an effort she scooted back and swung her legs up. A chill went through her, and she reached for the comforter.
“Are you cold?”
The man didn’t miss a thing. “Chills and fever go together.” She tried to keep her teeth from chattering as she spoke.
“Maybe the soup will help.” He leaned down to place the tray on her lap, and as he settled it in place their gazes met. A.J. stared up into his eyes, only inches from her own, and it happened again. She wanted to reach out to him, to pull him close, to take comfort in his strong arms. The impulse scared her. She didn’t want a man in her life. Not now. Not ever. She’d been down that road once. It was not a trip she wanted to take again. Especially not with this man. But she couldn’t quiet the sudden staccato beat of her heart at his nearness.
Blake’s gaze flickered down to the pulse beating frantically in the hollow of her throat, and when he looked back up his eyes had darkened in intensity. A.J. had a feeling that he knew exactly the effect he was having on her, and the flush on her face deepened. She tried to look away, but his compelling gaze held hers. Suddenly his eyes grew confused, and a slight frown appeared on his brow. He stood quickly, and when he spoke, his voice had an odd, appealingly husky quality. “Eat your soup.”
A.J. didn’t even try to speak. She just averted her gaze and picked up the spoon. When she finally ventured a glance in his direction, he was standing near the doorway watching her, his hands in his pockets, the frown still on his face.
“You ought to leave, Blake. I don’t want you to get sick, too,” she croaked.
“I don’t get sick.”
“I don’t usually, either.”
“Except in Afghanistan.”
“That was a fluke.”
“Was the leg injury a fluke, too?” The question was out before he could stop it.
Slowly she raised her gaze to his. “What leg injury?”
Too late to backtrack now. “There’s nothing wrong with my eyesight, A.J. I’ve seen you limping.”
She swallowed and averted her gaze. “That’s not from Afghanistan. It’s an old injury. Most of the time it doesn’t bother me.”
He waited, but it was clear that she wasn’t going to explain further. And much as he wanted to know the story behind the injury that clearly did bother her on a fairly regular basis, he knew she wasn’t up to discussing it today. Her eyelids were growing heavy again, and weariness was etched on her face. At least she’d eaten most of the soup. He moved toward her and lifted the tray.
“There’s more soup in the fridge. And some quiche. Take it easy tomorrow, okay?”
She looked up at him, grateful he hadn’t pressed her about her injury. “Thank you, Blake.”
“You’re welcome. Nancy and I can cover the shop on Monday if you’re still not feeling well.”
She nodded gratefully. “Okay.”
He turned to go, pausing on the threshold to look back at her once more. A.J. stared at him, her green eyes wide and appealing. She’d lost some weight in the past week, and the fine bone structure of her face made her look almost fragile. Somewhere along the way the band that tamed her unruly curls had disappeared. Now her strawberry blond hair tumbled around her shoulders loose and soft. She looked innocent. And sweet. And very, very appealing.
A voice inside him urged him to stay.
But he was afraid.
So he listened to the other voice, the one that told him to run.
As far and as fast as he could.
A.J. took Blake up on his offer and stayed home Monday. The Board of Aldermen meeting was Tuesday, and she needed to be in top form when she made her appeal. Fortunately, when she woke on Tuesday, she felt well enough to go to work. There was just one little problem.
She had no voice.
A fact she didn’t discover until she walked into Turning Leaves and tried to return Blake’s greeting. She opened her mouth. She formed the words. But no sound came out. Her eyes widened in alarm.
“What’s wrong?” Blake asked.
She raised her hands helplessly and pointed to her throat, then walked behind the desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. She wrote, “My voice is gone,” and pushed it toward him.
He read it and frowned. “You can’t talk?”
She shook her head. And suddenly felt tears welling in her eyes. Talk about rotten timing! The rest of the merchants were counting on her to make an impassioned plea tonight. She’d carefully prepared her remarks, practiced them, prepped for possible questions. What were they going to do?
Blake studied her face, his perceptive eyes missing nothing, then took her hand and led her toward the back room. He passed Nancy on the way. “Cover the front, okay?” he said over his shoulder.
When they got in the back he gently pressed A.J. into the desk chair, pulled up a chair beside her and turned on the computer. “Okay. Let’s try communicating this way. You’re worried about tonight, right?”
She nodded and typed, “Everyone is counting on me! What are we going to do?”
“Can’t someone else speak for the group?”
Her fingers flew over the keys. “But no one else has had time to prepare. And it’s a lot to dump on someone at the last minute. I could give someone my comments, but who could deliver them?”
Blake steepled his fingers, rested his elbows on the desk and stared at the computer screen. A.J. had shared the draft of her comments with him, so he knew what she planned to say. Her remarks were eloquent and touching, but also hard-hitting. No one could deliver them as well as she could. And none of the others were accustomed to standing in front of a group and making a business presentation. Except him.
Blake knew he was the logical choice to take over. He’d worked side-by-side with Jo for years, so he could talk about her commitment to the area with authority. And he’d done his homework on TIF. He understood how it worked and why the city was interested from a financial standpoint. But he also understood why using it wasn’t necessarily in the best long-term interest of Maplewood.
Finally Blake turned and looked at A.J. And read in her eyes exactly what he’d just been thinking. Yet she hadn’t asked him to step in. Because after meeting his parents, after the dinner in her apartment, she knew how he felt about getting publicly involved in causes. Even one this close to his heart. And she wasn’t going to pressure him.
Maybe if she had, Blake would have resisted. But because she didn’t, because she had taken his feelings into consideration and refrained from asking him to put himself in an uncomfortable position, Blake felt an obligation to offer. A.J. had poured herself into this effort, as had the other merchants. He’d just attended the meetings and contributed on a peripheral level. Maybe it was time he pulled his weight.
He drew a deep breath and slowly folded his arms on the desk in front of him. “Okay. How about if I speak for the group?”
Gratitude filled her eyes, and then she turned back to the monitor and typed rapidly. “It would mean a lot to me. And to Aunt Jo, too, I know.”
When their gazes met a moment later, there was a softness in A.J.’s eyes that Blake had never seen before. And suddenly he found it difficult to breathe. He cleared his throat, and scooted back slightly. “Why don’t you give me your notes and I’ll use them as a basis for my own comments. Can you and Nancy cover the shop part of the day while I prepare?”
She nodded. Then she laid her hand on his arm and mouthed two simple words. “Thank you.”
The warmth of her touch seeped in through the oxford cloth of his shirt. And somehow worked its way to his heart.
The turnout for the meeting at city hall was better than any of the merchants had hoped. The seats were all taken twenty minutes before the proceedings were scheduled to begin, and several staff members scurried around setting up extra chairs. Even then, there wasn’t enough seating. Attendees lined the walls and spilled out into the hall. By the time the meeting was called to order, the room was packed.