Her breath came in gasps. Sweat beaded on her forehead and upper lip. God help her, she needed to get out of Troublesome Gulch before her emotions roared even further out of control. Until all those raw, dangerous memories had been corralled back into their neat little mental stalls, gates locked, out of sight and mind where they’d lived for nearly twelve years. She couldn’t bear it.
Escape.
Escape.
She whipped wet strands of her choppy-cut hair out of her face, but still it took three tries to get her key into the ignition of her Subaru Outback. By the time she cranked the engine to life, she was so amped that she accidentally kept the key engaged until the pistons squealed in protest. Jamming the stick into Reverse, she spun gravel pulling out of her driveway.
She didn’t know she was heading toward I-70. She didn’t realize she was crying until she hit the eastbound lanes, and by that time, she couldn’t stop. She sobbed until her throat ached and her nose clogged, until her whole face felt swollen with grief. She only remembered to wipe her eyes because she didn’t want to risk causing an accident that would force some innocent person to suffer the agony she’d been living through.
Poor Suzette.
She flinched, white-knuckling the steering wheel.
Sure, she had enough of a grip on reality to know she hadn’t caused Suzette’s husband’s death, but she hadn’t been able to prevent it, either. Or to help—not even a little bit. She’d lost her damned precious control. Where did that leave her?
It’ll be okay, Brody had told her.
Right.
She couldn’t be happier for Brody and Faith, or more impressed that Brody had been able to face his demons from that horrible prom night tragedy and come away with the love of the perfect woman. But, some people got lucky in this life, and the rest just muddled through.
Her tears dried up as miles of concrete spun beneath the wheels of her tires, and her face and brain grew numb. By the time the night had darkened to indigo and the pink-and-gold skyline of Denver glittered before her, Erin had resigned herself to a life as one of the muddlers. At least, that’s the story she would cling to that night. Anything to keep her mind off…the rest.
She’d survived so far not confronting her issues. Why start now?
She drove until the city swallowed her car, until neon bar signs from a nondescript, yet crowded tavern drew her gaze. Without forethought, she pulled into the parking lot and stopped. Muffled music thumped out from the club’s interior. Her vision blurred as she stared at the place, looking without seeing, caring not at all. She jumped and gasped when the tavern doors banged open, and a laughing couple emerged and headed toward a bright yellow convertible.
Talk about adrenaline overload.
After the couple roared off into the darkness, Erin pulled her keys from the ignition and shoved them into her purse. Hands in her pockets, she entered the bar. She made eye contact with no one, because she wasn’t there to socialize. The loud music enveloped her into the kind of anonymity she craved. She spied an open bar stool on the far end of the bar near the restrooms sign and headed for it.
No sooner had she sat than the bartender sidled up and lifted his chin. “What’s your poison, miss?”
Guilt, she thought. Horror. As if she cared. She cleared her throat, but her voice still came out hoarse from the sobbing. “Tequila.”
“Shot?”
“Whatever,” she said, not meeting his gaze.
Unfazed by her attitude—no doubt the man had seen it all—he poured her a shot, set it on a napkin with sliced lime and a salt shaker. “Start you a tab?”
She shook her head.
“Seven-fifty.”
She dug a ten-dollar bill out of her purse and slid it across the bar. “Keep the change.”
The cash register keys blipped, and then the drawer opened. “You need anything, lemme know,” the barrel-shaped man said as he pocketed the change, then slammed the drawer shut, its coins jangling like her nerves.
Then, thankfully, she was alone.
With a shaky hand, she reached out for the shot glass. She lifted it tentatively toward her face, but then the smell assaulted her nostrils, and she knew she couldn’t drink it. She hadn’t been much of a drinker since…and never when she was driving. Certainly not a shot drinker. Tonight, stuffed full with horrible memories, was not the night to violate that particular personal code.
With a sigh, she set the glass back down and rested her forehead in her palms. She couldn’t shake the pent-up tension, the racing energy. Something had to give.
“Wanna dance?” came a voice close to her left ear. Wholeheartedly unenthusiastic, she angled her head and eyed the guy standing there. Well, it might at least burn off some steam.
After an apathetic shrug, she slid listlessly from the bar stool and headed toward the crowded dance floor, assuming he’d follow her. She was right.
He caught up and tossed her a grin. “I’m Bill.”
She nodded, hooking the long strap of her purse over her shoulder so it rested on the opposite hip.
They started dancing, and the feel of her body moving seemed to mask some of her pent-up emotions. Or at least keep her one step ahead of them. A bandage—not a cure—but she’d take what she could get.
“So…what was your name?”
She regarded Bill, then squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “No offense, but we both know it doesn’t matter. Let’s just dance.”
Bill shrugged and seemed to accept it.
The more she danced, the more the memories flooded back, no matter how vehemently she tried to fend them off. She needed to find a way back to survival mode. So she danced harder. After Bill, there were other dance partners, but she didn’t see any of them, didn’t let their names or faces linger in her brain. Who cared? They weren’t Kevin, never would be Kevin, so none of them mattered.
Her ability to love—to feel, really—had burned to acrid gray ashes long ago. Wasn’t that why she lived the way she did, and had, for so long? Alone? Putting up a façade? Laughing when she wanted to cry? All of it pretty much a lie? What would Kevin think of her now?
The geyser of her emotions continued to erupt, so she danced faster, the multicolored bar lights smearing in her vision. All she knew was, she couldn’t stop now, or she’d lose it. Completely.
All Nate Walker had wanted from the evening was a beer or two and some quiet anonymity in which to clear his brain. The night’s work had been grueling, the band exorbitantly demanding, as if the pyrotechnic oohs and aahs could make up for their lack of true talent.
But he’d noticed the dark beauty the moment she came in, her hair wild and tangled, eyes haunted. She’d walked right past him without even a flicker of notice, taking a stool at the opposite end of the long, polished concrete bar from where he sat. He’d silently watched as she’d ordered a shot she never drank, and then as she danced with a never-ending series of partners she didn’t seem to notice, let alone speak to.
She was somewhere else altogether.
Too bad the guys seemed to view her as right here, right now—and fair game, to boot. His beer had gone warm and untouched as he watched them dance with her, one after another. The more they’d drunk, the closer they danced, and the brighter the predatory gleam in their eyes.
He’d started to curse himself for being here in the first place. He could’ve stayed in his hotel room, ordered up a meal. Steered clear of trouble until his plane took off for Las Vegas tomorrow. He didn’t want to get involved in some dark-eyed beauty’s private pain, and yet something drew him to her.
God knew, he’d always been a sucker for troubled women, frail old ladies and little kids who couldn’t find their parents. Not to mention homeless mutts. But he’d had his fill of the savior role. It always seemed to backfire.
And yet…
If bad luck hadn’t brought him to this spot, on this night, what would’ve happened to this woman? His chest clenched. For all he knew, he could be the single twist of fate t
hat stood between her and some heinous crime.
It’s that kind of thinking that gets you in trouble. Total melodrama. He smirked to himself. He should write screenplays.
She looked strong enough. Lean and mean—in a sexy, feminine way—but beneath that tough veneer lurked a sweet vulnerability she couldn’t quite keep under wraps. It tugged on his heart, and he felt pretty sure that the pack of predators caught on to it, too. His insight, however, brought a wave of concern for her. Protectiveness. The insights of the guys in the bar seemed to be guiding them down a whole different, much more self-serving path.
The waitress stepped into his line of sight.
He tried not to frown. The woman was only doing her job, after all.
“Beer’s warm,” she told him, pulling his attention from the woman on the dance floor. “Bring you a fresh one?”
“No. That’s okay.” Just go.
“You still want the warm one, then?” she said, leaning her hip toward him in that provocative way that said, (a) she wanted him, or (b) she wanted a big tip.
He threw a ten on her tray, trying not to seem impatient or rude. “No thanks.”
She shrugged, set the warm, full beer bottle on her tray, and moved out of his way…just as one of the guys moved in on the woman on the dance floor and tried to slip his hands up the front of her T-shirt.
She smacked his hands away, and swung around into the arms of another guy, who pulled her in toward him and slid his palms down to cup her very shapely rear.
Damn it.
Nate might not want to get involved, but his mother hadn’t raised him to stand by and do nothing when a woman was being mistreated. He had sisters, for God’s sake. That left him no choice.
With a deep breath of resolution, he stepped off his stool and strode into the fray, glaring away the protests and the men who’d issued them. The woman was already pushing the groper away, so Nate’s light tug on her upper arm was enough to spring her loose of the man’s clutch.
Placing her behind him, he went nose-to-nose with the man. “Time for you to back off, Romeo,” he said, through clenched teeth.
The guy’s face reddened with fury. “Screw you. She never said she had a boyfriend.”
“You didn’t ask.”
Standoff.
For a few tense moments, Nate thought he might have to exchange blows with the guy, which he really, really didn’t want to do. He wasn’t a fighter, but he didn’t run, either.
Finally, the pissed-off man flapped his hands in a way that said she wasn’t worth the fight—which showed how much he knew—then turned on his heel and shouldered his way out of the bar. All the other wolves sank back into the crowded darkness like the cowards they were.
Nate turned toward the woman and studied her face. She really was beautiful, despite her obvious torment. He softened his tone. “You okay?”
She pulled him toward the center of the dance floor and spun around a few times in time to the beat, fanning out her hair. “Just dance. Please.”
He started to protest, then decided he’d give her the space she seemed to need for the rest of this song. Maybe she was embarrassed about what had just happened. Who knew? But respecting her wishes was the kindest route.
When the song ended, and another started, she showed no signs of stopping.
Enough.
Nate leaned in. “At least tell me your name.”
She opened her eyes, but didn’t stop dancing. She seemed to be weighing his question. “Erin,” she finally said, in a defeated tone.
“I’m Nate.”
She nodded. Kept dancing. “Thank you, Nate. For…that.” Her words were almost flippant. Everything about her was incongruous.
He reached out and laid his palm gently on her shoulder. “Erin, are you okay?”
“Don’t ask me that.” She put her hands over her ears and danced harder, faster. Sweat glistened on her temples.
He reached up to pull her hands down. The alarm bells in his chest had begun to ping. This wasn’t just a woman who hadn’t been into that night’s crop of dance partners. Something was truly weighing on her soul. “Listen, I just want to know if—”
“No!” To his horror, she stopped dead. Her eyes widened and filled with tears until she looked utterly crestfallen. “Stop. You don’t understand—Oh, God—”
Without warning, racking sobs seemed to explode from her. She covered her face with her palms and sank in an awkward squat to the dance floor, one knee up, the other bent inward to rest on the worn hardwood. Her shoulders shook with the force of her pain.
Startled, Nate glanced around. This, he hadn’t expected. Other dancers started noticing Erin, slowing down to stare and whisper behind their hands. A surge of protectiveness fueled Nate. He squatted and put his arm around her shoulder, leaning in to whisper in her ear.
“Listen. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m going to get you out of here, okay? We’ll go outside for some air, get away from all these prying eyes.”
All the fight seemed to have seeped out of her, and she acquiesced easily. He helped her to her feet, then sheltered her from the gaping stares as he ushered her from the bar.
Outside, the street was virtually deserted, and the cool black of the October nighttime enveloped them. He led her around the corner of the building to the side, away from the entrance and any onlookers. People had no shame.
Still sobbing, Erin leaned against the brick exterior and slid to the ground, resting her forehead on her knees. Nate stood awkwardly beside her, letting her cry it—whatever it was—out. God knew, she seemed to need it.
When her sobs slowed to hiccups and sniffles, Nate sat on the ground beside her, careful not to touch her. Some primal instinct told him she wouldn’t appreciate that sort of consolation.
As her hiccups slowed, then stopped, her whole body seemed to sag. A long period of silence stretched between them. Even with swollen eyes and a red nose, she was lovely. Like a fragile porcelain doll—strong, but at risk of shattering any moment.
“God, I’m…a mess. I’m not usually like this. I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
A tender smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “No apology necessary. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
She lifted her head, then ran her hands through her hair. “It wasn’t you.”
What was it? he wondered.
She stared off into the distance, and her chin began to quiver again. Then came the tears, silent this time, but even more forceful for their quietness.
He didn’t know what to do.
“Erin…can I give you a ride home?”
Sodium vapor streetlights glistened pinkish-orange in the wet rivulets streaking down her face. She shook her head. “I’m from out of town.”
Nate closed his eyes briefly. Of course she was from out of town. That’s the way this knight in shining armor stuff usually worked out. He knew that, and yet he kept jumping back into the saddle.
Official verdict: he needed therapy.
“To your hotel, then?”
“I…no. I drove straight through. I mean, I don’t have a hotel.”
A rock of worry plummeted in his gut. As much as he yearned to bow out gracefully since she didn’t seem to want comfort or conversation, he couldn’t, in good conscience, let this woman get behind the wheel. Her level of concentration was nil, not to mention the fact that she must be emotionally exhausted. “How far do you have to drive?”
“Too far. But I can do it.”
Nate blew out a sigh, turning away to gaze out at the empty street.
“Don’t look so worried. It’s not your problem. I can take care of myself.”
There it was—his easy out. Too bad the bravado in her tone, the intrepid jut of her chin, ensnared him. “Listen, anyone can see you’re a strong woman, and I have no doubt you can take care of yourself, and then some, on a regular day. But you’re wiped out. You’re upset. It’s almost 1:00 a.m. You shouldn’t drive, and you look smart enough that you probably
know that.”
She rested her head against the brick wall and closed her eyes. “Everything allegedly looks better in the morning, right?” She shrugged. “I can sleep in my car.”
And risk the predators coming back and finding her there, sleeping in a desolate bar parking lot? No freakin’ way. Another long pause ensued.
Finally, Nate sighed. “I’m staying at a hotel downtown. Not far from here, actually,” he started, regretting this already, wishing he could yank back the eleven words he’d just uttered, but knowing he wouldn’t.
She glanced over at him, wary but listening.
That was something, at least.
“Why don’t you come and get some sleep there. I’ll drive you back here in the morning when you’re rested.”
Another long pause.
“Why?” she whispered.
Wasn’t that obvious? “To pick up your car.”
“No. I mean, why are you trying to help?” She searched his face. “You don’t even know me.”
He laughed, a tired sound. “According to my mom, I’m a born-and-bred rescuer.”
“I don’t need rescuing.”
He ignored that. “Not to mention, I’m a sucker for a crying woman.”
“I am not a crier,” she said, her tone indignant.
“Oh, no.” He pierced her with a droll stare. “I can see that.”
She glared at him through puffy eyes.
Not wanting to anger her, he winked.
She had the decency to look sheepish as she wiped away her tears. “I mean, I’m not usually a crier.”
He held her gaze, nodded. “Like I said, you strike me as a self-sufficient woman, but there are days when the strongest of us need a friend. I’m offering my friendship. That’s it. No strings.”
“There are always strings.”
“Wow, you’re jaded.”
No denial. She eyed him from head to toe. “I don’t suppose you’re a serial killer or anything, are you? They say serial killers look normal.”
“Well, I’m flattered you think I look normal. As for the other, I’m perfectly safe. But I wouldn’t expect you to take my word for it.” He unhooked his cell phone from his waistband and handed it to her. “Call my mom for a reference, if you need to. Her numbers are in my contacts list under Mom.”
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