Nathan lifted his hands in exasperation and in a loud whisper asked, "Why is it so all-fired important for no one to know what you do?"
Anger bubbled up inside her because this man knew nothing about the hundreds of letters she received each year, the sleepless nights, the burden of parents and brothers and sisters and children depending on her to find someone they loved, or someone who was missing. What irritated her the most were those who wanted a plan for the future without formulating it themselves. "If they knew what I was able to do, most women in this salon would want a reading. They'd line up for hours waiting with bated breath for me to tell them their future. And if I couldn't tell them anything, they'd say I'm a fraud. My gift creates a three-ring circus, Mr. Bradley. No, thank you."
Harriet came in from the front desk. "A walk-in for nails is waiting, Gillian. How's your schedule?"
Gillian accepted fate's offer of a neat, non-confrontational way to end this encounter. "Tell her to come in. I don't have another appointment until four. If it's all right with you, I'll take my supper break at five."
"No problem." Harriet's interest in Nathan was obvious as she gave him a wink and returned to the front room.
He faced Gillian. "I'd like to continue our discussion."
"There's nothing more to say. I have to get back to work and I'm sure you do, too. Call your P.I. He'll find someone else."
The look the man gave Gillian was not resigned. If anything, it was more determined than ever. But he didn't argue. "I'll call my P.I. But I'll be talking to you again. Soon."
With a lift of his brow and a wave of his hand, he was gone.
Gillian first felt relief, then a strange sense of loss. But she was used to feelings and images not clicking. Eventually they became part of a bigger picture, and then she'd understand. But there was no bigger picture where Nathan Bradley was concerned. There was no picture at all.
#
The instant Gillian stepped outside of the Hair Happening, she saw him. He stood beside a gray Mercedes in the parking lot. She should have realized this man wouldn't give up so easily. Ducking back into the salon was an option. So was ignoring him as she walked to the enchilada and chili stand across the parking lot of the strip shopping center. But she had the feeling when she returned, he'd still be waiting, and not quite so patiently.
A group of teenagers on roller-blades skated by, one of them holding a miniature schnauzer on a leash. She smiled at the sight, something she'd probably never see in Deep River. But her smile slipped as she spotted the handsome, very sexy man walking toward her, and an excited little shiver zipped up her spine. At least six-two, lean and fit, with long legs that quickly covered the distance between them, he was the type of man who could attract a roomful of women without trying. It wasn't only his looks but his confidence, his dominating male presence.
When he stood before her, he asked, "Can I buy you supper?"
"If I hadn't mentioned my break, you would have waited till I quit for the day. Right?"
"Yes."
"Mr. Bradley..."
"Nathan. You have to eat supper. I have to eat supper. Is there any reason we shouldn't talk while we do?"
"You have an ulterior motive. This won't be much of a break for me."
"It's not an ulterior motive because you know what I want."
"Obviously, I need to watch what I say with you," she murmured.
The corners of his mouth twitched up. "Is that a yes or no?"
"If I say no, you'll be back. Let's get this over with."
The curve of his lips turned into a frown, indicating he was uncomfortable with her frankness. Gillian's gaze wanted to linger on those lips. They were full enough to be sensual, narrow enough to enhance the handsome aesthetics of his face. She could imagine one of his kisses--dominating, forceful, passion-filled.
The image startled her. She hadn't thought about kissing a man in over a year--since Brian had decided to reconcile with his ex-wife. She'd not only lost Brian but his son, too. At the time she'd thought her heart would break. But she'd buried herself in her work until she'd realized she no longer had a life outside of her work. Not eating, not sleeping, working twenty hours a day was a one-way road to disaster. Thank goodness she'd recognized her destructive direction in time.
"I don't know what you have in mind," she said, "but the chili and enchiladas are good at that stand over there."
Nathan perused the truck/restaurant set-up near an island with palm trees and benches. "I haven't had an enchilada in..." He shrugged. "Too long."
They walked side by side for a few moments, Nathan slowing his stride to Gillian's. The breeze ruffled his hair, making him look less formal and imposing. She thought he'd start making his case for her help, but he didn't.
His arm brushed hers, his suitcoat rough against her skin. "Have you always done manicures for a living?"
She registered the texture of the material, the strength of his arm, and her heart jumped at the contact. Managing a smile, she responded, "Would you believe I have a degree in business?"
"Neither seems appropriate for a psychic."
Her smile faded. "And what does? Theater arts?"
He stopped and faced her. "Okay. I stuck my foot in it. I didn't mean to insult you. But all this is strange to me. I'm a logical man. I make decisions and judgments from facts. I've always thought psychics were frauds. But my private investigator told me about crimes you've solved and people you've found. Even if I don't believe in it or understand it, what you do works."
"I don't understand it, either," she said quietly.
Nathan had been fascinated by the woman since he'd set his eyes on her. Looking at her now, her soft, long hair, those wonderful brown eyes, her slender curves wrapped in a pink cullotte dress with a white collar and lapels, his muscles tightened and he felt pangs of arousal.
Crazy. That usually didn't happen simply from looking.
Her soft voice, her calm wonder, urged him to step closer, to find out more about her. "Tell me about it. Were you born with this ability?"
She shook her head and pointed to the supper truck. They began walking again. "I don't think I was born with it. If I was, I didn't know it until I was ten. I was sitting on a dock fishing and a storm came up. The thunder and lightning hit fast. The next thing I knew I was lying flat on the dock, the rain pouring down on me. My head hurt and I was shaking all over. Mom found me that way, took me home, and put me to bed. We thought that was the end of it."
His P.I. had told Nathan that Gillian was from Indiana and had lived there all her life. She traveled often but had never moved from the town where she'd grown up. L.A. must be quite a change for her. "When did you realize something was different?"
"A few days later. Aunt Flora came to visit. When she hugged me, I saw this picture of her sitting at her kitchen table crying. I didn't understand it. Later, I overheard my aunt and my mother talking. My cousin had dropped out of high school and my aunt was terribly upset."
"And there was no way you could have known that."
"No."
"Did you tell your mom?"
"No. I was afraid of the pictures when they came and uncomfortable with the feelings. I kept it a secret until I was sixteen."
They reached the vending stand. Gillian ordered chili and cornbread while Nathan asked for an enchilada. She opened her purse, but he closed his hand over hers. Her skin was soft and warm and a jolt of desire more powerful than before stabbed him. "I've got it," he said, unable to keep the husky rasp from his voice.
Her gaze met his. The sparks of gold in the brown told him his touch affected her as much as hers affected him. She pulled away, and he let go.
Gillian busied herself pulling napkins from the holder while Nathan paid for and carried their plates to a bench. Picking up their sodas, she joined him. She'd no sooner settled on the bench with her soda by her shoe and the cup of chili with a wedge of cornbread perched on the edge in her hand when the schnauzer she'd seen earlier ran over to her a
nd jumped up and down, finally landing with her paws on Gillian's knees.
Gillian laughed and held her dish a little higher, out of the dog's reach. "You might want supper, but I'm not sure you should have this."
One of the roller-bladers came skating over, his helmet under his arm, a leash dangling from his hand. "Sorry if she's botherin' you. She begs from everybody."
The boy was about twelve. His spiked brown hair was matted down from his helmet, his snapping brown eyes sparkled with amusement. Gillian asked him, "Can she have a bite?"
He grinned. "If you wanna give it to her."
Gillian tried to tear off a piece of the cornbread, but it slid into the chili. Nathan grabbed the dish and held it for her. Smiling her thanks, she took the small bite from the wedge and let the dog lick it from her hand. The schnauzer gulped it down and looked up at her for more. Laughing again, Gillian scratched the pet behind her ears. "I should have known that little bit wouldn't be enough."
As she touched the dog and rubbed her rough coat, Gillian felt her gaze pulled to the teenager again. He and the dog were connected by a strong bond of affection. A surge of energy made her fingers tingle and she automatically closed her eyes for a moment. A clear picture of a dark-haired woman on a porch came into focus. The woman was worried. Gillian had the distinct impression she was the boy's mother.
Opening her eyes, Gillian cast a wary look at Nathan. He was watching her closely. Should she say something to the boy about his mother? If she did, Nathan would know what had happened. Why had this vision come now? Since she'd left Indiana, she'd felt normal--no pictures, no knowledge she shouldn't have.
Gillian looked at the boy, knowing she couldn't let the woman in her mind's eye suffer unnecessarily. "I think your dog wants a full-course meal."
"What time is it?" he asked with a nod at Gillian's watch.
"Five-thirty."
"Geez. I was supposed to be home an hour ago. Mom's gonna be..." He stopped with a shrug as if a boy his age shouldn't worry about adult authority. Snapping the leash onto the dog's collar, he gave it a gentle tug. "C'mon, Peanut. We'll get us both some supper." He smiled at Gillian and skated over to his friends, who sat on the curb sipping sodas.
Nathan handed Gillian her plate. "What happened?"
"You saw what happened. I gave the dog a snack."
"When you touched the dog, you closed your eyes."
The man was too observant. "The boy's mother was worried about him."
"You felt that?"
"I saw that. She was standing on the porch waiting for him."
"You got that from petting the dog?" Nathan asked, astonished.
She'd faced expressions like his many times in the past. "Mr. Bradley..."
"Nathan," he reminded her.
Calling him by his first name seemed too familiar. She already knew she could be attracted to him. "This 'talent' I have isn't something I can turn off and on like a light switch. It's more unpredictable than the weather or earthquakes."
"You made him realize she was worried without saying it, without telling him you knew."
"That was easiest."
Nathan finished his enchilada and took a swig of soda before he spoke again. "My ex-wife took my daughters out of the country six months ago. I can't find them. My P.I. can't find them. Will you take my case?"
Excerpt from ALWAYS DEVOTED:
Chapter One
"What do you believe happened to your sister?"
Emma Henderson felt her throat tighten and she found swallowing difficult. She hated the glare of the television lights and found her gaze swinging away from the camera to offstage where Linc Granger stood. The successful TV producer, who garnered high ratings with his specials, had convinced her this interview might help find Paige. That was the only reason she'd agreed to do it.
"I don't know what happened to Paige, Ms. Kahill. She left one afternoon to drive to San Francisco for the weekend and I haven't seen her since." Emma's voice cracked.
She almost felt Linc Granger take a step forward. To do what? Stop the interview with journalist, Tessa Kahill? To comfort her? To tell her everything was going to be okay when she knew it wasn't?
"Her car was found on the shoulder of the highway and she was missing. Can you tell me what your thoughts were when you found out?" the world-renown journalist asked.
"I was stunned. I couldn't believe it. At first we all thought she might have been kidnapped. But there was no call...no note for ransom...nothing."
"You were on the police list of persons of interest for a while, weren't you?"
"Tessa!" Linc Granger's deep voice rent the air with authority. He told the technicians to cut and take five. Then he strode up beside the interviewer.
His gaze connected to Emma's for a heart-stopping moment.
She tore her eyes from his and took a deep breath. She shouldn't have this reaction to him. He'd been compassionate toward her, protective even, and she was grateful. That's all there was to it.
But as Linc and the beautiful, curly-haired interviewer argued over the questions for the remainder of the interview to be aired later in the week, Emma knew she felt a spark of something with Linc Granger she'd never felt with her late husband Barrett.
After another minute or two of discussion, Linc crossed over to her chair and towered over her. He raked his hand through his dark brown hair, his green eyes turbulent. "Tessa insists she has to go this route. She thinks it's better if everything is out there in the public's face. I don't necessarily agree. I know you lost your husband a year ago and this is hard. If you'd rather Tessa go in a different direction—"
As Emma shook her head, her honey-blond hair fell over her shoulder. "The family is always questioned. The family is always of interest. It's okay, Mr. Granger."
"It's Linc," he said gently. As cutting as his voice had been a few moments before, it was so different now.
Ever since their first meeting, she'd felt strangely out of breath. She was a mother with a four-year-old, and her sister was missing. She couldn't think about anything else.
Squaring her shoulders, she assured him, "I can handle Ms. Kahill's questions."
As Linc Granger studied her, she felt almost all of the air get sucked out of the room. What was it about him that made her so flustered? He was older, between thirty-five and forty she guessed, and she felt young at twenty-six for the first time in years. She'd taken on a lot of responsibility early.
After a few moments, he reassured her again. "If anything makes you too uncomfortable, you can say so. I'm sorry I wasn't here when the interview started. I would have laid down some ground rules." He glared at Tessa as she was studying her notes.
"When you offered me the opportunity to publicize Paige's disappearance again, you said Tessa Kahill was the best. Maybe you should let her do her job. Before we started, she told me she has to be on a plane out of L.A. tonight to Afghanistan."
"You like her," Linc noted with a wry smile.
"We talked before the interview. Yes, I do. And I respect her."
"Good." He sounded relieved. "Then I'll let her continue and I won't interfere again. But I would like to discuss something with you when this is over. Do you have time?"
What could he want to discuss with her? They'd spoken at length about what had happened to Paige, the little bit she knew, and Emma's desire to stay out of the spotlight for her daughter's sake. But he seemed to have something important to say and she did want to hear it.
"My next door neighbor is watching Becky. I'll have some time."
He was quiet for a few moments, but the intensity of his expression suddenly gave her the knowledge that Linc Granger was a very different man than Barrett Henderson had been.
It shouldn't matter.
But she found herself wanting to listen to Linc, even though she suspected that simple conversation with him could unsettle her life even more.
#
What a stupid thing to do!
Linc never interrupted t
he flow of an interview. When he'd asked Tessa to do this, she'd told him she could fit it in during a layover in L.A. She'd been in Mexico interviewing some diplomat, and then she was gone again for Afghanistan to tape a special report.
So why had he jumped in?
Because Emma Trent Henderson fascinated him. She and her four-year-old daughter had been through the cable newsringer when her sister had disappeared three months ago. Yet she'd somehow retained her dignity and poise. Still, the lost look in her expressive brown eyes when she spoke about her sister, Paige, haunted him.
From her first press conference, he'd been intrigued by her and her story. Maybe because he knew someone who could help her if she wanted to be helped. Unorthodox means weren't for everyone, but he had the feeling Emma had exhausted the usual channels.
The cameras were rolling again and Tessa was asking more questions. As he listened to the rest of the interview, he became more sure about the information he wanted to give Emma. When he heard Tessa end her questions with, "Tell me how you feel as a widow, with a four-year-old to raise and no idea where your sister is," he listened hard.
Emma didn't hesitate to say softly, "Sometimes I feel as if I'm in limbo. I'm searching for answers and I don't know if I'll ever find them."
Linc knew he had to tell Emma about Gillian Bradley and her special gift.
#
When Emma finished the interview, she felt wrung out. Not a new feeling these days. But after she thanked Tessa, she turned to find Linc waiting for her. It was easy for her to think of using his first name and she wasn't sure exactly why.
She'd worn a flowered sundress for the interview, a dress she often wore when taking sales orders in her gift basket shop, Occasional Baskets. But now she wished she'd worn something a little more sophisticated...because Linc Granger in his custom-tailored suit, tie and expensive shirt shouted sophistication.
Who was she kidding?
She'd never been sophisticated. Hard working and tasteful, maybe, but never sophisticated.
After the camera lights shut down and she stood, Linc took her elbow. She felt the heat from his fingers through her whole body. It was an odd, wake-up feeling that she'd never experienced with Barrett.
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