If You See Her

by Shiloh Walker

  Then once, a couple of years after they were married, she offhandedly mentioned that she’d like to try getting her hair cut short.

  One absent, offhanded comment … and he’d hit her so hard, it had knocked her into a wall.

  The bruising had kept her from leaving the house for weeks.

  It had been the first time he’d hit her. He’d apologized later, said he’d had a bad day, and wasn’t thinking … but he loved her hair …

  “Cut what off?” Lena asked, her voice vaguely mystified.

  “My hair.” Hope swallowed and then looked at Lena. “My hair—I want to cut it off. All of it.”

  “Are we talking a Sinead O’Connor thing, Britney Spears thing, a summer ’do, or what? Not that it’s going to make much difference to me, but I don’t want to hear you complaining about it, either. And I couldn’t see it, but that Britney thing sounded scary.”

  Hope didn’t say anything, just looked back at the salon.

  The other woman reached over, caught Hope’s hand and linked their fingers. “Okay, then. Let’s get to it, Britney,” Lena said, smiling. “Just keep in mind … I’m going to suck when it comes to telling you if it looks cute, lousy, or whatever. Forward, Puck.”

  Three minutes later, Hope found herself sitting in a beautician’s chair. Her heart still racing away in her chest, she had no idea how to answer when the lady asked her, “So, what are we doing?”

  “Hope, do you just want her to figure out what will work for you?”

  Terrified, Hope nodded, not even thinking about the fact that Lena couldn’t see it.

  “She wants it all off,” Lena said. “But please, let’s not do the Britney Spears thing—I couldn’t even see it and I was scared.”

  The beautician laughed.

  Hope closed her eyes. As she heard the first snip of the scissors, she flinched.

  The woman stopped. “You okay, honey?”

  Lena murmured to Puck, “Lie down, boy.” Then she moved forward and caught Hope’s hand. “Hold my hand, why don’t you? Go ahead, Beth. Cut, and I don’t think you should pay any attention to Hope—I think she needs to do this.”

  Thank you, Lena, Hope thought.

  Then, as the scissors started once more, she squeezed Lena’s hand again. Tighter, and tighter.

  “I was thinking about trying something short for once, Joey …”

  A hard, brutal fist, cutting through the air. The pain—the shock.

  “I’m so sorry, baby. I … I just had a bad day … and you know how much I love your hair. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

  But it did.

  Over.

  And over.

  “Damn it, Hope, I’m sorry. But you know I expect dinner on the table when I get home. I didn’t mean for this to happen, but you know how tired I am when I get home.”

  Snip.

  Snip.

  Snip.

  “What do you mean, you want a divorce? You think anybody else is ever going to put up with you?”

  Snip.

  Snip.

  “I think what you need is some medication for depression, baby. Nobody really believes all this crap you’re saying—you’re just bored …”

  Snip …

  Snip …

  Tears were running down her face by the time it was done, and a thousand ugly memories flashed through her head.

  And somehow, when it was done, she felt a hundred pounds lighter … no.

  A thousand.

  Law sat on a fat, overstuffed chair, a beer in hand, but every few minutes, Remy saw his eyes flicking to the laptop sitting on the table by the chair.

  Remy held a beer of his own, rolled it back and forth between his hands, and tried to figure out just how to ask the questions he wanted to ask—and whether he should wait until Hope was there or not.

  Law finally solved the problem for him by reaching out and closing the laptop and pinning him with a level, direct stare. “So, did you come out here to mooch a beer, grill me about Hope some more, or what?”

  “Well.” Remy took a quick drink of the beer and then lowered it. “Actually …” Then, still trying to figure what was the best way to ask the questions he wanted to ask, he took another drink.

  Shit. He felt tongue-tied. He made a living arguing with people—he knew how to talk, damn it, and all of a sudden he couldn’t do it.

  Law grinned and stretched his legs out. That grin of his took on a sly, knowing slant as he studied Remy. Then and there, Remy realized the other guy saw a hell of a lot more than he let on.

  A lot more.

  “Maybe I can help you out with one thing here. Hope and I aren’t involved. Never have been.” Law lifted his beer and saluted Remy with it. “If I’d realized that was on your mind so much, I would have cleared that up last week. Or maybe not—depending on my mood. But relax. There’s nothing between us. Never has been.”

  “There’s … what … you’re not?” Then he scowled and took another drink of the beer. “Am I that obvious?”

  Law just shrugged. “Hell. I just know the signs. I know what a guy looks like when he has a hook in his mouth, so to speak. And you had the signs all over you last time you were out here.” He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, letting the beer bottle dangle from his fingertips. The grin on his face faded and he studied Remy with sober eyes. “But you need to know that doesn’t mean you’ll have an easy time of it. Hope’s … well. She’s pretty battered, still.”

  “She left him two years ago, right?” Remy asked, before he could stop himself. He hadn’t meant to ask that—he’d invaded her privacy enough.

  But the question was already out there.

  “Yeah. But it’s like yesterday for her in some ways.” Reilly rested his head against the back of the couch, staring off into thin air. “I tried to get her to come here right after it happened, but she wouldn’t go for it. She drifted all over the place—had a little bit of money in the bank from when her parents died, money she hadn’t touched when she lived with that sick fuck. I kept trying to get her to come here, stay with me … but I don’t think she could. She just felt trapped any time she was in one place for too long.”

  Reilly shook his head and sighed. “Two years, but I don’t know if it’s been enough time for her. He had more than a decade to fuck with her head. It’s not going to be a fast thing, her getting back to any kind of normal.” Then he grimaced. “Hell, she might never get back to that point.”

  “Is this your way of telling me to leave her alone?”

  Law’s mouth quirked up in a smile. The swelling there had finally gone down and the bruising on his face had gone from a black-and-blue rainbow to that nasty, greenish yellow and was finally starting to fade altogether.

  “Nah. We’ve already been over this ground anyway. Hope’s been alone for most of her life,” Law said quietly. “Even when she was married. She went through that hell alone. Spent the past two years alone, because she thought she’d heal better, and maybe she was right. She had to figure out she could be alone, and not break. No. I’m not telling you to leave her alone. I think having some guy who isn’t an asshole in her life would be good for her.”

  Then he looked up, met Remy’s eyes and shook his head. “But that doesn’t mean she’s going to want it. Doesn’t mean she’s going to be interested in you. You scare the hell out of her, Remy, and you’ve got to understand, she may not be able to get past that—you don’t look a damn thing like him, but you’ve got a lot in common with that bastard ex of hers. She might not be able to deal with it.”

  Something sour and hot twisted through Remy’s gut.

  “I’m nothing like any bastard who’d ever hurt a woman,” he said, his hand tightening on his bottle of beer.

  “Not like that,” Law said, shaking his head. “It’s other shit. I told you—the town’s golden boy.”

  Remy grimaced. “I’m no golden boy.”

  “Yeah, you are.” Law shrugged. “It’s not an insult. People like y
ou, they like your family—that’s gone back for generations, and from everything I’ve ever heard, you actually come from decent people. It’s not like it was back home, where people turned a blind eye to the evil shit he was doing to his wife. You’re decent—even your brother with his head up his ass over his son, he’s a decent guy. The Jennings are good people. This is a different place, even. Here, the people care.

  “Back home … well, the Carsons, some of them are okay. But others, like Joe, his dad … too many bad apples and some people just didn’t care. Those who did, they were too scared, or too used to how things were to do anything.”

  Law fell silent and then he lifted his bottle, drained half the beer. “Even me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Shooting a look at Remy from under his lashes, Law said, “I heard rumors. About how Joey had screwed around on Hope back in high school—some of it was the kind of shit that would have made a person think twice—what he’d done to the other girl. Nothing confirmed. But I never said anything to Hope. I should have. If I had …”

  “High school.” Remy sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. “You were kids. Just kids. And rumors—there’s nothing to say she would have believed you. Without proof? Would she have believed you?”

  “I don’t know.” Law lowered his gaze. “But now I have the rest of my life to think about what he did to her, and the rest of my life to wonder if maybe I could have stopped it somehow.”

  “That’s the kind of thinking that will tear you up inside, you know.” Remy grimaced. Then he looked up as the sound of a motor caught his ears. From where he sat, he could see out the window without moving, but it took all his restraint to continue just sitting there as the little black convertible came up the drive.

  The top was down.

  But he couldn’t see that long, gleaming brown hair blowing in the breeze.

  It was Hope, though.

  No mistaking that … he’d recognize her even if she was in a room with five hundred other women, he suspected.

  As the car came to a stop, his heart started to race.

  Across the room, Law laughed. “Man, you need to take a breath or two before you pass out.”

  Shit. Breathe? Remy didn’t know if he remembered how to do it. He tried it, though, and managed to take a breath, then even managed to shoot Law a glare and say, “Fuck off, man.”

  Taking one more drink of his beer, he set the bottle down and stood.

  Then, as Hope climbed out of the car, he almost choked.

  Her hair …

  She’d cut her hair.

  Hope felt a strange little jitter in her chest as she eyed the sleek, silver Jag parked in front of the house.

  Remy.

  Licking her lips, she lifted a hand to fluff and fiddle with her hair only to stop. She didn’t know why he was here, but it didn’t matter. She still had some work to get done. Books to pack up. Stuff to file. And they needed to figure out what to do about Law’s office until they were ready to work in there again.

  Until—geez, who was she kidding?

  Hope was thinking she might be ready to step foot back in there about the dawning of the next ice age.

  Maybe.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, she started toward the house.

  Whatever Remy was there for, it had nothing to do with her.

  Nothing.

  She would just peek in and make sure Law didn’t need her, and then she’d go work in her room. She already had a box piled with work in the hallway. She could work in her room just fine. With him there, she’d work in her room better.

  But as she headed inside, her heart skittered up into the territory somewhere near her throat. Remy wasn’t sitting in the living room, calmly and coolly talking to Law, and he wasn’t wearing one of those slick lawyer suits, either.

  He stood in the arched doorway between the living room and hallway, a bottle of beer in one hand, hanging loose from his fingers, almost like he’d forgotten he held it.

  He had a blue polo on, one that made those impossibly blue eyes of his look even bluer. The faded blue jeans he wore were old enough that they looked almost white at the seams and his tennis shoes were almost brand-new.

  She felt a little foolish eyeing the shoes, but it was easier to look at his shoes than to look at the jeans—the jeans were dangerous territory because then she couldn’t help but notice the way the material outlined some nicely muscled legs—not too much muscle—he didn’t do that bodybuilder crap like Joey had done. But nice, lean …

  Stop it, Hope!

  And the shoes were definitely safer than looking into his eyes—a lot easier, especially considering he was staring at her. Man, was he staring at her.

  Swallowing around the knot in her throat, she tried to figure out just what in the hell to say.

  But he beat her to it.

  “You cut your hair,” he said, his voice soft, quiet. Almost dazed.

  Abruptly, the nerves drained out of her and she narrowed her eyes. Reaching up, she pushed her hand through her hair—it felt so weird. And her head felt so light. “Yes. I did. Is that a problem, Mr. Jennings?”

  “No.” The thick, dark fan of lashes lowered over his eyes and he glanced down, lifted the bottle he held and studied it. Then he took a drink.

  “You cut your hair?”

  Law appeared in the doorway. His eyes went wide, then he grinned. “Damn, you did.”

  He came over and tugged on the short strands, heaving out a heavy, false sigh. “Well, hell, Hope. How am I going to pull on it now? There’s hardly anything left …”

  She smacked his hand away. “There’s plenty of hair left.” The stylist had called it an angled bob, shorter in the back than it was in the front, the edges falling to frame her face. She thought maybe it made her look a little less … fragile.

  She hoped.

  “So why did you do that?” Law asked, lifting her chin and turning her head, peering at her first one way, then the other. “You’ve always had it long.”

  “I … uh …” Her throat went tight. Remnants of the dream grabbed her. Memories she wanted to forget swam up to haunt her. Her voice husky, she said, “I just wanted to cut it, I guess.”

  Easing away, she cut a wide berth around Law and Remy.

  “I’m going to get some work done,” she said, heading toward the box she had left in the hallway. She glanced back at Law over her shoulder, taking care not to look at the other man. “I’ll be up in my room.”

  But as she bent over to pick up the box, Remy was there.

  “Let me get it for you.” He pushed his empty bottle into her hand and grabbed the box.

  She straightened up, backed up like she’d been burned.

  Close … too close.

  All of a sudden, she’d realized something she hadn’t realized before.

  He smelled good. Way too good. Good enough that it left her heart racing in the weirdest way and her belly felt all hot and tight.

  Blood rushed to her face as she stared at him, watching as he lifted the box, tucking it easily under one arm. The blue polo stretched across his chest and for a few seconds, her mouth went dry.

  Self-preservation kicked in and she jerked her eyes away from him, tried to focus on something else, anything else—the box. Yeah, the box … that held Law’s work.

  Oh, shit.

  Lunging for it, she grabbed at it, juggling the bottle as she tried to wrestle for the box. “I can get it,” she said, scowling at him.

  “Just tell me where you want it …”

  “I want you to let go of it.” She jerked at it and shot Law a desperate look.

  He just stared back at her, looking a little baffled.

  Men …

  Shifting her gaze to Remy, she swallowed and made herself look at him. Close—too close. He was just too close. Standing this close, she could see that his eyes had darker blue striations in them, and the irises were ringed with indigo … so damned beautiful. When she breathed in,
she was breathing him in, and that just made her heart pound harder, her palms sweat, her knees go weak …

  Distance. That was what she needed. She needed distance.

  “It’s not that heavy,” she said stiltedly. “I’m capable of carrying a box.”

  “So am I, and I didn’t just get out of the hospital not that long ago,” he said mildly. “If you want me to put it down, tell me where you want it and I’ll put it down.”

  Shit …

  Arguing with him would make her look like more of an idiot, plus it would also probably make him curious about why in the hell she didn’t want him carrying the damn box. Although she wasn’t about to point up to her bedroom.

  Even thinking it had her blushing. Damn it, how old was she? Twelve? Thirteen?

  “The kitchen!” she said, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat and pointed down the hall, although belatedly, she realized he already knew where the kitchen was.

  As he headed down the hallway, she shot Law a narrow look, but he had already headed into the living room. And as she watched, he flopped down in his chair and grabbed his laptop one-handed, that familiar, distracted look on his face. Work—he had work on the brain.

  Damn it.

  Suppressing a groan, she hurried into the kitchen after Remy, catching up just in time to see him placing the box on the counter. After dumping the beer bottle, she pulled the box toward her, out of his line of sight.

  She shot a quick glance down—saw the neat little list of supplies and books. There was another list, but it was tucked under the notepad, so thankfully, he wouldn’t have seen that.

  Oh, good. Slow down, she told her heart. The panic didn’t want to subside, but at least she could tell Law that she hadn’t inadvertently let his secret slip.

  Not that he’d done a damn thing to help—geez, he knew what was in the damn box. He’d helped her load it up and, despite her arguments, he’d been the one lugging it out into the hallway …

  Of course, it was entirely possible—and likely—her panic was related to something else entirely, like Remy himself, but it was so much easier to pretend it was something, anything, other than her reluctant attraction to the lawyer.