Finding Nick

by Janis Reams Hudson

  She’d dug around on the Internet and learned that he had an aunt in Dallas. The aunt’s husband had died right about the same time Carlucci had left New York. Shannon’s instincts told her that his departure was not a coincidence.

  While she’d found no sign of her quarry in Dallas, she had tracked the aunt back to her childhood hometown, Tribute. It was there—here—where signs of Carlucci’s presence had popped up.

  Shannon was so busy patting herself on the back for finding him that she nearly missed the low vibration coming from her purse. When she finally heard it, she sat up and grabbed her cell phone from the bag.

  “Hey, Mama,” she said when she answered.

  “Where are you, hon? You were supposed to call me last night.”

  “Sorry. I got into Dallas after midnight. I didn’t think you’d want me to call that late.”

  Her mother chuckled. “I’m not sure which would have been worse—lying awake worrying about you, or hearing the phone ring in the middle of the night, which usually means bad news.”

  Shannon stood and paced the length of the room and back while she talked. “I was hoping you’d give me some credit and concede that I’m an adult and that I’m capable of getting on a plane and checking into a motel without calling my mommy.”

  “I hope you were smiling when you said that, young lady.”

  Shannon laughed. “I give up. I’m sorry I didn’t call you last night. Forgive me?”

  “All right, yes. Did you find that man you needed to interview?”

  “I did, for all the good it did me,” she confessed.

  “He wouldn’t talk?” her mother asked.

  “No, but I haven’t finished with him.” In more ways than one, Shannon thought.

  “I would hope not. It wouldn’t be like you to go after a story and not get one.”

  “Oh, I’ll get a story out of him. Nick Carlucci,” she vowed, “has met his match.”

  The man in question spent his day as he did every weekday, maintaining the Tribute High School buildings and grounds. He changed the flickering light-bulb he’d found first thing that morning before that Malloy woman had found him.

  Just how the heck had she done that, anyway? Who could have ratted him out?

  Wade Harrison. If that son of a—

  No, Wade wouldn’t have told anyone how to find Nick. Would he?

  Nick shook his head at the idea. If a story on the whereabouts of Nick Carlucci was such a hot idea, Wade would have done one himself and gotten the scoop on all the big-city papers and tabloids with his small-town weekly Tribute Banner. True, Harrison was the only one in town other than Nick’s aunt, a couple of school board members and the high-school principal who knew about Nick’s past, but it didn’t make sense that the man would give him away after swearing not to.

  Nick hadn’t given him away when he’d come to town last summer and no one had realized who he was. Nick had recognized him, but Nick was from New York, as was Wade. In New York hardly a day went by that one paper or the other hadn’t had a story about Wade Harrison, President and CEO of Harrison Corporation, one of the largest media conglomerates in the country.

  Wade had come to town last summer for personal reasons, and Nick had kept his secret.

  Of course, Wade’s presence was now common knowledge since his marriage to Dixie McCormick last month. The population of Tribute must have doubled during the week that the media had descended like a plague of locusts.

  But prior to that, no one in town had realized who Wade was. No one but Nick, and he’d kept his mouth shut.

  No, he didn’t think Wade had given him away. This Malloy woman must be some kind of bloodhound.

  So she’d found him. Big deal. That didn’t mean he had to talk to her. She had let him off easy this morning, but he didn’t think she had come all this way to give up after one try.

  Let her try again, he thought. He had nothing to say.

  Throughout the rest of the morning, as he replaced a light switch in the boys’ locker room and unclogged a drain in the girls’ shower, he kept expecting the woman to show up again. You’d think she’d have gotten the message that he didn’t want to talk to her when he’d failed to return any of her numerous phone calls over the past few weeks.

  But had she taken the hint? No, not Lois Lane. She had to show up and get in his face.

  Why the hell did she have to be the first woman he responded to in years?

  At least he knew now that all his parts worked. Except his hip now and then, but who was counting? It was only a hip. Just because it prevented him from fighting fires and saving lives, that didn’t mean he couldn’t still mop floors and change lightbulbs for a living.

  If his thoughts were tinged with bitterness, Nick figured he was entitled.

  But he really did like his current job. What he had yet to learn was how to handle other people’s opinions of what he did for a living.

  “You’re a janitor?” Said with a slight curl of the lip.

  “You mop floors?” Said with a look of expectancy, like Okay, so tell me the important part of your job.

  No matter what was said or asked, what was meant was “When are you going to get a real job?” or “meaningful work?”

  Nick swore that the next time somebody asked that, he was going to invite them to come in and clean up the next time one of the kids came to school with a cold or flu and hurled all over the bathroom floor. Clean that up and tell me it’s not work, bub.

  Nick grimaced and shot a look over his shoulder to make sure no one was around, in case he’d been talking out loud to himself. To his relief, he was alone in the short hall to the science lab. There was no class in the lab that period. Nick used the time to make his daily check on the five-foot-long rat snake, which had gotten a little too clever at getting out of his aquarium lately.

  “Methinks you’ve been getting a little help, hey, Sir Rodney? At least you don’t have some pesky reporter after you, wanting you to spill your guts because the public has a right to know. Don’t you believe it, pal.” He dropped some protein pellets into Rodney’s glass tank—to tide him over until his next serving of rodent sushi. “All you gotta do is keep your mouth shut. If you don’t talk, they can’t misquote you. Of course, then they might put words in your mouth, but there’s not much a man—sorry, a snake—can do about that.”

  That was the problem with reporters, Nick acknowledged as he let himself out of the science lab. If they couldn’t get you one way, they’d get you another. Given his choice, he figured he’d let Lois Lane make up whatever she wanted because he wasn’t spilling his guts for anybody.

  On his way down the hall he glanced over his shoulder, not for the first time that day. He told himself he wasn’t looking for Shannon Malloy. He was just making sure she didn’t sneak up on him. She was bound to come at him again.

  Remembering the sharp electric charge that had zipped up his arm and settled in his groin that morning, he had to admit that he wouldn’t mind shaking her hand again.

  But he wasn’t going to submit to an interview. If she pushed, he would push back. Shannon Malloy had met her match.

  Chapter Two

  On Tuesday, Shannon regrouped and readied herself to take another run at Nick Carlucci. This time she would wait until he got off work. Assuming he got off about the time school let out, she slept in—clear till nine—and felt like a woman of leisure. Or the lazy bum she’d never had a chance to be.

  After a lengthy shower, she set out on foot to explore the thriving metropolis of Tribute, Texas, population 2,793. Her first stop, about four blocks down Main from her motel, was a place called Dixie’s Diner. The smell of bacon drew her inside.

  As she entered and took a booth along the far wall, she wondered if the place took its name from a person, or from the fact that it was located in the South. Her answer came a moment later when her waitress brought her a tall tumbler of ice water and a menu. The waitress’s name, according to the red-and-white plastic tag pinned above
her right breast, was Dixie. Mystery solved.

  After a breakfast guaranteed to test the strength of the button on her slacks, Shannon set out to see the rest of the town.

  It didn’t take all day, of course. The town just wasn’t that large. But she took her time and visited several shops, the library, a couple of gift shops. In one, she found a small watercolor of Texas bluebonnets by a local artist; her mother would love it.

  Across the square from the gift shop, Shannon spotted the offices of the Tribute Banner. Her heart skipped a beat. Every reporter worth her salt—most of the country, for that matter—knew that Wade Harrison, the country’s wealthiest, most eligible bachelor, former president and CEO of Harrison Corporation, which was one of the nation’s largest media giants, had left New York and corporate America last summer to edit and publish the Tribute Banner in Small Town, Texas.

  The news and entertainment industries were still reeling. Harrison had been out of the corporate picture much of the past two years due to a heart transplant, but he’d been on his way back into the limelight when poof. He had dropped off the radar, then reappeared weeks later to announce not only his purchase of the local weekly newspaper, but also his marriage to a woman from this very town. McCormick, or something like that, Shannon remembered.

  “Holy moley.” Shannon stopped in her tracks on the sidewalk. She stared at the newspaper office, then back at the diner where she’d eaten breakfast. Dixie’s Diner. Dixie, the waitress who’d served her. Dixie McCormick. “Dixie McCormick Harrison, for crying out loud.”

  The woman rose another notch in Shannon’s eyes. Not because she’d snagged one of the richest men in the country, but because she owned her own business and was sticking with it when she no longer needed to earn a living. Dixie was a woman worth admiring.

  Shannon walked back to her motel and spent the remaining time until school let out editing and polishing the first part of her manuscript. By the time she came up for air, she had to rush to get over to the school before classes let out for the day.

  She had wanted to walk, but there was no time now, so she drove. She parked across the street again, as she had the day before, and waited. From the corner of her eye she could see the school parking lot.

  Less than five minutes later, a bell rang and teenagers erupted from the building. There was something odd about them. It took her a minute to realize that every other person coming out of the school, be it a boy, girl or adult, was wearing…bib overalls? What the…

  Shannon shook her head and looked again. No mistake. At least half of the people leaving the school had on overalls. She didn’t recall ever seeing someone wear them before, outside of a TV show or movie.

  And straw hats. Some western, some more like something you’d expect to find on Tom Sawyer. Or Ellie May Clampett.

  Man alive, she knew Tribute was a small town, but this was ridiculous.

  She shook her head again and focused her attention on looking for Carlucci. Maybe she would ask him, use the overalls as an icebreaker.

  And there he was, sauntering out the door with a group of boys, all of them—including Carlucci—wearing the ubiquitous bib overalls. She got out of her car and crossed the street, where she stood at the end of the sidewalk and waited for him.

  Bib overalls, for crying out loud, and the mere sight of the man still made her heart race.

  This could not be happening to her.

  Nick saw her there—the frowning reporter—and drew to a halt. She had lulled him into a false sense of security by not coming back yesterday. He’d thought—hoped—he’d been free of her.

  No such luck.

  “Who’s the babe?” Ricky Cooledge asked.

  “The what?” Nick finally pulled his gaze from Malloy and looked at Cooledge.

  “The one you’ve obviously got the hots for.”

  I don’t have the hots for her. Much. Really.

  “Who is she?” Tim Dean asked.

  “Where’s she from?” Ricky wanted to know.

  “Hey, lady,” Boss Bosco yelled. “You here to see Nick?”

  “Gentlemen,” Nick said, a quiet warning in his voice, “remember your manners.”

  “Yessir.” All three boys saluted, but their grins said, Manners? Yeah, right. Wait’ll your back’s turned, buddy.

  Before Nick’s eyes, Malloy lost her frown and smiled brightly, with an odd gleam in her eyes as if she were mentally rubbing her palms together in anticipation of something he was sure he wouldn’t like.

  “Speaking of manners, Nick,” she said, “are you going to introduce me to your friends?” Try to avoid me now, pal, I dare you, her expression seemed to say.

  Trapped by his own words, Nick introduced her to the three teenagers. He watched carefully as she shook hands with each of them. The boys nearly fell all over themselves showing off for her, but Nick couldn’t detect anything approaching the type of reaction in them that he’d had to shaking her hand yesterday.

  “They’d love to hang around and talk,” he announced, “but they have to go now, don’t you, boys.” He made a statement of it rather than a question.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Ricky began.

  “I do,” Nick stated firmly. He gave them his Do what I say because I’m bigger than you look that usually got their attention.

  The boys got the message, but they still laughed as they started shoving each other back and forth while they headed off toward the parking lot.

  “I’m betting that those three are a handful,” Shannon said.

  “You’d win that bet.”

  “Mind if I ask a question?”

  “Mind if I don’t answer?” Nick countered. No way was he going to hang around this woman even one second longer than he had to. No one at school had ever seen him with a woman before. Tomorrow was going to be sheer hell. The boys were going to razz him all day long about her.

  That was the problem with working at a high school. If a man befriended the students, he left himself open to a lot of good-natured ribbing and pranks when the occasion warranted.

  As far as most teenage boys were concerned, any occasion qualified. Any occasion, or none at all.

  Nick shuddered to think what the boys would do if they didn’t like him. At times, working at school was a great deal like attending school.

  “I’ll ask anyway.” Shannon said, drawing his attention back to her. “What’s with the overalls?” She nodded toward his chest, covered by the denim bib of the overalls in question.

  He slipped his hands behind the bib and tapped his fingers against his chest. “What’s wrong with overalls?” he demanded.

  “Nothing,” she said quickly. Boy, the man was touchy. “I just wondered why so many people, including you, are wearing them.”

  “It’s Farmers Day,” he told her.

  “Oh.” Shannon frowned. “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why?”

  Shannon glanced around at the dozens of people, in addition to Carlucci, who were wearing overalls. “I get the connection between farmers and overalls, but why do you have a Farmers Day? What’s the purpose? Local custom? Is the football team called the Tribute Farmers? What?”

  He almost smiled. “The Tribute Farmers? You’ve got a great imagination. You should be a writer.”

  “Ha-ha. Are you going to answer my question, or should I move along to other things I’d like to ask you?”

  He nodded. He would give her what she wanted. This time. “It’s a tradition at the high school. It’s Homecoming Week. Monday was Cowboy Day, today’s Farmers Day. Wednesday is Tie-dye Day, Thursday is Nerd Day.”

  “Nerd Day?” She laughed.

  “Friday is Spirit Day, where everyone wears the school colors.”

  “How do you dress up like a nerd? Thick glasses and pocket protectors?”

  “You got it.”

  She crossed her arms, intrigued despite herself. “What else goes on during Homecoming Week? Besides the obvious football game.”

  One side o
f his upper lip curled in a slight sneer. “What, you writing a book?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  “About small-town homecomings.”

  “No, about the various lasting effects of 9/11 on different rescue workers. What you people did, what you went through, takes a toll. I want to write about it, and draw comparisons to the rescue workers at the Oklahoma City bombing.”

  Nick shook his head, obvious dismay on his face. “Nobody wants to read that stuff. It’s done and gone and we’ve all put it behind us.”

  Shannon let his attitude roll off as if it were nothing. She had encountered much stiffer resistance than this. Besides, they both knew he was lying through his teeth. At least, she knew it; she hoped he did, too.

  “You’ve put it behind you, have you?” she asked him casually.

  “That’s right. So I guess you’ve wasted a trip if that’s why you came.”

  “Are you telling me that day doesn’t have anything to do with why you left New York? You don’t think about it anymore? You don’t have nightmares or flashbacks? You haven’t had any alcohol or drug problems since then?”

  He opened his mouth, presumably to deny any and all of that, but Shannon held up a hand to stop him.

  “Don’t bother answering me. We both know you’d lie anyway.”

  He snapped his mouth shut. She heard his teeth click together. Then he spoke. “I don’t lie.”

  She tilted her head and squinted against the bright afternoon sun. “No?”

  “No.”

  “So, if I were to ask you something like, oh, why did you leave New York, you’d tell me the truth?”

  “No.”

  “No? But you just said you don’t lie.”

  “I wouldn’t lie. I wouldn’t answer at all.”