by Alicia Dean
Chapter Two
Immediately after breakfast the next morning, Heath
headed out for a drive. He told his mother he had some
people to see, but truth was, he needed to get away, clear his
head. His mother's house, with its endless parade of guests
and family, and memories of his childhood, was stifling.
He drove past leafless trees and lawns with patchy snow,
heading into town under a graying sky. The forecast called for
snow and more snow. Just his luck, he'd probably end up
stranded in Kansas City.
The cemetery where both Rudy and his father were buried
was only about five miles east of town, and he considered
going to see their graves, but he couldn't bring himself to do
that just yet. His resentment toward his dad made him
reluctant to visit his grave, and if he visited Rudy's, his guilt
over not visiting his dad's would eat at him. For now, he'd
avoid them both.
When his aimless wandering and jumbled thoughts took
him into town, Heath stopped at Juniper's Cafe. The door
jangled with his entrance, and the head of every patron
swiveled toward him as if directed by an invisible orchestra
conductor. No familiar faces, but that was good. He wasn't in
the mood for company.
He slid onto a stool at the counter, and a plump, middle-
aged waitress wearing a white blouse and black slacks
approached. "Coffee?" she asked, sliding a menu in front of
him.
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"Yeah, please. Nothing but coffee." He slid the menu back.
His mother had plied him with enough breakfast to feed a
small country, and he wondered why he'd even stopped at
the cafe.
When the waitress returned with his coffee, he took a
swallow of the better than expected brew and glanced
around. It was Monday morning and the place was nearly
empty, mostly occupied with mothers and small children and
a few retirees who looked as though, like Heath, they didn't
have anywhere better to be.
"Heath? Heath King?"
He turned at the voice to find Jerome Badgett standing at
his shoulder. They'd gone to high school together and made
an attempt at being friends, but they each had a flaw that
prevented it. Jerome was an irritating pain in the ass, and
Heath wasn't saint enough to tolerate him.
Heath forced himself to dredge up at least a little
congeniality. After all, it was almost Christmas. He stuck out
his hand. "How you been?"
Jerome was thin, with greasy-looking hair and traces of
acne that hadn't improved much since high school. "Good,
man, good. When the hell did you get into town?" Jerome
slapped Heath's back so hard the coffee he held nearly
sloshed over the rim and onto his hand.
He set the cup down. "Last night."
"Here for the holidays?"
"Yeah."
"Hell, guess that was a no-brainer. Mind if I join you?"
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"No, go ahead," Heath said, even though Jerome was
already sliding onto the stool next to him.
"What the hell you been up to?"
Heath resisted the urge to ask why the hell he had to put
hell into every question. "Private security in Oklahoma City.
You?"
"Coffee and the lumberjack breakfast," he told the waitress
without looking at the menu, then to Heath, "I do
maintenance for some duplexes. Matter of fact, they belonged
to your buddy, Rudy. His wife's running them now. But then,
you may know that."
Heath shook his head. "No. I didn't." He didn't know what
Nic had decided to do about the property she and Rudy
owned. Managing all those units was a lot for her to take on
by herself, but then, that was Nic.
"By the way, sorry about Rudy, man. And your dad."
"Thanks."
"You seen Nicolette lately?"
Heath tried to ignore the tightening in his chest that came
with every mention of her name. "No. Not since the funeral."
"She's something else, isn't she? Hate to sound like a
vulture, but I think she's been alone long enough that I could
make my move. What do you think?"
The tightening increased. "That might not be a good idea.
She just lost her husband in January."
"Nearly a year, bub. She's young, and a woman has
needs."
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"You know, I'm not sure I'm okay talking to you about this.
Nicolette's my friend, her husband was my best friend." And
I'm in love with her myself.
"Oh, yeah, sorry, man. Wasn't thinking. Didn't mean to
open any wounds." He brooded into the cup the waitress
handed him before taking a swallow.
"No problem." Heath stood and picked up his ticket.
"You taking off already? Didn't offend you, did I?"
"No. I just gotta go. Mom's waiting on me."
"Okay, take care, man. Sorry if I said something wrong,
but I gotta tell you, that's not gonna stop me from going after
her. You let a woman like that be alone too long, some other
dog will be sniffing around, know what I mean?"
Heath knew exactly what he meant. He had to hurry away
before he plowed his fist into Jerome's stupidly smiling face.
Nicolette's hand shook as she brought the mascara brush
closer to her eye. She stopped, took a deep breath, and tried
again. Not much better. She was still trembling.
You have to get through this night. It's for Rudy, but
mostly, it's for the people who need your help.
Some of the proceeds from tonight's event would fund the
Christmas party they held every year for the families of the
men and women who'd gone through the program. There was
a big dinner, a Santa with gifts for the kids, and groceries for
the families to take home with them, along with gift cards to
Wal-Mart for the parents to get things they needed to help
them along in their new start on life.
In addition to raising money for the party, Rudy was being
honored tonight with a posthumous Good Samaritan award,
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and Nicolette was to accept it for him. She'd never felt less
deserving, more like a phony. Droves of people would be in
attendance, paying homage to a fallen hero. What would
those people think if they knew their hero had skeletons in his
closet? That he was enslaved to the very demons his charity
spoke out against?
She tried again and this time managed to get the mascara
on her lashes, even eyeliner onto her lids. But the effect
wasn't what she wanted. Pale skin, too-bright eyes and now,
dark, vivid borders to bring attention to them. She wiped it
off with makeup remover and settled for a light brushing of
mascara. Blush on her cheekbones to give the illusion of a
healthy glow, a pinkish gloss on her lips, and she was ready.
&
nbsp; Her sea-green dress hung loosely in places where it once
clung. She'd bought it before Rudy's death, before the
blackmail and threats. Back then, she'd wanted to lose a few
pounds, but even she was aware that now she'd lost more
than a few. She was bordering on a sickly thin that was
neither healthy nor attractive. But then, who cared? Who was
around to see her anyway, to appreciate her attractiveness,
or lack thereof? Rudy was gone. No other man had paid
attention to her in a while. And, the man who she most
wanted to appreciate her attractiveness wasn't around.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. Heath was around. She'd
heard the news from her maintenance man, Jerome. She'd
had to struggle to keep her reaction from showing on her
face. She thought she'd been successful, that Jerome didn't
guess how thrilled and excited she'd been at the thought of
seeing Heath again. Although, that probably wouldn't happen.
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Now that Rudy was gone, Heath most likely wouldn't bother
to contact her. She hadn't heard from him since Rudy's
funeral, and while they'd been close friends, it appeared the
death of his best friend had severed whatever ties they once
shared.
Or, was he avoiding her because of what happened
between them after Rudy's accident? Correction, what almost
happened between them, while Rudy lay in a coma. No,
surely that wasn't it. They hadn't actually done anything.
They'd both been lonely, needing comfort, grieving.
Yeah. Great way to express grief over your dying husband.
Try to get another man to jump your bones.
That was neither here nor there. It hadn't happened. She
and Heath were no longer in touch with one another. He was
in town, but as out of reach as if he were on another planet.
She wouldn't contact him, and it was obvious he had no plans
to contact her. Best to put him out of her mind.
Nicolette gathered her handbag and keys, turned off all the
lights in the condo, and went into the garage and climbed into
her LaSabre.
Put him out of your mind, indeed, she thought as she
backed out of the garage. Yeah, right. She'd be better off
attempting to fry bacon with a light bulb.
When Heath arrived at the dedication, he knew his
concerns about what he would say to Nicolette were moot.
He'd never find her in this crowd. The auditorium was filled to
capacity. It appeared a small fortune had gone into
decorations. Huge red ribbons hung from the stage and along
the balcony railing. Glittering lights were strung from every
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available spot and a Christmas tree the size of Mount Everest
stood at one end of the room. Soft strains of "Have Yourself a
Merry Little Christmas" played from gargantuan speakers
placed in each corner.
Heath realized right off he was underdressed for the
occasion. Maybe it was a good thing he wouldn't run into
Nicolette. He'd no doubt embarrass her. Most of the attendees
had on evening wear, the colorful array of tuxes and gowns
nearly outdoing the decorations on the tree. Heath wore dark
jeans and a sports jacket with cowboy boots. No one had told
him it was a formal affair. Maybe he should have assumed.
Milling through the crowd, drink in hand, Heath felt
conspicuously out of place.
After some more wandering around, he'd talked himself
into slipping out and had swallowed the last bit of scotch in
his glass when her voice came over the microphone,
"Welcome, everyone. Thank you so much for coming. It's a
very special night for me and I'm thrilled to see all of you
here."
Too late now. He couldn't leave. Not when he'd have a
chance to hear Nicolette. To see her, even from a distance.
Still holding his glass, he made his way as close to the
stage as he could, which wasn't close. But it was close
enough to see her. As beautiful as ever, though a little too
thin. She wore a light green, sparkly gown. Her hair was
pinned on top of her head, revealing the smooth line of her
neck...a neck Heath had wanted to run his lips across the
moment he'd first seen her.
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He shook off those thoughts and forced his attention back
to Nicolette's speech.
"Rudy would have been so honored at the turnout tonight.
I can't tell you what it means to me, but mostly to the
charity, to have this kind of support."
The crowd cheered, and a man who'd been standing off to
the side of the podium stepped forward to lean into the
microphone. "We would like to present this posthumous
award to Rudy Morgan for his tireless, selfless dedication to
those in need. Mr. Morgan's cause, and his devotion to it, has
changed the lives of countless people. With your generous
donations, that momentum will continue. Not only has
Renewed Hope done just that—given renewed hope to
countless people who would otherwise have none—it has
provided homes, jobs, schooling for families. The annual
Christmas party will be held at the Historical Museum on
Christmas day, and needy families will benefit from donations
of food, money, and gifts. This will be the first year our dear
friend, Rudy, will not be in attendance at the party that
meant so much to him, but we all know he'll be there in
spirit." He turned to Nicolette. "Nicolette, please accept this in
honor of your husband." He handed a plaque to her and she
took it, leaning forward to place a kiss on the man's cheek.
"Thank you," her tearful voice said into the mic. "Rudy had
a dream of changing the world. He always said it could be
done, one individual at a time. I believe that, too."
The crowd went wild with applause. Nicolette blew a kiss,
then strode gracefully from the stage. Heath tried to keep her
in sight, but the crowd swallowed her. He let out a breath,
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trying to loosen the tightness in his chest. Damn. It was the
same reaction every time he saw her. Had been from the
moment he'd laid eyes on her as she moved across the quad
at MU in that same, graceful stride.
Rudy had spotted her then, too. Before Heath could lay
claim, he'd whispered, "I'm going to marry that girl."
And that's exactly what he'd done. Lucky bastard. Heath
shook his head. Envious of a dead man. Nice.
Suddenly, having another drink sounded better than
leaving. He worked his way back to the bar and ordered
another scotch.
The bartender traded the full glass for Heath's money, and
Heath took a sip. When the liquor burned through his throat
and settled warmly in the pit of his stomach, he decided he'd
gotten the better end of the deal.
"Heath?"
He'd been in the process of taking a second drink; the
liquor stayed at the base of his throat, refusing to go down.
He forced a swallow and turned to find Nicolette at his elbow.
"Oh, my God, Heath! I can't believe it's you."
She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, much the way she
had the old guy who'd given her the plaque. Heath wondered
if the man felt that same warm tingle in the spot where her
lips had rested so briefly, if he also wanted to pull her
softness into him and give her much more than that chaste
peck on the cheek.
"Nicolette," he said. "Hello."
"How are you? I had no idea you'd be here."
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"Yeah, well. Jesse told me about it, and I thought I'd show
my support. Apparently about a million other people had the
same idea. I didn't think I'd even get a chance to talk to you.
I was just about to leave."
Her face fell in disappointment. "You were going to leave
without seeing me?"
Heath took another drink, wondering why he felt so guilty,
why the very idea of making Nicolette sad was unbearable. "I
wanted to see you, but I just figured with so many people,
that wouldn't be likely." He looked down at his attire. "Plus,
I'm not exactly dressed for the occasion. I didn't know this
was going to be such a classy event."
Her nose wrinkled, and she shook her head. "Nah. It's a
whatever event. These people just love any opportunity to try
to outdo one another. Come on."
She slipped her arm in Heath's and began walking him
away from the bar. Leaning conspiratorially close, she said,
"Don't think I'm complaining. It certainly doesn't hurt the
donations."
She smiled, but her eyes didn't join in. For the first time,
Heath noticed something not quite right about her. It was
more than just the weight loss. In the places where her body
touched his, he detected a slight tremble. Her voice was
overly bright, and her eyes held a look of desperation, of fear.
The signs were all subtle. Had he not known her for fifteen
years, he might have missed them. She seemed on edge.
Fragile. Like the wrong move, the wrong word, might cause
her to shatter.
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She maneuvered him into an alcove and once there,