He showed her his badge, and she looked it over this time.
A detective. From San Diego.
“You’re a long way from home.”
“Hopefully I can get back to the airport soon. Weather’s a heck of a lot nicer where I come from.”
His stance mimicked that of a private eye, the kind seen on television. The kind women tuned in to watch on a lonely Saturday night. She could imagine him as a star.
The Nielson ratings would probably skyrocket for his show, particularly with the female fans. He had a fearsomely attractive way about him, as though he’d just stepped off the set of On the Waterfront and “could’a been a contender.”
“I came to check on you,” he said. “See if you’re all right after that tumble you took.”
He was going above and beyond the call of hero duty, and Hailey hoped he’d leave before Steven arrived. She had half a notion to close the door in his face, but the guy had gone out of his way to chase down her mugger. She owed him some courtesy, to say the least. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Can I come in? It’s cold out here, and I’d like to talk to you.”
No, she wanted to say. But she figured he’d come to ask her something about the purse snatching. She loosened her hold on the door and stepped aside.
Nick entered the warmth of Hailey Conway’s house, and even though he wanted to cut to the chase and tell her why he was here, why he’d come all the way from California on a moment’s notice looking for her, he held his tongue.
He hadn’t expected her to be easy to convince. After Harry had tracked her down, found her phone number and gathered the courage to call, she’d given him what Harry referred to as “a well-deserved” piece of her mind and then promptly hung up.
Nick had expected Hailey to be older, especially since Harry and Kay had been married for forty years and had three sons, one of whom had been killed during Desert Storm.
Her age—mid-twenties—had surprised him, since he’d assumed she’d been the child of a previous marriage. But she’d obviously been conceived during the Logans’ marriage. That surprised him, too, but it wasn’t Nick’s place to judge Harry about an affair.
“I lost touch with her twenty years ago,” Harry had said. “And I’m not sure I can fix things now, but I’ve got to try. I’ve got a lot of explaining to do, and not much time to do it.”
Nick slid the small brunette an assessing glance. As a detective, he’d learned to read people, their body language, their surroundings. He’d learned to keep a poker face, to hide his emotions and his assumptions. But recognizing the petite, dark-haired beauty with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen had knocked him for a loop.
Apparently, she was angry enough at Harry to hang up the phone, rather than try to establish a relationship with the father she hadn’t seen in years. Nick supposed there was more to the story than met the eye. But that didn’t negate the promise he’d made to his friend and mentor.
Maybe Nick needed to play good cop for a while, before dropping Harry’s name.
Still, he couldn’t stifle his curiosity, and studied the pretty young woman who bore little resemblance to Harry.
She’d changed her clothes. Instead of winter wear, she had on a simple black dress. Not too revealing, but a hell of a nice fit.
“Have a seat,” she said, indicating an overstuffed, floral-print sofa.
He sank into the cushions, his knees hitting a glass coffee table where a copy of Better Homes and Gardens rested next to an issue of Modern Brides. He glanced at her left hand, noting the absence of a ring, diamond or otherwise.
“Getting married?” he asked.
“No.” A blush on her cheeks indicated embarrassment. She quickly broke eye contact, suggesting a lie or a reluctance to let him in on her private affairs. Still, the knowledge of those condoms lay before them in the awkward silence.
The aroma of pot roast filled the room. A small table in the dining room was set for two, along with wineglasses and new, red tapered candles. Nick slid her a slow smile. “No wedding bells, huh? Maybe the groom just doesn’t know it yet.”
She quickly stood, crossed her arms and flashed him a look of annoyance. The flush on her cheeks deepened, suggesting his comment had struck a chord of some kind. Then she scooped the magazines from the tabletop and placed them in a wicker basket that held other publications. “Did you have something to discuss with me?”
At this rate, Nick had better work on his manners and his ability to reason with her. Maybe he ought to turn on the charm, make nice, then hit her with his plan to take her to California. He’d leave Harry out of the discussion for the time being. “It looked as though you landed on the sidewalk kind of hard. Head injuries can be deceptive.”
She crossed her arms under her breasts, drawing his attention to the way they would fill a man’s hands.
Hell. Where had that misguided thought come from?
“My head is fine. And I bruised my…hip. Nothing’s broken.” The phone rang, interrupting the rest of her words. “Excuse me.”
She turned and walked toward the kitchen. The hem of her black midlength dress brushed against shapely calves. She was a striking young woman, Nick realized. And stubborn. He wondered whether he could break down her defenses. Touch some tender spot in her heart and make her agree to see Harry.
Not if he didn’t stop thinking about her as an attractive woman. A man didn’t hit on his friend’s daughter.
Nick scanned the small living room of the house she’d made into a home: floral-printed cotton, coordinating plaid pillows with ruffles, light oak furniture. Sheesh, Hailey was a nester—just the kind of woman Nick tried to avoid.
If there was one thing he didn’t need, it was a woman who expected a guy to be home by five and spend weekends doing fix-it projects. Nick wasn’t Ward Cleaver or Tim the Tool Man, nor did he want to be.
On the fireplace mantel, delicate picture frames—some silver, some crystal—displayed photographs. The feminine touch revealed a romantic side of the young woman, an emotional side he hoped to tap into.
He glanced to the kitchen, where she stood talking on the telephone. He figured she was going to ask him to leave. Well, what did he expect? A dinner invitation? His stomach grumbled like a small kid in the back seat clamoring for attention.
After talking to Harry at the hospital late last night, he’d gone home, packed his bags and headed for Lindbergh Field, hoping to catch an early-morning flight. He probably should have picked up a burger and fries along the way, but he’d been intent upon finding Hailey before checking into a hotel or grabbing a bite to eat. That might have been a mistake, he realized, as his stomach rumbled again. He should have eaten more at the airport than a sweet roll and black coffee, but he had been determined to reach Walden before the storm hit.
While Hailey talked quietly in the kitchen, Nick stood and made his way to the fireplace. He lifted a silver, heart-framed photograph from the mantel. A picture of a dark-haired
