working through it.”
Even from three feet away he could see she was shaking. What in the world had happened to this woman? What had Frank gotten him into? Whatever the case, Nick wasn’t happy about the situation. He sure didn’t like the way he was reacting to her. At the moment, he wished he’d never heard of her. Wished he’d never hired her, for God’s sake.
But another part of him knew that wasn’t completely true. She might be an attractive woman who was affecting him in all the wrong ways. She might have let her partner down in a crisis. But she was still a cop. A cop who’d been cut down in the line of duty and needed a chance to get back on her feet.
Frowning, Nick crossed to his desk, but he didn’t sit. His temper was still lit, but he knew it would be wrong of him to take it out on Erin. He didn’t know all the details of what she’d gone through. Frank had told him the shooting wasn’t directly her fault—she’d followed procedure for the most part. But her momentary hesitation had cost her—and her partner—dearly. The ensuing Internal Affairs investigation irrevocably damaged her career. She’d lost her confidence. In the end, she’d resigned voluntarily, to keep herself from getting fired.
“I hope this doesn’t affect your decision about hiring me,” she said.
He turned and looked at her, taking in the rigid shoulders. The high chin. The gaze that was level and a little too intense. His chest tightened uncomfortably when he realized it was taking most of her nerve just to maintain eye contact. Whatever happened in that warehouse had taken a heavy toll on her. She blamed herself, he realized. Nick knew firsthand how easy it was to accept blame when the real culprit wasn’t able to.
“This isn’t going to work out if you can’t handle being around the wheelchair,” he said.
“I can handle it.”
“You sure about that?”
“It just…caught me off guard. I didn’t mean to upset her.”
“I don’t think she noticed. But she’s sensitive about her handicap. I don’t want it to happen again.”
“It won’t.” Guilt shimmered in the depths of Erin’s eyes. “I overreacted. I’m sorry.”
Once again, Nick couldn’t take his eyes off her. She gazed steadily at him, her green eyes dark against her pale complexion. Relief flashed through him when he realized she wasn’t a crier. Female tears were the one thing he’d never handled well. Thank God he didn’t have to deal with that heaped on top of those bottomless, troubled eyes and soft mouth.
“We don’t have time to discuss this right now,” he said. “But you owe me a more detailed explanation.”
A breath shuddered out of her. “I know.”
He glanced toward the door, beyond which Stephanie waited. He’d always been protective of his daughter. Especially since the car accident three years ago that had taken her mother from her and injured her spine. As of late, it seemed his protective instinct had grown into something even Nick couldn’t control.
“I need to take her home,” he said. “You can ride along. Then we’ll start our shift, and we can talk.”
“Look, Nick, I’m a good cop—”
“This has nothing to do with whether or not you’re a good cop. The question is whether or not you’re ready to return to the field.”
“I’m ready,” she snapped.
He contemplated her, trying not to notice the way the sunlight brought out the red in her hair and made it shine like Oriental silk. Damn her for complicating things by being a woman. Damn him for noticing.
“I hope you’re right,” he said, and headed toward the door.
Erin watched Nick scoop his daughter out of the wheelchair and settle her onto the back seat of the Suburban, where he strapped her in place. He didn’t speak, didn’t even look at Erin as he folded the wheelchair and stowed it in the rear. Crossing in front of the truck, he slid behind the wheel and started the engine.
Erin got in beside him, hating that she’d reacted to the wheelchair so intensely. She’d thought the flashbacks were over. But the moment she saw Stephanie’s wheelchair, the night of the shooting had rushed back like a deluge of rancid floodwater. The man on the catwalk. The blue steel of a gun. The split-second hesitation that would haunt her the rest of her life.
Shoving the memory aside, she leaned back in her seat and gazed out the window, determined not to let the incident shake her. So she’d overreacted. If Erin had learned anything in the last several months, it was that she couldn’t change what was already done. Another mistake heaped on top of a dozen others wasn’t going to make a difference now.
Two slow, deep breaths and her nerves began to calm. For the first time since she’d climbed into the truck, she noticed the scenery outside her window as they drove toward Nick’s house. She’d never lived in a small town before, but had fallen in love with Logan Falls the moment she’d arrived. Surrounded by endless fields of corn and wheat, neat white farmhouses and pastures dotted with cattle, Logan Falls was a typical Midwestern town. Cobblestone streets and brick storefronts distinguished the downtown area. A silver-roofed bell tower graced the top of the courthouse. Across the street, a fountain punctuated the center of the business traffic loop. Beyond, a redbrick school surrounded by maples and stately oak trees separated the downtown area from a well-kept residential neighborhood.
They rode in silence to a more rural area, the only sound coming from the occasional crackle of Nick’s police radio. In the back seat, Stephanie stared out the window, her face pulled into a sullen mask Erin couldn’t begin to read.
“It looks like Mrs. Thornsberry’s home.”
Nick’s voice jerked Erin from her reverie. She looked over at him just as he turned the Suburban down a gravel drive lined on both sides by a white rail fence. Ahead, a white frame house with black shutters and a wraparound porch beckoned. Erin wasn’t sure where she’d expected Nick Ryan to live, but it wasn’t here. The home spread out before her looked like a happy place where children played and adults barbecued in the backyard. But on closer inspection, she noticed the signs that no children had played in this yard for quite some time. A swing set sat like an abandoned ship in a sea of lush grass. A basketball hoop mounted above the garage door was rusty, its netting torn and swinging in the breeze.
Erin smiled when she noticed the spotted horse grazing next to the rail fence. “Whose horse?” she asked, hoping to land on a subject that would brighten Stephanie’s mood.
“That’s Bandito,” the little girl replied. “He’s an Appaloosa.”
“He’s beautiful,” Erin said. “Do you ride?”
“I used to be in 4-H and show in western pleasure and trail.” Stephanie sighed. “But I don’t anymore.”
“How come?”
A sound of disgust emanated from the back seat. “As if you haven’t noticed, my legs aren’t exactly strong enough to stay in the stirrups.”
Turning in her seat, Erin smiled at her. “Have you ever heard of therapeutic horseback riding?”
The
