Hidden. Tara Quinn Taylor
this far.”
Lame. Too lame. Scott wasn’t a stupid man.
“You’re half a mile away!”
He was talking like a husband.
“I’m really sorry, Scott.” About so many things that were out of her control. “I thought there was a public restroom at the top of the road,” she lied, “but it was closed for renovation and by that time I figured it would be quicker to walk to the next place rather than turn around and go all the way back to you and then have to hike to the car. I had no idea it would take me this long to find a public restroom.”
Please don’t let there be a sign for one on the road, making this an obvious lie.
Things were getting too difficult.
Scott’s sigh was long and clearly distinguishable. She could hear her son babbling in the background.
“Mama?” She recognized the warning tone of impending upset in Taylor’s baby sounds.
“She’s right here, sport.” Scott’s voice was kind, reassuring. “Okay.” The word was louder as he spoke into his phone. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”
Turning her back to the pay phone, nestled into the half-booth along a wall on the edge of the courtyard, Tricia took one more glance around, just in case.
The stricture on her chest loosened a little more. “Yeah,” she said, “me, too.” And then added, “I’m really sorry.” More than he’d ever know.
“You don’t need to apologize, love. I overreacted.” He sounded so sincere; he was accepting this so easily. “Is your stomach better?”
“Yeah.”
“Then walk out front. We’re pulling up now. We missed you and want you back.”
Tricia had to blink back tears as she hung up the phone, avoiding the eyes of the guests she passed on her way through the resort. If she’d still been free to indulge in dreams, Scott would have been the star of every one of them.
Scott thought he’d had himself completely under control. He’d put the episode behind him. Was completely on board with the program. He and Tricia were ships passing in the night. So it was turning out to be a longer night than he’d figured, they were still just passing.
She owed him nothing. And he wanted nothing except the moments she was with him.
Lying in bed on Saturday night, staring at the shapes of moonlight and dark gray shadows on the ceiling, he willed himself to let it go.
God, it was hot. Kicking off the covers he lay there, nude and exposed. But it wasn’t the physical exposure that had him feeling so raw.
Arms beneath his head, he closed his eyes. Told himself to rest, something eleven years on the department had taught him to do on command. He instantly saw a vision of Tricia—lying on the beach, bleeding. In the first run-through she’d been mugged. Her clothes were torn, that bag she’d sewn and been so proud of was gone, she was bruised, but otherwise all right. She heard Taylor call out to her and opened her eyes, focusing. A small smile spread over her face as she reached out a hand….
With Taylor on one hip, he bent to pull her up and suddenly it was scenario two. She was lying on the beach again, but it was hours later. Taylor was with Joe Valentine’s wife—not that he’d ever been with a sitter, as Tricia was one of those moms who’d yet to trust her firstborn to anyone else’s care.
Except for him.
Which said a lot.
Just as his heart started to settle, the vision was back. The guys were all out with him, looking for her, but he was the one who found her. Nude. Injured. Bleeding.
He couldn’t stand the thought of someone doing that to her. Of her experiencing such degradation and pain. He started to cry.
Eyes open, Scott concentrated on the ceiling again. It was tangible. Real. And Tricia was breathing beside him.
He had to stop this. Had to care less. He just wasn’t sure how to go about doing that.
Turning, he faced the closet several feet from the bed. The closet where her meager collection of clothes hung side by side with his uniform pants and dress shirts.
She was hiding something from him. He’d always known that. So why was it beginning to matter so much? Why now?
Returning to his back, Scott’s mind wandered over the past decade and a half. He’d experienced a lot of hell in those years. And was still standing. He was a survivor. He was—
“What’s wrong?”
Her soft voice was both a blast of cold air and a warm soothing breeze. He needed her comfort—and she was intruding where he couldn’t let her be.
“Nothing.”
“You’re not sleeping.”
“Just hot.”
“Scott McCall, I’ve been in this bed with you when it was a hundred degrees outside and the air conditioner was broken and you were still asleep the minute your head hit the pillow.”
He turned his head, studying the shadows of her face in the moonlit night.
“When you moved in here, we promised no questions.”
She didn’t look away. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ve just felt a distance in you all day and figured I’d make it easy on you.”
He frowned. “Make what easy on me?”
“You’re getting ready to tell me it’s time to end things. And I understand. You’re probably right. I’ll start looking for a place for Taylor and me in the morning.”
She could walk out on him just like that? If so, he’d made more of a mistake than he’d realized. He’d thought their enjoyment of each other, at least, was mutual. He’d thought that when they eventually parted it would be with regret on both sides.
“I’m really sorry about today,” she continued, licking her lips as though they were too dry. “I never should’ve run off and left you with Taylor, forcing you to be responsible for him.”
“You didn’t force anything. As long as he’s in my home, I am responsible for him. If nothing else, the law would hold me accountable. And that responsibility,” he added, staring back at the ceiling, “is of my own choosing.”
“Well…” Her voice was thick and she sounded as if she had something in her throat. “Thank you.”
Silence fell. A million things ran through his mind. Words to say. Warnings to himself. They were jumbled with emotions he didn’t completely understand. She’d fall asleep soon, and then he’d be free to work it all out. He didn’t have to report until eight in the morning. He had hours yet.
When Tricia pulled the covers up to her shoulders and moments later, scratched her neck, Scott knew she wasn’t any closer to falling asleep than he was.
“I wasn’t planning to ask you to move out. I don’t want you to.”
A reply might have made him feel better.
“Unless you need to, of course. In which case you have my full support and the use of my truck and any muscle you need to move Taylor’s things.”
“I’m a free spirit, Scott.”
“I know.”
“If you have expectations I’m only going to disappoint you.”
“I don’t.”
“I can’t live my life always being a disappointment.”
“You aren’t a disappointment.” Life was, maybe—the circumstances that had brought them together at this place and time, when neither of them was in a position to get involved.