My Name is Nell. Laura Abbot
made the mistake, then, of looking into his eyes where she found both humor and need. “I—I suppose I could—”
“Great.” When he smiled down at her, she couldn’t summon a single objection. “I’ll wait over in the magazine section.”
Then he left her. She studied the book cover in her hand, trying to think what she was doing with it. Flustered, she remembered and picked up a couple of tacks. She shook her head, wondering why in the world she’d agreed to such an improbable invitation.
Perhaps the dragon had left the bedroom and now inhabited the library.
AS THEY SAUNTERED along Dickson Street toward the restaurant, Brady kept feeding her questions about the town, the university, the local economy. As a native, she provided a wealth of information, but it was hard to concentrate. Her unruly hair shone in the sun, and he found amusing her self-contained way of letting him know this was purely a business appointment.
“I like what I’ve seen and what I’m hearing. I’ve decided to stick around a while.”
“Oh?”
“This morning I lucked into a furnished condo. A professor leaving on sabbatical had his sub-leasing deal fall through last week. I was in the right place at the right time.”
She laughed. “You certainly were. Housing is at a premium this time of year in a university town.”
When they reached the brew pub restaurant, he ushered her toward a corner booth. “Hungry?”
“Starving, actually.”
“Good.” The waiter introduced himself while he set down their water glasses. Brady noticed Nell hadn’t looked at her menu. “You already know what you want?”
“I always have the soup-and-sandwich special, but they have great burgers here.”
“Okay. That’s settled.” He signaled the hovering waiter and placed their order. “Now, enough about Fayetteville. Tell me about Nell Porter.”
“I have a better idea. You’re the stranger I’m having lunch with. What about you?”
He mentally culled the details he could bring himself to share. “I grew up in Colorado. Left home at eighteen and went to work in the software industry in California, then started my own company, which, I’m happy to say, has done extremely well. I was married for fifteen years. One daughter. They, uh…” Damn. His throat was closing down.
“Yes?”
He swallowed, then managed to say, “They were both killed last year in a car accident.”
He was unprepared for her hand to cover his, and even less prepared for the jolt of life it sparked. “I’m sorry.”
He studied the TV mounted over the bar, then glanced out the window. “Yeah, well, these things happen.”
“So what brings you to Arkansas?”
For some reason, he trusted her with the truth. “I couldn’t take California any longer. Too much had changed. I’ve been on the road. Seeing what’s out here. Getting a new perspective.”
“And?” Her eyes swam with compassion. Why was it welcome from her when it hadn’t been from anyone else? I have been so alone. Maybe because she knew.
“I like it here. Besides, I needed to stop somewhere. I couldn’t go on running.” There. He’d said it.
“Brady Logan, whatever it is you’re seeking, I hope you find it.”
Looking at her, her thin shoulders hunched over the table, her reedlike neck revealing a pronounced pulse beat, he felt a welcome surge of hope. “Me, too.” He cleared his throat. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me about your daughter. And husband.”
Brady noticed a shutter fall over Nell’s eyes. Just then the waiter appeared, set down their food and made a show of asking if everything was all right. Brady nodded. After her first tentative spoonful of the steaming soup, Nell answered Brady’s question, her attention fixed on her food. “There’s no husband. I’ve been divorced for six years. My daughter Abby is thirteen and—” finally she glanced up “—getting to that stage where parents are a ‘drag.’ I’ve been told adolescence is survivable, but I’m not so sure.” She grinned a wobbly grin.
“You have family here?”
“My father’s dead, but my mother still lives here, as do my sister and her family.”
“Are you close?”
“Very, but with all the baggage, too. Since the divorce, my mother and sister are overprotective of me, which I suppose is natural, even though it can be frustrating. But I couldn’t have managed without them.”
“You’re lucky,” he said, aware of his faintly bitter tone. He hadn’t seen his father or his younger brother since he left home, and so long as the old man was alive, he didn’t want to.
“Your ex-husband? Is he still on the scene?”
“He and his new wife live in Dallas. In fact, Abby’s visiting them this week.” Her deliberately neutral tone struck him as odd. She was holding something back. Some hurt.
“Well, since you’re alone, what do you say we take in dinner and a movie? Tomorrow night?” He watched her eyes widen in surprise, then added, “That is if you think I’ve passed the test. I’m really quite harmless.” Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She’d be shocked if she knew she was his sole motive for remaining in Fayetteville.
Then she smiled, and the stomach muscles that had been taut since he first saw her this morning relaxed. “I’d like that.” The faint pink of a blush colored her cheeks. “I’d like that very much.”
Her pleasure touched a chord, reminding him that he needed to proceed slowly with her. She’d been hurt enough already. And, God knows, so had he.
CHAPTER THREE
NELL HAD RACED HOME from the library, taken a quick shower and now stood in her bra and panties surveying the limited selection in her closet. Dinner and a movie? It wasn’t a charity gala, for heaven’s sake. Something casual. Nice. She had essentially three choices. One of her unstylish librarian dresses, a two-year-old pair of linen slacks with a matching sweater sporting a small ineradicable stain or a black Mexican fiesta dress she’d bought on a whim for International Month at the library. Wardrobe purchases had been low on her list of priorities, well beneath orthodontia and graduate school tuition.
Glancing at the clock, she stepped into a half slip, then selected the black dress and a pair of onyx and pearl earrings. When the doorbell rang, she slipped into her white sandals, spritzed some cologne in the general direction of her neck, ran a brush quickly through her still-damp hair and only then began to panic. Misgivings echoed in her mind. She didn’t even know this man. Why, he could be… She filled in the blank with a number of disturbing possibilities.
All of which dissolved into a faint memory when she opened the door and beheld the flesh-and-blood object of her conjecture. Brady Logan wore crisply pressed khakis and a yellow polo shirt that accented his ruddy tan. His smile made her forget her meager wardrobe and just about everything else. “Hi,” he said with a timbre that would melt chocolate. “You look gorgeous.”
Perhaps he wasn’t a threat after all, simply a man in need of a competent ophthalmologist. At a time like this having fair skin was a definite drawback. “Thank you.” Now what? Even Abby possessed more savoir faire.
“I’ll let you suggest the restaurant, but we may have to arm wrestle to decide between the new Kate Hudson chick-flick or Brad Pitt’s latest.”
She picked up her purse, locked the door, then started when he loosely grasped her free hand and led her toward his fancy SUV. “You’ve given me a tough choice. I love romantic comedies, but what woman can resist Brad Pitt?”