Full Contact. Tara Quinn Taylor
I waited.”
He picked up the menu, decided on the first thing he saw—a man-size stack of homemade pancakes—then returned the plastic-coated sheet to its place along the wall.
Ellen watched him, her hands folded on the table.
“Ellen?” The waitress, a middle-aged woman, approached, staring, not at the woman she’d addressed, but at him.
“Hi, Nancy. How are the kids?”
“Good. You know that Cameron starts at Montford this fall, right?”
“Yeah. And Leah will be following next year, I’m sure.” Ellen ordered a diet soda, oatmeal and toast and waited while Jay asked for coffee, black, and his pancakes.
“Have you eaten here yet?” Ellen asked as Nancy, pocketing her notepad, walked away.
“Nope, this is my first time in.” Glancing around, he figured he could have described the place accurately without the visit. Hometown diners looked the same the world over.
But as diners went, this one was one of the nicest. It was clean, of course, but the decor was…fresh-looking.
And it fit right in with this family-based town.
Jay focused on the woman he’d agreed to help, wondering about her. “Do you have siblings?”
“Three.”
“Younger or older?”
“Younger. I’m the oldest.”
“Are they all here in town?”
“Yep. Shelley’s twenty-three, working toward her doctorate in music at Montford. She had her bachelor’s at twenty and finished the master’s program last year. Rebecca’s twenty-two and married. No kids yet. Tim’s just turning twenty. He’s at Montford, too, playing baseball. And his interest is definitely more on the field than in the classroom, though he’s planning to go to law school.”
The woman was beautiful. He stared at her mouth, watching the way her lips moved as she talked. Her features were soft, almost innocent in their allure. Yet her eyes held secrets. And a sadness directly offset by the straightness of her spine.
He liked sitting here with her. Wanted to be here.
He noticed the uniformed man walking toward them. “Sheriff.” He nodded acknowledgment.
“Ellen, you okay, sweetie?” Greg asked.
“Hi, Greg. Yes, I’m fine.” Ellen’s tone, her smile, was almost that of a child humoring a too protective parent. “Have you met Jay Billingsley? He works at the clinic.”
Greg Richards glanced Jay’s way, nodding, but the smile on his face didn’t quite mask the concern lining his forehead. “Yes, we’ve met.”
“The sheriff paid me a visit my first night in town,” Jay said easily. “I invited him in and we—”
“Sheriff Richards. You did not go over and search this man’s house simply because he rode into town on a loud motorcycle.” Ellen’s grin was filled with a disbelief that could only be genuine.
“No, he didn’t,” Jay asserted. If Ellen didn’t already know about his police record—and shocking lack of family—then he preferred she not find out now when he needed her to feel comfortable with him. “He introduced himself and let me know that he was around if I needed anything.”
The sheriff had crossed Jay’s path twice since then and had been respectful. Jay responded in kind.
“Does your mother know you’re here?” Sheriff Richards wasn’t letting Ellen off the hook.
“If she doesn’t yet, she will soon.” Ellen’s slight derision wasn’t lost on Jay. And he didn’t think the sheriff missed it, either. “I’m okay, Greg, really. David knows I’m here. And why.”
David?
“Oh, well, okay then. Enjoy your breakfast.” With that, the man was gone as quickly as he’d arrived. Whoever this David was, he apparently had clout with the sheriff.
“DAVID IS MY STEPFATHER,” Ellen said as soon as Sheriff Richards had left her peripheral vision. Opening up about her family, about her life, with an outsider went against deeply ingrained instincts.
Still, he might look like a Black Leather kind of guy but he was a professional. Shawna trusted Jay. Ellen trusted Shawna. Ellen wanted to get better. Therefore, she had to confide in him. She should have let Shawna fill him in to begin with and saved herself this awkwardness.
“You a churchgoer, Mr. Billingsley?”
“Call me Jay. And no, can’t say that I am.”
“I didn’t think so. Otherwise you’d know David. He’s the preacher here in town.”
“And your stepfather.”
“Yes. It’s been seven years and he and my mom are still crazy about each other.” In some ways it was hard to believe that much time had passed. In others, it seemed an eternity. “He’s also one of my best friends.”
Let Jay make of that what he wanted.
Nancy reappeared with breakfast.
“I thought you had an appointment at Big Spirits this morning,” she said as she spooned hot oatmeal from the side of her bowl.
“Yes. At eight.”
“How did it go?”
“Good.”
The man kept the confidence of his clients. A point for him.
“I met with a mother and daughter from Phoenix yesterday,” Ellen told him as they ate. “They were looking at the center as a possibility for the mother’s brother.”
“I thought the residence was full.”
“It is. But there are a couple of rooms that have been used for storage that can be converted. After the meeting yesterday I volunteered to do the painting and decorating to prepare the rooms.”
“They can’t afford to hire a painter?”
“Yeah, they can, but I’ve got the time right now, and the rooms could be available by next week, which would work for those women. The man is being released from six months of rehab for a broken hip.”
“So his stay will be temporary?”
“No.” Ellen opened a packet of mixed fruit jelly. “He broke his hip when he ran a red light and was sideswiped. His wife died in the accident. His sister wants to take him to live with her, but the man is twice her size and she still works full-time. She can hire a nurse for home care, but she’s afraid he’s going to mourn and not improve. She heard about us and came for a tour. She has to make a decision this weekend.”
“That’s gotta be tough.”
“Yeah.” People had real problems. Much worse than an aversion to being hugged. “I gave her my cell number in case she had questions or concerns.”
“You’re committed to your job.”
“I love my job.”
He stopped eating and looked at her. “Why?”
The question was intrusive. Penetrating.
She held the slice of jelly-covered toast. She could do this. She could talk to him. “I have an affinity for old people. I think in part because they have so much wisdom.” She silently fought the internal battle to flee. “The kind of wisdom you can’t learn from books—or even always put into words. They teach by example. And I’m a sucker for that kind of lesson.”
“So how do I teach you by example?”
She dropped the toast, the beginnings of a cold sweat coming on.
“I’m