Nola made tracks toward the front door, Rick’s conversation with his daughter drifting on the marshy breeze.
“Lauren, you should have called. I’m here helping Nola because she’s got a stalker threatening her life. Now my attention will be cut in half watching over the two of you.”>God, she’d been rude and he was being nice and perceptive. This really sucked because now she had to be honest when pissed off and sulking would have been so much easier.
Still, she did keep her eyes averted, thumbing moisture off every gauge. “Yes, I’ve considered adoption, but with my health problems I’m a poor candidate. Then there’s my travel schedule. When it comes to motherhood, I believe my time has passed.”
She didn’t appreciate the way the old hurt came up to bite her now, harder than ever, when she’d successfully stuffed down the heart-shredding regret countless times before. Maybe Rick’s daughter had gotten under her skin deeper than she’d realized if this young woman she’d never even met had the power to elicit so much heartache from the past.
His hand skimmed up to her shoulder, a steady weight, squeezing gently. Firmly.
Unexpected tears blurred the horizon. “I think I could use a platitude now.”
“I don’t have one to offer,” he said, even as his eyes glinted with a hint of sympathy she couldn’t miss. “We’ve both seen how unfair life can be, but I swear to you I’m going to see this stalker thing through. I won’t let you down.”
This flight, the sky, the sympathy in his eyes—and yes, making love—had definitely left her feeling more vulnerable than she’d expected. She’d never let her emotions gain control during flight before, a dangerous habit. Rick had a power over her no one, not even her ex, had exerted before.
This whole surprise gift had backfired on her, because now more than anything, she needed breathing space.
Steering the SUV along the dark back roads to Nola’s house, Rick had to acknowledge he’d learned something unexpectedly valuable on that flight.
Nola had a way of tearing down defenses.
Once he’d woken up from surgery after the Hurricane Katrina accident, he’d planned to put his Air Force days behind him. He’d done a pretty decent job of that—until Nola strutted into the rehab center with her chocolate chip cookies and killer legs.
Now, forgetting was damn near impossible while sleeping with a hot lady pilot, not to mention living in her house with all the military gear and photography scattered throughout her cluttered home. Then she’d up and thrown his past into his face with that flight.
He could still smell the open blue sky even in the murky night. Yeah, that sounded nebulous and all woo-woo. But the clouds and open air up there filled him with a familiarity he’d missed more than he’d been willing to admit.
Would flying in a little civilian prop plane every now and again be enough for him? Or would it be like dribbling bourbon on an alcoholic’s tongue? Could he turn his old life into a hobby or did he need to cut ties with everything Air Force—including Nola?
All moot points at the moment because first he had to call his daughter. As conflicted as he felt about Nola, the woman had dropped some heavy-duty guilt on his doorstep in regard to his parenting. He’d been so sure the kiddo should live with her mother.
He was such a mess himself. How could he deal with a typical teenager whose moods swung around with about as much regularity as a hurricane? The stakes were so damned high.
Rick dialed the number and waited for the pickup. Moonlight streamed through the towering trees arching over the road on one side, marshy shore on the other. God, this deserted area left too many places for someone to hide.
“Levy’s house. This is Joel,” a child’s voice answered. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Yes, could I speak to Lauren DeMassi, please? This is her father.”
He scanned the nearly deserted road, the entrance to the nearby tiny subdivision, the ex-cop Malcolm Cuvier’s house blazing with lights but no cars. Seemed he was alone for the holidays in spite of his assertion he had family flying from the West Coast. Something to file away.
Rick pulled his attention back to the phone conversation.
“Sorry, you’ve got the wrong number, mister. This isn’t Lauren’s house.”
Wrong number? Dread and a dawning realization gripped his stomach as he neared Nola’s home. “My daughter goes to school with Becca Levy. They’re spending Thanksgiving together.”
“Right. Becca’s here, but Lauren didn’t come home with her.”
Sweat popped along his forehead. This dawning nightmare-come-true sucked for a parent.
“Hey, Joel, could you get your mother or father to come to the telephone, please?” He pressed the earpiece more securely in place while the cell phone rested in his lap. He reassured himself Becca’s parents would have answers. The kid Joel was just confused. Could Lindsay and Lauren have gotten their wires so horribly crossed?
Waiting for the kid to track down a responsible adult to clear up this mess ASAP, Rick turned the steering wheel, maneuvering the car off the road and onto Nola’s tree-bowered driveway. His mind rolled through a hundred possible—positive—scenarios.
Just as many horrendous possibilities played out in his imagination, as well. Damn it, why didn’t that kid Joel hurry up?
Headlights swept the driveway, the sleeping lawn, the house. His instincts jolted to life because this time he did see someone waiting. Parked on Nola’s front doorstep sat a teenager with a backpack stuffed full and a familiar face.