“I figured it was something like that.” Mrs. Thornsberry clucked her tongue. “Steph asked for you.”
Concern and a hefty jab of guilt stabbed through him. His daughter had been upset. She needed him. And here he was making out with one of his deputies in the driveway.
“Is she all right?” he asked quickly.
“She’s fine. She’s waiting for you out by the garage.”
“By the garage?” It was nearly her bedtime. What was she doing out by the garage?
“Good night, Nick,” the nanny said.
Feeling like a kid who’d just ticked off his mom and would have hell to pay in the coming days, he watched her walk away.
“I’ve got to go.”
Nick turned at the sound of Erin’s voice. She stood next to her cruiser, her eyes dark and cautious in the moonlight, her lips glistening. He could still feel the pressure of her mouth against his, recall the sweet smell of her breath, the scent of her hair. The memory sent another rush of blood to his groin.
What had he done? Why did he keep making the same mistake over and over when it came to this woman? She wasn’t right for him. She wasn’t right for Steph. Erin was wild and impulsive and would end up breaking both their hearts. So why couldn’t he keep his hands off her?
“Uh…” Nick resisted the urge to rearrange himself. He was still painfully aroused, his body screaming for release. He was going to have to start dating. Take up running. Cold showers. Maybe he’d just shoot himself in the foot. Anything but get involved with Erin McNeal.
“Steph asked for me,” he said. “I’ve got to go.”
Without speaking, Erin opened the car door and slipped inside. Nick approached, not sure what he was going to say, knowing he couldn’t let what had just happened between them go without explanation. “McNeal.”
She slammed the car door, then lowered the window. “Tell Steph I’m sorry about the basketball, will you, Nick?”
“Sure.” He leaned down. “Erin…”
“You don’t have to say it.” She started the engine.
Nick figured he didn’t have a choice but to say what needed to be said. “This can’t happen again.”
“I know. I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”
He grimaced. “Probably not.”
Her flinch was barely perceptible, but Nick saw it, and he hated that she was paying the price for his own lack of control.
“I’m turning the remainder of your training over to Hector,” he said. “I think we should steer clear of each other for a while. This isn’t fair to either of us.” He wasn’t exactly sure what “this” was, but knew it was something they shouldn’t be partaking in, no matter how good she felt in his arms.
“Of course. I agree.” She said the words a little too quickly and with a little too much enthusiasm.
Nick didn’t want to debate the issue. His body sure didn’t agree, but he let the statement stand. Straightening, he stepped away from the car. Without looking at him, she put the car in gear and drove away.
He watched the taillights disappear, aware that his heart was beating too fast, that his palms were wet with sweat. He refused to believe anything had happened between them that didn’t have to do with hormones or three years of celibacy. Nothing happened, he told himself. Not a damn thing.
Starting toward the house, he shut out the annoying little voice in the back of his mind that called him a liar.
He strode toward the front door, intent on spending a few minutes with Steph before bedtime, but the unmistakable sound of a basketball against concrete stopped him. Curious, he skirted the sidewalk and peered around the side of the house, where a spotlight illuminated the portion of the driveway he’d concreted back when she’d first started playing basketball. Stephanie sat in her wheelchair, the bright orange basketball Erin had bought her poised in her hands, her determined gaze glued to the rusty hoop above the garage door. Concentration scrunched her features as she judged the distance between ball and hoop. An instant later, she leaned forward, thrust the ball upward and let it roll off her fingertips in a perfect arc. Nick held his breath. The ball bounced off the rim.
“Oh shoot!” she said, as the ball hit the concrete.
The sight of his little girl shooting baskets shouldn’t have moved him so profoundly. But as he watched her push her wheelchair forward to catch the ball, then lean forward and prepare for another shot, his heart convulsed in his chest. The ensuing jab of pain took his breath.
She needs to live her life to the fullest, risks be damned.
Erin’s words rang uncomfortably in his ears. She was wrong, Nick assured himself. Stephanie needed protecting. If he’d been there for her the night of the accident she wouldn’t be in that wheelchair.
Needing a moment to rein in his emotions, he leaned against the side of the house, telling himself he wasn’t overprotective. Steph needed someone to look after her. Someone to keep her safe. Someone to keep her from getting hurt again.
After a moment, Nick approached his daughter. He smiled, but his face felt plastic and he feared she would see straight through him. His little girl had become increasingly perceptive in the last couple of years.
She looked at him from beneath her lashes and grinned. “I missed my shot.”
Nick swallowed, terrified the emotion crowding his throat would overtake him. “I saw that.”
“I’m sorry I was so mean to Erin.”
“Erin’s fine. She understands and told me it’s okay if you don’t want the basketball. She’ll get you something else.”
Stephanie lifted the ball to him. “I never noticed this when she first gave it to me. Check it out, Dad.”
Nick looked down at the orange globe. Pain broke apart and scattered deep in his chest at the sight of his daughter’s name scrawled in sweeping black handwriting above the autograph of a popular Chicago Bulls player.
“Well, I’ll be,” he muttered.
“Pretty cool, huh? How’d Erin know he’s my favorite player?”
Nick didn’t know what to say. Not to his daughter. Certainly not to Erin, who must have driven more than two hundred miles, plus somehow wrangled a personalized autograph.
Stephanie looked down at the ball in her hands. “I was thinking about what she said.”
“What’s that?”
“About…you know, wheelchair basketball. I saw these guys playing on TV, but I didn’t think I could ever do it.”
“You can do anything you want, honeybunch.”
“Well, I thought maybe I could, you know, take some lessons or something. I used to be a pretty good player.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
“My back doesn’t hurt that much, if that’s what you’re worried about. Maybe we could ask Dr. Brooks.”
Nick cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn’t break and reveal the pain in his heart. “It’s past your bedtime, honeybunch.”
She cocked her head. The movement made her look like she was six again and challenging his authority, as she had so many times over the years. “Will you at least think about it?”
He stared at her, shaken and so full of love for this child that he ached with the need to hold her and keep her safe. Another part of him wanted desperately to make her happy—to let her play basketball and do all the things a little girl should be able to do. For the first time since the accident, he wondered if one was at odds with the other. He wondered if Erin McNeal was right.
“I’ll think about it as long as you promise not to become a professional basketball player,” he said after a moment. “I couldn’t handle you being on the road for long stretches.”
She turned thoughtful. “You think professional players miss their dads when they’re on the road?”
“You would.” Grinning, Nick leaned forward and tugged gently on her ear. “But I’d miss you more.”
Wheeling the chair back, Stephanie bounced the ball toward him. “So, I can take lessons?”
Nick caught the ba
ll, but couldn’t bring himself to bounce it back to her. “I’ll think about it, sweetheart, all right?”
“Promise me you’ll think hard about it, Dad, okay?”
“I promise.”
* * *
Erin sat at her desk and stared out the front window of the police station, trying not to think about Nick—and failing miserably. Frowning, she looked down at the blur of forms and reports spread out in front of her, and typed a line of information into her computer. Unable to drum up the least bit of enthusiasm for her work, she resumed her vigil of watching the cars as they drove down Commerce Street. She’d been hard at it since seven that morning—two hours ago—and only sixteen cars had passed. Logan Falls, she thought. Life in the fast lane.
What in the world was she going to do about Nick?
Hector’s philosophy on training new officers differed dramatically from Nick’s. While the chief had started her out with making rounds, Hector preferred to pawn off his paperwork on her, while he did his rounds alone. Erin wasn’t happy about the desk work. On the other hand, she didn’t feel much like company today.
She wanted to blame Nick for her sour mood but knew she had no one to blame but herself—and that blasted kiss. How was it she could build an illustrious career in a police department the size of Chicago’s, yet in her first week in Logan Falls she’d managed to alienate her counterpart, tick off her boss and generally screw up at every turn? What had she been thinking, letting Nick kiss her like that? What on earth had she been doing kissing him back?
She wanted to believe the kiss was a result of high emotion in the wake of Stephanie’s reaction to the basketball. Or Nick’s anger. Or her own guilt over having upset the little girl. But Erin knew better, and she wasn’t going to start lying to herself now. She’d wanted Nick to kiss her, wanted that hard, uncompromising mouth against hers—consequences be damned. No amount of denial was going to change any of it, or the fact that her pulse kicked every time she thought about doing it again.
Her cheeks heated at the memory of their encounter in his driveway, but she quickly shooed it away. She couldn’t change what was already done. It had been two days since the kiss, and she hadn’t seen him since. She told herself that was best. She didn’t need a man like Nick messing with her head and teasing her body with promises that would do nothing but make them both miserable in the long run.
He’d told her it was her recklessness he couldn’t tolerate. Erin knew it had more to do with the fact that she was a career cop who wasn’t afraid to put herself on the line. Well, she’d had her fill of men who couldn’t handle her being a police officer. Warren Prentice was a prime example, and it still disturbed her deeply that six years ago she’d been naive enough to nearly throw it all away in the name of love.
Love? Whoa. Where had that crazy notion come from? Erin certainly wasn’t naive enough to believe in the fallacy of love—or risk her career over it. Things were better if she avoided Nick, she assured herself. Simpler. A hell of a lot safer. She’d do her time in Logan Falls. Get back on her feet. Hopefully, in six months, Frank would reinstate her, and she could move back to Chicago where she belonged.
She started when the bell on the front door jingled. Expecting Hector, she felt a jolt of surprise when Stephanie opened the door and rolled inside. Not sure how to react in light of the fiasco at her birthday party, Erin looked down at the form in front of her and typed another line of information into the computer.
“Hi.”
Erin looked up and felt her mood soften as she watched the little girl struggle to get her wheelchair through the door. “Hi, Steph,” she said. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” The answer lacked the enthusiasm one would expect from a nine-year-old. “Is my dad around?”
Concerned, Erin shoved away from the computer and watched her approach. “You’re not sick, are you?”
No, I’m just desperately sad and lonely and need someone to talk to. Erin saw the words in the little girl’s eyes as clearly as if she’d spoken them. Compassion and an odd sense of understanding squeezed Erin’s heart. How many times had she felt that same sadness growing up without her mother? She wondered if Nick saw the same sadness when he looked into his daughter’s eyes. She wondered if it tore him apart, because there wasn’t anything he could do to fix it.
“I was hoping my dad was here so he’d take me home,” Stephanie said.
“Nick’s at the courthouse today. Hector said he’d be there most of the day. I can call him for you if you want.”
Stephanie looked at her backpack. “Can you take me home?”
Nick had forewarned her that Stephanie skipped school occasionally, and had instructed both of his deputies to call the principal and take his daughter home to Mrs. Thornsberry if she showed up at the station when he wasn’t around.
“Sure I can.” Erin figured it was the least she could do, since she’d upset Stephanie so terribly the night of the party. “Now I have an excuse not to finish this paperwork.”
* * *
It took Erin nearly ten minutes to help Stephanie out of her wheelchair and get her strapped in the cruiser. By the time she stowed the chair in the trunk and climbed behind the wheel, she’d broken into a sweat. For the first time, she realized fully the weight of Nick’s responsibility when it came to his daughter. She knew he shouldered that responsibility without complaint—but she also realized fully the love and devotion that was required to care for a physically challenged child.
Pulling onto Commerce Street, Erin steered the cruiser toward Nick’s house.
“I guess you think I acted like a brat about the basketball,” Stephanie said after a moment.
The statement startled Erin. Not knowing exactly how to respond, she glanced away from her driving and studied the girl. “That was my fault, honey. I should have realized the basketball might upset you.”
“It doesn’t. I mean, it did at first, but not anymore. After I got used to the idea, I started thinking it might be fun to, you know, play.”
“It’s okay for you not to like it, Steph. I’ll take it back and get you something else—”
“But I do like it,” she insisted. “I just…when you first gave it to me, I started thinking that I won’t ever be able to walk again, and it made me feel sad. But after I thought about it awhile, I started thinking maybe I could take some lessons or something.”
“You want to take wheelchair basketball lessons?” Erin asked cautiously.
“Maybe. I mean, you said kids in wheelchairs could take lessons. Didn’t you say that, Erin?”
She thought of Nick and wondered how she should handle this. “How did your dad feel about lessons?”
“He worries too much, but he’s always like that. Mom used to call him a worrywart. But he promised he’d think about it.”
Erin blinked, surprised that Nick had told Stephanie he would consider letting her take lessons. He’d seemed dead set against it. The thought that he might have softened his stance sent a ribbon of warmth through her heart. “So…you had a pretty good birthday, after all?”
“Pretty good.” Sighing, Stephanie looked out the window. “My dad’s pretty cool. He let me stay up past my bedtime for once. He even got me a green parakeet. I named her Bertha. And Mrs. Thornsberry made that really yummy cake. She’s like my grandmother, or something. I just wish…” The little girl’s voice trailed off.
Erin gave her a moment, then pressed. “You wish what, honey?”
“I wish my mom could have been there. I mean, she’d probably be sad that I’m in a wheelchair, but she always made me feel better. She was pretty, and she laughed a lot. She made my dad laugh, too. He hardly ever laughs anymore.”
The words sent a pang through Erin. The mention of Nick’s wife sent another, more complex, pang right through her. “Your dad told me about your mom. I’m sorry.” Remembering her own childhood, and the death of her mother, she ached for the little girl.
“I miss her sometimes.”
“I know what you mean,” Erin said easily.
“You do?”
“I lost my mom when I was six.”
Stephanie turned wide blue eyes on her. “You mean your mom died, too?”
Erin nodded. “She had cancer.”
“That must have been really hard, since you were only six. Did you cry?”
“I cried a bunch. I missed her so much.”
“I used to cry all the time, but I don’t anymore. I even saw my dad cry once. He thought I didn’t see him, but I did. It was kind of weird. I told Mrs. T. about it, and she said everyone cries when they’re sad. I never told my dad I saw him, though. I figured he’d be embarrassed or something.”
Erin smiled despite the fact that she felt the warmth of tears in her eyes. She wondered how a nine-year-old could be so perceptive.
“Is that why you skip school, honey? Because you’re sad?”
“I don’t know.” Steph’s eyes skittered toward the window, then down to her sneakers. “Sometimes I get mad. I mean, not at my dad or Mrs. T. or anything. I just get mad because I miss my mom and I can’t do stuff, like play basketball and ride Bandito.”
Erin wasn’t sure how to tell an innocent nine-year-old child that life wasn’t always fair. “It’s okay to be mad, Steph, but skipping school isn’t such a good idea.”
“I know.”
“But you know what?”
The little girl looked over at her. “What?”
“It helps to talk about it. And I think your dad and Mrs. T. are pretty good listeners.”
“So are you.”
Feeling her own emotions rise, Erin glanced in the rearview mirror and swallowed hard.
“Does that yucky feeling that makes you want to cry ever go away?” Stephanie asked.
“It gets easier,” Erin said carefully. “Pretty soon when you think of your mom, you’ll just smile and think about how much fun she was to be with, and it won’t hurt so much to think about her.”
“She was pretty fun. She used to braid my hair. Once she even braided Bandito’s tail. He looked pretty funny.”
Erin looked away from her driving and grinned “See?” she said. “You’re smiling already.”