Chapter 4
The morning
had been hectic for both Emily and Nikki. Emily taught classes for
senior citizens on Monday mornings, and today she’d also tried to
help Nikki with the inventory. Her partner had been tied up with
the distributor who provided the store with their art books, and
with a disgruntled customer, Mrs. Hendricks, who came by at least
once a week to complain.
Emily checked her small diamond-studded
gold watch, the last birthday gift Grammy had given her. Twelve
forty-five. Emily noted the number of children’s watercolor sets on
the shelf, recorded it on the inventory sheet, then slipped her
pencil into the breast pocket of her yellow, paint-smeared smock.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she’d skipped breakfast
this morning, something she often did when she overslept and had to
make a mad dash to arrive at the store on time.
This morning she’d overslept by nearly
two hours, and arrived for work thirty minutes late. She’d been
unable to go to sleep last night. Her mind had been filled with
Mitch. Mitch with the sexy, ice-blue eyes. Mitch with the
Viking-warrior body and golden hair. Mitch who had brought to life
the sexual urges she’d laid to rest with her husband.
And tonight she was cooking dinner for
him. He’d said he’d drop by the store, pick her up, help her shop,
then run home for a shower before supper. All morning she’d kept
picturing Mitch in the shower, rivulets of warm water caressing his
big, hard body. Emily ached with wanting, and that was something
she hadn’t experienced since Stuart’s death.
But what frightened Emily even more
than the passion Mitch had brought to life within her was the fear
of allowing herself to get too close to this man, to want too much,
to build castles in the air. Had she been foolish to offer him
friendship, to think that they could settle for a nonsexual
relationship? And was she crazy to trust a man she didn’t know, to
believe in her instincts that told her he wasn’t the man harassing
her?
Mitch was a man in pain, one who, by
his own admission, was being chased by demons. She understood what
that felt like, what it meant to be haunted by the past, to live
with a heavy weight of sorrow surrounding your heart.
If only she weren’t hideously scarred.
If only she could go to him beautiful and perfect and unblemished
But she couldn’t. Nothing and no one could ever erase the damaged
flesh that covered her back. Lord knew that the doctors had
tried.
“Food!” Nikki shouted from behind the
checkout counter. “I’m starving. Let’s eat now while no one’s here
but the two of us.”
“Good idea.” Emily dusted off her hands
on her smock. “Today was your day to bring lunch, wasn’t
it?”
“Yes, today was my day.” With her
bright hazel brown eyes open wide, Nikki gave Emily a
what’s-up-with-you? look. “Something’s going on. You haven’t been
yourself all morning. Even Mr. Daily noticed in class, and asked me
if you were sick or something.”
“Just because I wasn’t sure if today
was your turn to bring lunch or not, you’re accusing me
of—”
“Hold it right there.” Nikki rounded
the corner of the counter and headed toward Emily. “I know what it
is. I know what it is!”
“You know what what is?” Turning away
from her friend, Emily walked toward the back of the store to the
rest room.
Nikki followed, and the two women
shared the sink to wash their hands. “You’ve met him, haven’t
you?”
“Met who?” Emily dried her hands on the
soft, seafoamgreen towel hanging from the round brass rack on the
wall.
“Your neighbor, the golden god.” After
drying her hands, Nikki grabbed Emily by the shoulders. “Tell Aunt
Nikki everything. Did he confess? Is he the man who’s been writing
you love letters and doing all that heavy breathing over the
phone?”
Emily rolled her eyes upward and
sighed. “Let’s eat lunch.” She went out of the bathroom and into
the storage room, where a makeshift kitchenette had been put
together along the back wall. “What did you bring
today?”
“Tuna salad sandwiches, dill pickles
and cherry vanilla yogurt for dessert.” Nikki opened the compact
refrigerator and retrieved the items, one by one, then placed them
on the small, wooden table near the lone window in the storage
room. “You can change the subject a dozen times, but it won’t work.
You are going to tell me about meeting him
and we both know it.”
“Did you make some fresh tea?” Emily
asked.
Nikki pulled a large pitcher of iced
tea from the refrigerator. “What’s his name? What did he say?
Where’s he from? What does he do for a living? Did you speak first
or did he?”
Emily seated herself and arranged the
pink napkins, plastic spoons and paper plates that Nikki had laid
on the table. “I wish I’d never told you about him.”
“The first man since Stuart that you’ve
been attracted to! Of course you had to tell me about him.” Nikki
sat down, then tucked her feet back on the bottom support round of
her chair. “Weeks of watching him, and now you’ve met him. It must
have happened yesterday because you didn’t say a word about it
Saturday.”
“I was on the beach yesterday
afternoon, doing some sketches, when he just came walking along.”
Emily unwrapped her sandwich and pulled the two cut halves apart.
“He watched me for a while, then came closer and
closer.”
“Does he look as good close up as he
did at a distance?”
“Better.”
“Better!” Nikki’s expressive hands
waved about in the air, slamming into the pitcher.
Emily grabbed the iced-tea container,
sighing when she realized she had avoided a minor disaster. “I’ll
pour the tea.”
“Forget the tea. Tell me more about our
muscle-bound blonde. Is he or is he not your mystery
man?”
“I really don’t think he is,” Emily
said. “He doesn’t seem the type. I doubt he knows anything about
poetry and the letter I received quoted Byron and Shelley. Besides,
Ray Mitchell could probably have any woman he wanted without
resorting to secret phone calls and letters.”
“Any woman?” Nikki asked. “Does that
include you? Just what happened between y’all?”
“We talked for a while. That’s
all.”
“You’re holding back.” Nikki bit into
her large dill pickle.
“We have a date for dinner tonight. I’m
cooking.”
Nikki choked on the pickle. She spit it
out on her napkin, her watery eyes opening wide. She stared at
Emily’s smiling face. “You have a date with a stranger? You, Emily
McLain Jordan?”
“I can’t explain it, Nikki. I’ve never
felt anything like this before in my life. Mitch is so...so...so
much a man.”
“Uh-oh. Are you ready for that? I mean,
you’ve said you’ll never...that is—”
Heat spread up Emily’s neck, flushing
her face a warm rose beneath her tanned complexion. “Even if I’d
like to have sex with Mitch, I won’t. I can’t.”
“I’ve told you a thousand times that
you cannot cut yourself off from life, from a future with a husband
and kids, just because of your scarred back.”
Reaching across the table, Emily patted
Nikki’s hand, then gave it a tight squeeze. “I wish you were right
about that, but... I’ve offered Mitch friendship and he’s
accepted.”
“If he’s anything like you’ve described
him, then a man like that isn’t going to settle for
hand-holding.”
“Did I do the wrong thing by inviting
him to dinner?” Emily wondered if she wasn’t asking for trouble,
asking to be hurt when Mitch wanted more and she rejected his
advances. Or even worse, when she agreed to more and he rejected
her. She couldn’t bear the thought of Mitch seeing her scarred back
and being repulsed by it
“No, you did the right thing. It’s long
past time you were dating someone besides Charles Tolbert. And
there’s no law that says you have to have sex. Look at me, I’ve
dated half the eligible bachelors in the world and I haven’t had
sex with any of them.”
Emily knew that Nikki’s reluctance to
have sex was based on her memories of her abusive stepfather.
Warner Richards had been wealthy, ruggedly handsome and very macho.
He’d also been a wife beater and a child abuser. His treatment of
Nikki had made her fear most men, especially rugged, powerful,
macho men. And although Nikki flitted from one boyfriend to the
next, like a love-starved butterfly, she had never given her heart
to any man.
“Someday, Nikki, you’ll meet a man...a
man like Mitch, and you’ll want him to make love to
you.”
“Maybe.” Nikki sighed, shaking her
head, tossing about her short reddish brown curls. “I’m just glad
that you’ve finally met someone special, and that he’s living right
next door. It makes me feel better knowing you aren’t out there all
alone.”
Emily lifted her sandwich to her lips.
“Do you think the person who has called me and sent me a love
letter could actually be dangerous?”
“Who knows? Maybe it is just Charles
Tolbert or Rod Simmons or some other guy who has the hots for you,”
Nikki said. “But what if whoever this guy is, he wants more? He
could turn out to be a stalker or a rapist or... Em, are you sure
you trust this Ray Mitchell guy?”
“Pretty sure. He didn’t even know my
name until we introduced ourselves. Besides, there’s no evidence
pointing to him. And if it was Mitch, then now that I’ve agreed to
a date, there shouldn’t be any more phone calls or
letters.”
“I tend to agree with you. So, if it
had been him, then there would be no need for him to send another
letter, would there?”
“Well, yes, I suppose not.
Why?”
Nikki drew an envelope from her pocket.
“This came in the morning mail. I should have given it to you
sooner, but—”
Emily snatched the letter out of
Nikki’s hand, ripped open the end of the envelope and drew out the
plain white sheet of paper. “My beloved Emily,”’ she read. “‘ arise
from dreams of thee, in the first sweet sleep of night...”’ Emily’s
hand trembled. The letter fell from her fingers, floating downward
like an autumn leaf in the wind.
Nikki reached out and caught the
romantic missive in midair. She scanned the page. “Whoever he is,
he’s smitten.” Nikki laid the letter on the table. “Maybe you
should call the police.”
“And tell them what? That I’ve received
another love letter?”
“Yeah, you’re right. Maybe we’re
worrying about nothing. Maybe there’s nothing more to these letters
and phone calls than a guy too shy to tell you how he feels
face-to-face.” Nikki picked up her sandwich and bit into it, then
chewed and swallowed quickly. She tapped her fingertips nervously
on the table. “All the same, since you’re sure this Mitch guy isn’t
the mystery man, I’m glad he’s living next door, in case you need
him. And I’m very glad that you’re having him over for dinner. You
could ask him, point-blank, if he’s the one who’s been writing to
you and calling you.”
“It’s not him,” Emily said. “But if
you’d feel better, why don’t you ask him yourself when he stops by
the shop this evening?”
“I’ll give him a thorough inspection
and let you know what I think.”
“You do that.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I will.”
Mitch stood outside Zed Banning’s
office wondering what the hell he was doing there. He had a date
with Emily, had promised to pick her up at her art supply store
immediately after work. But his foreman at the construction site
had given him a message from the big boss. Zed Banning wanted Mitch
to drive over to Mobile to his office as soon as he left
work.
Mitch shifted uneasily in the leather
chair in the waiting area outside Zed’s office. Zed’s secretary had
just left, telling Mitch that Mr. Banning was on a long-distance
call and would be ready to see him momentarily.
He wasn’t sure why Zed had sent him a
message that he needed to see him. Was his old friend having second
thoughts about hiring a man with a ruined reputation, whom no one
else would touch with a ten-foot pole? Or had word reached Zed that
Mitch was having problems with another worker, a real jerk named
Buddy Crowell?
Or was Zed going to preach him another
sermon on staying away from Emily Jordan?
Mitch knew that if Emily discovered the
truth about his past too soon, she wouldn’t want to be his friend.
He needed a chance to win her trust before he told her that he was
M. R. Hayden. He prayed that she would understand. If he could
change the past he would.
Strange thing about Emily—she was the
first woman he’d truly cared about in all the years since Loni had
betrayed him. Once he’d met Emily, talked to her, touched her, he’d
been afraid to tell her his real name. Afraid he’d lose her. Of
course, he would have to tell her the truth—sooner or later. Ray
Mitchell was really M. R. Hayden, a man hated by so many people—a
man who’d lost his hard-earned construction firm along with every
dime he had to his name, not to mention his reputation in the
business and social worlds.
“Come on in, Mitch. Sorry to keep you
waiting.” Zed Banning stood in the doorway of his office, his broad
shoulders almost touching each side, his big body filling the
space.
“No problem,” Mitch said. “But if this
isn’t a life or death situation, could we get this over with in a
hurry? I’ve got a date tonight.”
Zed raised his dark, bushy eyebrows,
giving Mitch an is-thatso? look. “This won’t take too long, but if
it’s going to run you late, give the lady a call.”
“I gave her a quick call from a pay
phone before I came over.” Mitch followed Zed into his large, airy
office. “I was supposed to pick her up right after
work.”
Zed eyed Mitch’s appearance, the
sweat-stained shirt, the grime-covered jeans, the day’s growth of
beard. “Is the lady into bums?”
Mitch grinned. “We’re going to pick up
the fixings on the way home, and then while she gets dinner
started, I’m going to run home and take a quick
shower.”
“The lady must live close.” Zed
motioned for Mitch to take a seat, then sat down behind his
enormous black metal desk.
“As a matter of fact she lives in the
cottage next to mine,” Mitch said.
“Dammit man, what have you done?”
Emitting a furious growl, Zed slammed one big hand down on his
desk. “Have you lost your mind?”
Mitch sat down in a white leather chair
strategically located in front of Zed’s desk. The inquisition
chair. The interview chair. “She’s lonely, Zed. Very sad and very
lonely. And very beautiful.”
“A sad and lonely lady,” Zed said. “Old
buddy, you’re asking for trouble. My advice is to stay away from
her. You’ve got enough problems without sticking your neck in that
particular noose.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Mitch
eased his body to the edge of the chair, spread his legs and
dangled his hands between his knees. “But I’m afraid I can’t take
your advice. I need Emily in my life right now.”
“You didn’t tell her who you are, did
you?”
“I didn’t tell her I was Mitchell Ray
Hayden. I told her that I was Ray Mitchell.”
“Secrets have a way of coming out. If
you won’t take my advice about staying out of Emily Jordan’s life,
then at least don’t wait too long to tell her who you
are.”
“I can’t believe she’s lived in the
Gulf area all her life and the two of you have never met. I thought
you were acquainted with every beautiful woman in South Alabama.”
Mitch knew for a fact that Zed Banning had a reputation when it
came to women—lovely, sophisticated women. But to Mitch’s
knowledge, his friend hadn’t been involved in a serious
relationship since his divorce. Zed had been in the middle of a
messy settlement when Mitch had first worked for him twelve years
ago.
“Maybe it’s lucky for me that our paths
haven’t crossed. I don’t think she’s my type. And she’s not your
type, either,” Zed said. “From what I’ve learned about Emily
Jordan, the woman isn’t the type for one-night stands or brief
affairs. There doesn’t seem to have been anyone special in her life
since her husband died.”
“If you’re trying to tell me that I
can’t be that special man in her life, don’t bother. I already
know. All I can be is her friend. And once she knows who I am, I’ll
probably lose her friendship.”
“Keep that in mind, and make sure you
don’t lead her on and wind up breaking her heart. You’ve already
got enough guilt to handle.”
“For a man who’s never met the lady,
you seem awfully concerned,” Mitch said.
“I knew that once you saw her, you’d
find a way to meet her, but it never entered my mind that you’d ask
her for a date.”
“I didn’t plan it. It just
happened.”
“Being her friend is a mistake,” Zed
said. “Becoming more than a friend would be suicidal.”
“Don’t you think I know
that?”
“You’d be better off and so would she
if you found yourself some bosomy blonde.”
“I’ve had my fill of cheap blondes and
meaningless one-night stands.” Mitch glared at his old friend. “For
the last five years there hasn’t been one meaningful thing in my
life. As crazy as it sounds, I want Emily Jordan’s friendship. I
need to know what it’s like to go out on a real date, to be with
someone honest and decent and—”
“Tell her who you are. Don’t wait. If
you wait too long, you’ll regret it.” Zed leaned back in his chair,
his dark eyes riveted to Mitch’s face, then abruptly changed the
subject. “Tatum has called me more than once about your run-ins
with Buddy Crowell.”
“So that’s what this little visit is
all about.” Mitch jumped up, balling his hands into fists at his
sides. “The guy’s a troublemaker. He stays on my case all the
time.”
“Yeah, well, try to stay out of his
way. If Tatum has to fire the guy, I don’t want him having cause to
fire you along with him.”
“I knew it wasn’t going to be easy
starting all over again as a construction worker. I was never very
good at being just one of the Indians. I always wanted to be chief.
Hell, maybe I was a fool for ever letting you talk me into coming
back to work for you.” Mitch rammed his fist into his open
palm.
Zed slid his feet off his desk, letting
them drop to the floor. “You had to come back to the Gulf and face
your ghosts, confront all the guilt that’s been eating away at your
insides for the past five years. You couldn’t go on the way you
were. You were well on your way to becoming an alcoholic. You were
already a burn on the streets, wondering where your next meal was
coming from.”
“And what have I got now?”
“A job, a place to live, a chance for a
real life.” Zed stood, walked around his desk and stopped directly
in front of Mitch. “And a date tonight with a beautiful
lady.”
Mitch sucked in his breath. Emily. “I
should get out of her life now, while the gettin’s good.” Mitch
laughed, a mixture of disgust and pain. “But dammit all, Zed, I
can’t walk away from her.”
“Just be up-front with her. Tell her
who you are.” Zed gripped Mitch’s shoulder in his huge
hand.
“I’ll tell Emily who I am and all about
my past just as soon as we get to know each other a little
better.”
“Don’t wait too long. Someone else will
tell her if you don’t.”
“You?”
“No, not me. But despite how much
you’ve changed physically, sooner or later, you’ll run into someone
who’ll recognize you.” Zed hesitated momentarily. “You may not
remember this, but Fowler Jordan, Stuart Jordan’s uncle, came to
court every day of your trial. The man memorized your face. If you
ever meet him, it’s possible that he’ll know who you
are.”
“Then I need to avoid Fowler Jordan
until after I’ve told Emily the truth,” Mitch said.
When Mitch rode up in front of the
Paint Box and saw Emily’s champagne-beige Buick LeSabre. he
realized that when they’d made arrangements to meet, neither of
them had thought about the fact that they’d be in separate
vehicles. Of course, some people might not call his Harley-Davidson
low-rider a vehicle.
The Paint Box was located in a small,
two-story building in the middle of Fairhope. The outside walls
were painted a pale yellow and boasted dark-green awnings over the
front door and display windows. Canvases of various sizes had been
hung in the windows, along with a variety of imaginatively
displayed art supplies.
He glanced into the shop and saw Emily
waiting for him just inside the full-glass front door.
He pulled off his helmet, hung it on
his cycle and swung his legs over and off. When he neared the
entrance, Emily opened the door, her eyes bright with greeting, her
mouth curved into a welcoming smile.
“Sorry, I’m late,” Mitch said. “Like I
told you when I phoned, I had a call from my boss, so I had to run
over to Mobile.”
“No problem.” Emily stepped aside to
give him room to enter. “I just realized when I saw you drive up on
your motorcycle that we have separate means of
transportation.”
“So we do.” He loved the look of her,
the soft, feminine curves of her body, the sweet, warm smell of her
skin and hair, the slow, syrupy drawl with which she spoke. “I
guess we were just too eager to see each other again that we didn’t
think this thing through.”
“Why don’t you ride on his motorcycle?”
Nikki stepped out from behind the counter and offered Mitch her
hand. “Hi, I’m Nicole Griffin, Emily’s business partner and
friend.”
“I can’t go with Mitch,” Emily said. “I
have my car.”
“So, I’ll leave my old clunker here.
Nobody would steal that pile of junk. I can drive your car home
tonight, then stop by and pick you up in the morning.”
For such a petite woman, Nikki shook
Mitch’s hand with a firm grasp. Mitch assumed she was around
Emily’s age since they seemed to be close friends, but she looked
like a teenager with her slender curves, wide hazel eyes and
cropped cinnamon hair.
“I think your friend has a good idea
there,” Mitch said.
“I don’t know.” Emily hesitated,
wondering if she had the nerve to ride on the back of Mitch’s
motorcycle. A motorcycle!
“Come on, pretty lady, live
dangerously.” Mitch grinned at her, that devastatingly sexy grin
she was finding more and more irresistible.
“How are we going to carry a grocery
bag on that thing?” Emily pointed outside to the
Harley.
“No problem,” Mitch said. “We’ll just
put the stuff in my saddlebags.”
“Oh. Well, all right...I
guess.”
Nikki picked up Emily’s straw bag off
the counter. “Mitch, could you excuse us for just a
minute?”
“Sure, I’ll take a look around the
store.” Amused by the elflike Nikki, Mitch watched out of the
corner of his eye as he walked away. Nikki grabbed Emily and pulled
her behind the counter. He wondered what was going on. Girl talk,
no doubt.
Nikki lowered her voice to a breathless
whisper. “He’s gorgeous. I mean drop-dead gorgeous!”
“I know,” Emily said.
“Here, take your purse and give me your
keys. I don’t want him to know we’re talking about
him.”
“I have a feeling he’s already figured
that out.”
“Em?”
“What?”
“I think you’re right. A guy like that
isn’t going to waste time writing silly love letters or making
breathy phone calls.” Nikki glanced at Mitch and sighed
dramatically. “I’m sure he knows that if he wanted a woman, all
he’d have to do is snap his fingers and she’d come
running.”
“So I have your unequivocal approval to
date Mitch?”
“You have more than that,” Nikki said.
“I want you to have a wonderful time tonight. If the subject of sex
comes up, don’t dismiss it too quickly.” Nikki grabbed the keys
Emily pulled out of her purse.
“Just take the car keys. I’ll need my
house key to get into the cottage for my wild night with Mitch,”
Emily said teasingly.
“I sure hope there’s a tender, gentle
lover beneath all those bulging muscles.” Nikki squeezed Emily’s
arm. “Have fun. Live a little for a change. But be
careful.”
“I will.” Emily walked over to Mitch
and placed her hand on his back. He felt warm and hard, and Emily
wished that she were touching his naked flesh instead of his cotton
shirt. She jerked her hand away.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
“I guess, but...what about a helmet for
me? Isn’t it against the law to ride without one?”
“I’ve got an extra.”
“Oh. Okay.” Why did he carry an extra
helmet? For whatever woman with whom he chose to share the ride?
Emily scolded herself for the raw feelings of jealousy that cut
through her heart. She had no claims on Mitch. They were little
more than strangers.
Just as Mitch and Emily headed for the
door, a lanky young man walked down the steps that led to the
upstairs rooms Emily used for her art studio. He held a stack of
books in his hands. “Emily, do you mind if I take these books home
with me?”
Emily pivoted slowly, smiling as she
faced her student. “No, of course not, Rod. You’re always welcome
to borrow any of my books.”
Mitch noticed the way the boy was
staring at Emily, a shy but hungry look in his gray eyes. The young
man was far too good-looking with his curly black hair and lean
body. Who was this kid? And exactly what was his relationship to
Emily?
“You need to hurry and finish up in the
studio, though,” Emily said. “Nikki will be closing the shop very
soon.”
“I didn’t mean to stay so long,” Rod
said. “I just got busy and forgot the time. I’ll clean up and head
on out.” Rod glanced meaningfully at Mitch. “Are you in a hurry,
Emily? I’m sorry if I—”
“Go on, you two,” Nikki told Emily,
then turned to Rod. “Emily has a date tonight, so she’s
leaving—tight now. But I’ll hang around a few more minutes. Long
enough for you to get squared away.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thanks.” Rod took several
steps backward, up the stairs. But he watched while Nikki Griffin
ushered Emily and Mitch out the door.
Mitch glanced back at the boy who
glared at him, anger and jealousy marring the perfection of his
handsome face. The kid had it bad for Emily. Mitch wondered if she
knew. Surely she did.
“Bye, you two. See you tomorrow,
Emily.” Nikki stood in the open doorway, watching while Mitch
helped Emily onto his cycle and handed her a metallic green helmet,
then adjusted the strap under her chin.
When the Harley roared to life beneath
them, Emily slipped her arms around Mitch’s waist, leaning into
him, absorbing the security of his strong back. As they pulled out
of the parking spot, Emily turned, her gaze catching sight of Nikki
in the doorway. She was smiling.
As they rode along the highway, Emily
clung to Mitch, wondering all the while if she’d lost her mind.
Emily McLain Jordan had never done anything so wildly exciting in
her life. She had always preferred walks on the beach, classical
music, poetry, art, good literature and men as gentle and cultured
as Stuart had been. But Mitch was a man with rough edges,
aggressive, possessive and earthy. With him the music would be
earsplitting loud, jazz or hard rock. And she didn’t doubt for a
minute that his taste in literature ran to more basic male
interests—sports, cars and adventure.
For five long years she had isolated
herself from life. And now, for the first time, she was reaching
out to embrace the joy of being alive, the thrill of sexual
attraction, the danger of risking her life and her heart to a
stranger.
Dear Lord, please don’t
let me regret this night.