Loree Lough - Out Of The Shadows

“Wow. Amazing.”

“That I live nearby?”

“Well, that, and the fact that we haven’t run into one another in the grocery story, or at the pharmacy.”

“So how’d it happen?”

“That we haven’t run into one another?” Maybe playing dumb would get him off track.

“Okay, I can take a hint.” He looked at her again. “Not your favorite subject, I take it.”

She breathed a sigh of relief—

“So what’s your mom up to tonight?”

—and the breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t prepared for this eventuality.

“Is she a boxing fan, too?”

“Mom hated boxing,” Patrice blurted.

“Hated? Past tense?” He shot a stunned look in her direction. “Oh, man. I’m sorry, Patrice. I had no idea….”

She leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes. “Some fun date this is starting out to be, huh?”

Wade reached over and took her hand. “If it was fun I wanted, I wouldn’t have asked you out.”

That snapped her to attention! “Excuse me?”

“Oh, wow. Oh, man. I, uh, I didn’t mean it that way. I only meant—”

Laughing, she squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, Wade. I know what you meant.” She paused. “I think—”

“After that crack, I feel I owe you something better than the dinner I’d planned.”

“Don’t be silly. The Mexican place is just fine.” She smacked her lips. “In fact, I’ve been craving soft tacos all evening.”

“Soft tacos? No foolin’?”

She nodded.

“My favorite,” they said in unison.

This time, Wade squeezed Patrice’s hand. “Say, maybe this night is gonna turn out all right, after all.”

Maybe, she thought. And maybe I’d better be real careful with this one.

Because already, she felt the oh-so-familiar tugs at her heartstrings.

His hand on the small of her back, Wade led her into the restaurant. She seemed so small, so vulnerable beside him. If he had to guess, he would’ve said Patrice was five feet tall, not a fraction of an inch more.

The instant they stepped into the restaurant, an elderly woman hollered, “Dr. Cameron!” She hurried toward them, arms outstretched. “It’s been too long. We’ve missed you!”

“Nice to see you, too, Mrs. Gomez,” he said as she wrapped him in a grandmotherly hug. “How are you?”

She pressed a hand to his cheek. “Fine, thanks to you.”

“And where is Mr. Gomez?”

Her eyes twinkled with mischief when she released him. “In the kitchen,” she whispered, “telling Juan how to do his job.”

“That’s a good sign.”

Suddenly, she faced Patrice. “And who is your lady friend?”

It seemed the most natural thing in the world to slide an arm around her waist. “Patrice,” Wade drawled, pulling her close to his side, “ah’d like you to meet Corrinne Gomez, sweetest li’l gal east of the Rio Grande.”

Mrs. Gomez took Patrice’s hands in her own, then drew her into an embrace. Wade watched as Patrice returned the woman’s warm gesture, seemingly unperturbed by the uninvited physical contact.

“Ah, theese one,” Mrs. Gomez said, “theese one, she’s a keeper.” She grabbed two menus from the hostess stand. “Come with me. I’ll find you a nice quiet booth in the back, where you’ll have some privacy.”

As Patrice slid onto the burgundy leather seat, Mrs. Gomez winked. “I’ll send Enrique right over with tortillas and salsa,” she said, handing them each a menu. After whipping a book of matches from her apron pocket, she lit the candle in the middle of their table. “Suerte grande!” she said, winking again before hurrying away.

Patrice’s gaze followed until Mrs. Gomez disappeared into the kitchen. She rested both arms on the table and leaned closer to Wade. “Lots o’ luck?” she translated, grinning as her eyes bore into his.

Wade always brought women to Mi Casa for a first date. If they passed the Gomezes’ muster, he made a second attempt. So far, no woman had eaten here more than twice. He felt more than a little guilty, putting Patrice through her paces this way. For one thing, she hadn’t been the aggressor, like the others. For another, he genuinely liked her.

He felt the heat of a blush, ran a finger under his collar.

“And what was with that conspiratorial little wink?” she added, winking herself.

He couldn’t very well tell her the truth, and for some reason, didn’t want to tell the usual first-date fibs. So he grinned, shook his head and said, “That Mrs. Gomez. Quite a card, isn’t she.”

Wade prepared himself for a sassy retort, and likely would have heard one—if Juan hadn’t blustered up to the table just then.

“Dr. Cameron! We were worried you’d fallen off the horse.” He laid a beefy hand on Wade’s shoulder “It isn’t Friday night unless Baltimore’s Bachelor of the Year brings a pretty girl here to eat!” His hearty laughter thundered as he gave Wade a playful slap on the back. “Glad to see you’re still in the saddle, m’boy!”

Wade squirmed under Patrice’s level gaze. Yeah, he thought, still in the saddle.

“Theese,” he said to Patrice, “eese one special man.”

One well-arched brow rose a bit as Patrice made a feeble attempt to smile. She met Wade’s eyes. “I’m beginning to get the picture,” she said carefully.

“He has a heart the size of his head, theese one.” Juan glanced at Wade. “Shall I tell her thee story?”

Wade held up a hand, traffic cop style. “No. Really. Juan, we’d like a basket of tortillas, if you don’t mind, and some—”

Juan shoved his bulk onto the seat beside Patrice. “Four years ago,” he continued, slinging an arm over her shoulders, “I was a telephone repairman. I was high on a pole when the ol’ ticker gave out. Thank the good Lord for safety harnesses!”

Normally, the Gomezes teased Wade about his exploits. He couldn’t remember a time when either of them had mentioned Juan’s surgery. “Juan,” he began, “Patrice, here has to get back because—”

“Patrice.” Juan faced her. “Pretty girl, pretty name,” he said, beaming. Then he aimed his dark-eyed stare at Wade. “Maybe theese time, you peek a winner?”

Wade covered his eyes with one hand. “Juan—”

“You think because you’re a big-shot doctor you can interrupt an old man’s story?” Another round of rumbling laughter filled the booth. He turned to Patrice again. “As I was saying, I had a heart attack up there, hanging from the telephone pole. And it would have killed me, if not for the good doctor, here.” He reached across the table, squeezed Wade’s forearm. “I thank the good Lord for him every day of my life.”

A moment of silence ticked by before she said, “Maybe I’m the one who picked a winner.”

Was she kidding?

Wade came out of hiding in time to see the merry gleam in her eyes. So she’d decided to play along, he realized as his blush intensified.

Juan held a forefinger aloft. “But you haven’t heard the half of it!”

She tilted her head—a bit flirtatiously, Wade thought.

“There’s more?”

He figured Juan was gearing up to tell her about the loan, and he didn’t want that. Didn’t know why, exactly, he just didn’t. Pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, he tried to think of a way to divert Juan’s attention. He saw Enrique just then, having an animated conversation with a diner. “Looks like your boy could use some help,” Wade said, pointing.

Juan didn’t so much as glance in his son’s direction. “After the operation,” he went on, “I couldn’t go back to climbing poles, and I wasn’t trained to do anything else.” His voice softened. “For as long as I could remember, I took care of my own. Not being able to work was—”