Judy Duarte: Hailey's Hero

She studied the rugged, good-looking detective and tried to imagine him as a troubled teen. It was tough to do, because he seemed grown-up. Together. “Congratulations on the U-turn. You’ve obviously made some changes in your life.”

“Thanks to a wise detective.” He tossed her a crooked grin. “I’ll never forget the first time I met him. It was Christmas Eve, and he caught me throwing rocks at a nativity display in Old Town.”

“Did he haul you in?”

“Nope. He took me for a cup of hot cocoa at an all-night diner. Said he’d just gotten off duty and was hungry. We talked for a while. The next thing I knew, I was having Christmas dinner with his family.” He flashed her a nostalgic smile, one that touched her heart with its sincerity. “I never knew what a real family was like, not until meeting them. And the fact is, I haven’t been the same since.”

“What about your own family? Didn’t they miss you on Christmas?”

“My mom had already died. Fell down the stairs, at least that’s what my stepdad told the cops. I guess they believed him, but I never did. Anyway, at that time I had no real place to call home, and no reason to celebrate the holidays.” He scanned the living room, those stimulating eyes taking in each nook and corner. “You gonna have a Christmas tree?”

“Yes.” She always did. In fact, she’d planned each and every holiday since Harry walked out of their lives. Her mom hadn’t been up to the extra effort. It really wasn’t so bad—taking over the household at an early age—because Hailey had come out on top. She was an organized dynamo at work and at home. Life ran smoother that way. No surprises.

Well, no surprises except the detective sitting across the table from her, but she’d grown adept at making the best of difficult situations.

They finished dinner with little conversation. Nick continued to refill their wineglasses until the bottle was empty. Hailey wasn’t sure how they’d handle the bedtime stuff, but she was no longer uncomfortable with the good-looking detective in the house.

She wasn’t entirely sure why. The wine maybe? The self-disclosures they’d shared?

Hailey didn’t open up to people, especially strangers. She’d learned to keep her thoughts and feelings locked away inside—where they belonged, hidden with her memories and dreams.

The lights flickered once, twice, then went out altogether, leaving Hailey and the detective in the dark—except for the soft candlelight and the steady flames in the fireplace.

“Do you have any more candles?”

“In the bedroom.”

He was heading down the hall before she realized she should have gotten them herself. She’d set the scene for romance in there, with aromatic candles glowing warmly throughout the room and the soft sound of love songs on the CD.

And in case that wasn’t enough to give Steven a hint, she’d taken great care to make the bed look inviting.

Under the white, goose-down comforter that begged to be turned down, freshly laundered sheets with a light sprinkle of lavender scent awaited first-time lovers.

Maybe Nick wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t know what she’d planned for the evening. But instinct told her a guy like Nick wouldn’t miss much. He’d have to be a dunce not to notice. And cops didn’t get to be detectives by not being observant.

Maybe he’d be gentlemanly enough not to mention anything about her bedroom—or her obvious intentions.

A long, slow whistle told her he’d found the candles.

And that he wouldn’t be a gentleman and keep quiet.

Hailey’s heart sank low in her chest, and heat blasted her cheeks. She quickly stood and began to clear the table, wanting to keep herself busy so that she didn’t have to look him in the eye when he returned from the bedroom, which now seemed like a den of iniquity, although she didn’t know why.

She was a grown woman, for goodness sake, and could certainly spend a romantic evening with anyone she wanted. Where had the guilt come from?

Nick carried two candles into the living room and set them on the coffee table. “I guess the storm and I really screwed up your plans for the evening.” Before returning to the bedroom for the other two candles, he chuckled. “I guess ‘screwed up’ was a bad choice of words.”

She grimaced at his inappropriate attempt to joke and continued to wipe the table that no longer bore a crumb or a dribble. What she actually wanted to do was sling the dishcloth at him.

“Sorry,” he said, as he reentered the room. “I guess that was out of line.”

“My plans are none of your concern.” She continued an overzealous attempt to scrub the table.

As he placed one of the candles on the mantel and the other on an end table, she blew out a ragged sigh. How was she going to manage spending an evening with this guy?

And what if they didn’t clear the roads for days?

If he were short and dowdy, instead of heart-zappingly gorgeous, if he were quiet and shy—like Steven—instead of so quick with the snappy comments and sexual innuendoes, then maybe time would pass without a hitch. But as it was—

“I’m sorry, Hailey.” His voice settled over her skin, like a blend of melted butter and warm maple syrup over a stack of hotcakes. And those freshly brewed coffee eyes offered a dose of compassion.

Coffee and hotcakes. Breakfast food. Another reminder this man would be spending the night.

She shrugged at the apology, hopefully brushing off thoughts of bedtime, rumpled sheets and morning.

He slowly made his way toward her and took the limp dishcloth from her hand, carelessly tossing it into the sink. She meant to reprimand him, and would have, had he not taken hold of her hand. His grip enveloped hers in a cocoon of warmth, and her skin tingled, her heart skipped a beat.

“I crashed into your life uninvited, and you served me one of the best dinners I’ve had in a long time. I’m sorry for teasing.”

“It’s okay.” Her anger seemed to dissipate in the romantic ambiance she’d unwittingly set into motion. Yet she wasn’t sure anything about this evening, this man or her growing attraction was even remotely okay.

He took the glass of wine she hadn’t finished and handed it to her, then snagged his own.

“Come with me.”

Hailey’s heart shot into overdrive. Was he going to put the moves on her, try to lead her down the hall and back into the bedroom?

If truth be told, she half hoped he would. Guys like Nick Granger had always appealed to her and made her common sense go haywire, but in spite of the arousing effect he had on her, she couldn’t succumb to temptation. She wouldn’t allow it.

Of course, that knowledge didn’t do anything to slow a racing pulse or to still an incredible sense of anticipation.

He led her to the sofa. “Sit down.”

“Why?” she asked, unable to quell the sense of seduction. And not just hers. She had half a notion to respond to each of his moves and make a few plays of her own.

Good grief. What was the matter with her? No way would she consider a one-night stand with a stranger. Yet when he flashed her another Brando smile, a part of her wanted his arms around her, his mouth on hers.

He motioned for her to sit, then took a seat on the other side of the sofa. His arm dangled over the back-rest, but not close enough to touch. “Let’s talk.”

Talk? Was that part of the seduction? A line he used?

“Talk about what?” she asked.

“You. I want to hear more about little Hailey, the cute girl with pigtails and a missing tooth.”

She glanced at the fireplace mantel, realizing he’d seen her photograph. As thoughts of Nick putting the moves on her flew out the window and escaped into the snowy night, a keen sense of relief mingled with disappointment. “There’s not much to tell.”