Shirley Jump - Rescued by Mr Right

The dog let out a little bark, then tugged at Noah’s pant leg. When Noah didn’t move, Charlie heaved a sigh and dropped his head onto Noah’s foot. It had all the weight of a crew sock.

“Oh, all right,” Noah muttered. “I’ll make sure she’s okay. But that doesn’t mean we’re staying.”

He disengaged himself from the stubborn Chihuahua and headed into the opposite room. Victoria could have fallen, broken a bone, hit her head. He may be keeping his distance from humans, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be relied upon for the occasional 9-1-1 event.

Yeah, right. That’s exactly why he was doing this. So he could demonstrate his CPR skills.

The thought of doing mouth-to-mouth on Victoria rippled through him. He quickly pushed it away. Jeez, five minutes after meeting a beautiful woman and he was on his way to becoming Valentino.

The living room was empty. So was the bathroom. Just past the archway connecting the living room and dining room he saw her. The shades were drawn, darkening the space into a dusky indoor twilight and giving an eerie cast to the long, narrow dining room table and the matching high-backed, claw-foot chairs. The wood floors, topped with a rectangular floral carpet. Like the rest of the house, the room was a throwback to earlier days.

Victoria had her back to him, standing beside a sideboard that took up most of the wall. A parade of family photos in silver frames sat across the top of the furniture piece. Victoria’s shoulders were hunched forward, her head down.

Oh, hell. Something softened in Noah’s heart. Try as he might to harden it again, his best intentions dissolved the second he heard a sob escape her throat. “Victoria?”

She wheeled around, at the same time swiping at her cheek. “Sorry, I…ah…I couldn’t find the phone book.”

“Listen, I’ll just—” He thumbed over his shoulder, intending to say, “leave,” but the word lodged in his throat.

“I was looking in a drawer for it, but…” Her voice trailed off, and in the final notes, he heard the one emotion he’d vowed never to come near again.

Loss.

Noah recognized it as surely as his own name. He’d seen it, in the faces of parents who’d lost their children to drugs. He’d heard it, in the final phone call before a gunshot. He’d felt it, in courtroom after courtroom as children too young to drive were carted off to finish growing up in jail.

But most of all, he’d carried that feeling with him all the way from Rhode Island, tucked squarely inside his chest.

What the hell was he thinking? That he could go to Maine for a few days and the whispers in his mind would stop? That he could sit on a dock and fish for bass like a normal man? As if he was on vacation, not a life departure? That some cabin in the woods would be enough to make him forget such a colossal mistake?

And did he really think he could walk out of this house right now, leaving that sound hanging in Victoria Blackstone’s dining room?

His feet carried him across the room, until he was close enough to see the shimmer in her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Really.” Her smile trembled on her lips.

As easily as putting on a pair of jeans, Noah slipped into his familiar work persona. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

What was that about? Did he think he’d hook her up with some social services? Direct her to a food bank? Help her find a job with a great health plan?

“No. I’m sorry.” She ran a hand over the gleaming surface of the sideboard, whisking away nonexistent dust. “You…well, you reminded me of someone and it sort of hit me hard.”

“Oh.” For once, he had no rejoinder to that, no dispensation of advice. “Do you want me to go?”

She reached out and put a hand on his arm. “No. Not at all.”

Her touch on him was sweet, soft. Every instinct in his body told him to back away, head out the door and go on his way, hitchhiking if need be. But there was something about her touch that reminded Noah, too, of someone.

Himself. A long time ago.

“Listen, why don’t you stay for dinner? That way, you’ll have a meal in you before you hit the road again. It’s after Labor Day, so a lot of the beach restaurants here are closed down. You’d have to go into Quincy proper to find anything.”

He knew he should say no. Unfortunately his mouth didn’t take good direction from his brain. “Dinner sounds like a good idea.”

He’d stay for dinner, but only because the feel of her hand on his arm had awakened nerves he’d thought had been severed by his years on the job. Because it felt nice to be a man for a minute, a man who didn’t have the weight of other people’s lives sitting on his conscience.

“Great! I’ll set another place at the table.” That smile spread across her face again, socking him in the gut—

And warning him that he’d just done the very thing he didn’t want to do. Laid the first brick of a foundation with another person.

WHAT on earth had gotten into her? Victoria had always thought of herself as a woman who maintained control, never let her feelings show and never, ever betrayed vulnerability. At least, until Noah McCarty came along and proved within ten minutes that she was a liar.

And now she’d gone and cried in front of him. Cried, for Pete’s sake, like some helpless female who couldn’t find her way out of a cardboard box.

Okay, given her directionally challenged mind, that part might be true, but still…crying? That was really pitiful.

“I’m sorry. I don’t normally burst into tears in front of strangers,” Victoria said as they walked back into the kitchen.

“I understand,” Noah said, but Victoria suspected he was merely being polite. He had that look about him, with his sandy-brown hair and deep green eyes, that said he’d let you down easily and wouldn’t intentionally hurt your feelings. And yet, she saw something else, some other side of him that flickered briefly in those depths of green. Something that told her she could trust him.

The compulsion to tell him, to talk to someone, to share with a human, instead of these empty, silent walls, propelled the words forward. “My dad,” she said, “used to lean against the half-wall like that whenever he talked on the phone. Uncle Joe called him every Saturday morning and the two of them would go on for hours, debating taxes, the governor’s choices, whether I-93 or 128 had more traffic.” She let out a little laugh, the memory still sharp with grief but also tinged with a slice of happiness. “He died six months ago and there are funny things that will hit me sometimes, just out of the blue. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Noah said, taking her hand, making her feel for the first time in a long time that it was, indeed, all okay. His eyes weren’t filled with that awkwardness she’d seen so many times already, the kind where people felt compelled to say something, do something, if only to cover up their own discomfort about being so close to someone who had experienced a death. Instead Noah had reached out, his touch light yet sincere. “I’m sorry about your father.”

The words were enough to send the tears rushing back to her eyes. She blinked them back. “Thank you.”

“Hey, Charlie,” she said, changing the subject and bending down to the dog, whose pointy little ears perked up at the mention of his name, “you’re welcome to stay for dinner, too.”

The dog wagged his skinny tail, then jumped up on her legs, miniature nails scraping lightly at her bare skin. She lowered herself to her knees, scratched him under his chin.

“Watch him,” Noah said. “He’s…temperamental.”

“Him? He’s a sweetie-pie.” As if living up to what she’d said, Charlie dropped to his back and offered up his belly for the personal treatment. His tail beat ferociously against the linoleum floor, keeping up a steady tempo of “you-like-me.”