Brenda Harlen - McIver's Mission

She felt a tear spill onto her cheek, swiped at it impatiently. She’d learned a long time ago that tears were futile, crying a sign of weakness. But right now she couldn’t help feeling helpless, ineffectual.

“Arden?”

She stiffened at the sound of the familiar voice. The last thing she wanted right now was company. Especially Shaun McIver’s company. She ignored him, hoped he’d keep walking.

Of course, he didn’t. Anyone else would have respected her need for privacy, but not Shaun. Arden had met him eight years earlier when her cousin had married Shaun’s brother the first time. After a five-year separation Nikki and Colin had recently remarried, and Arden had danced with Shaun at the wedding.

It had been an obligatory dance between the maid of honor and best man, but it had opened the door to feelings Arden had buried long ago, introduced her to desires she preferred to ignore. Uncomfortable with the emotions he stirred inside her, Arden had resolved to stay away from him. But Shaun was a lawyer, too, which meant that she had occasion to cross paths with him both personally and professionally.

“Please, go away.” Her tone wasn’t as firm as she’d wanted, the words not quite steady.

He ignored her request and lowered himself onto the bench beside her. No doubt Shaun believed he had the right—maybe even an obligation—to intrude on her pain.

Arden braced for the questions, prepared to deflect any attempts at idle conversation. But he didn’t say anything at all. He just slipped his arm across her shoulders and drew her close to the warm strength of his body.

The quiet compassion, the wordless understanding, unraveled her. She felt another tear slip out, track slowly down her cheek. Then another. Arden pulled off her sunglasses, brushed away the moisture with her fingertips. She drew in a deep breath, fought for control of her emotions. She tried to pull back, to pull herself together, but Shaun didn’t release her.

“Just let it go,” he said.

And she did. She wasn’t strong enough to hold back the tears any longer, and they slid down her cheeks. Tears of regret, despair, guilt. Helpless to stop the flow, she turned her face into the soft fabric of his shirt and sobbed quietly.

Shaun rubbed his palm over her back, soothing her as a mother would soothe a child—as Denise Hemingway might have once soothed four-year-old Brian. Arden’s tears flowed faster, and still Shaun continued to hold her. She didn’t know how long he sat with her, how long she cried. Eventually her sobs subsided into hiccups, her tears dried. Still, her throat was raw, her eyes burned, her gut ached with the anguish and futility of loss.

She felt something soft pressed into her hand and focused her bleary eyes on it.

A handkerchief?

It almost made her smile. She didn’t think anyone carried them anymore. She should have known that Shaun would. She pulled away from him and unfolded the pressed square of white linen to wipe her eyes, blow her nose.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

Arden shook her head. “No.”

Maybe he thought she owed him some kind of explanation after such an outburst, but she hadn’t asked him to intrude on her grief. She wasn’t used to leaning on anyone other than herself. That she’d needed someone, and that he’d been there for her, both surprised and irritated her. And she was just waiting for him to pry, to demand, so she’d have a reason to be annoyed.

But he didn’t pry. He didn’t demand. Instead he tipped her chin up and looked at her with genuine concern and compassion in the depths of his dark green eyes. “Are you going to be okay?”

She drew a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

Shaun glanced at his watch, and she hoped he had somewhere else he needed to be. She didn’t like to seem ungrateful, but she’d cried all the tears she had in her, and now she just wanted a few minutes to herself to gather her thoughts. Then she would head back to the office and bury herself in any one of a dozen cases that needed her immediate attention.

“Do you want to grab some dinner?” he asked.

Arden frowned. “With you?”

One side of his mouth curved in a wry smile, and she felt a jolt of something deep inside her. Something she didn’t understand and wasn’t prepared to acknowledge.

“Yes, with me,” he said.

“I don’t think so.” She was baffled by the invitation and wondered if all that crying had somehow short-circuited her brain.

“Why not?” he asked in the same casual tone.

Her frown deepened. Why was he pursuing this? She couldn’t ever remember him seeking out her company. “Because I have to get back to the office.”

“You’re not going to get any work done tonight.”

“Despite the outburst,” she said, irritated by his confident assertion, “I didn’t have a complete mental breakdown.”

“You need to get your mind off what’s bothering you.”

“And having dinner with you is going to do that?” she asked skeptically.

“It might.”

“Look, I appreciate the offer. And I appreciate the shoulder. But I don’t have time—”

“Dinner with me,” Shaun interrupted without raising his voice, “or I’ll call Nikki.”

Arden lifted one eyebrow, silently communicating her displeasure that he’d drag her cousin into this. “Why would you call Nikki?”

“Because I’m concerned about you. You’re upset about something, and I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

“I have things I need to do.”

He pulled a cell phone out of his jacket pocket and held his thumb poised over the keypad. “She’s on speed dial.”

Arden sighed. The last thing she wanted was her cousin to be worrying about and fussing over her. “I want Mexican.”

“Mexican it is.” He dropped the phone back in his pocket.

Shaun sat across from Arden at a scarred wooden table, studying her as she studied the menu, wondering how they’d ended up here together. His invitation had been as much a shock to himself as it had been to her. But he couldn’t leave her alone when she was obviously distraught about something.

Her nickname around the courthouse was “ice princess,” and everything he knew about her confirmed that she’d earned that designation. Not that he’d ever referred to her as such. Not out loud, anyway. Although it seemed to him more of a compliment than an insult—a tribute to her ability to remain detached and professional as she represented her clients.

There’d been nothing cool or detached about the woman who’d cried in his arms. She’d curled into him, her body soft and fragrant and completely feminine. She’d been vulnerable, almost fragile, her sobs wrenched from somewhere deep inside. As he’d held her, the outpouring of grief had squeezed his own heart.

He frowned, disturbed by this thought. He didn’t want to have warm, tender feelings toward Arden. He didn’t want to have any feelings for Arden. He respected her as a professional acquaintance, he appreciated her as a woman, but he had no personal interest. Besides, she was practically family.

Okay, so she wasn’t related to him in a way that would make any sexual interest illegal or immoral. But the connection was close enough that he’d have to be a complete idiot to risk a romantic interlude. If it ended badly, it would be awkward for both of them on family occasions.

Besides, he had his own reputation as a love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of guy. It was as inappropriate as he now knew Arden’s to be, but it didn’t bother him. The reputation was an effective deterrent to all the marriage-minded women who might otherwise set their sights in his direction. He hadn’t had a serious relationship since Jenna had ended their engagement six years earlier, and he wasn’t in the market for one now.