"My back doesn't hurt that much, if that's what you're worried about. Maybe we could ask Dr. Brooks."
Nick cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn't break and reveal the pain in his heart. "It's past your bedtime, honeybunch."
She cocked her head. The movement made her look like she was six again and challenging his authority, as she had so many times over the years. "Will you at least think about it?"
He stared at her, shaken and so full of love for this child that he ached with the need to hold her and keep her safe. Another part of him wanted desperately to make her happy—to let her play basketball and do all the things a little girl should be able to do. For the first time since the accident, he wondered if one was at odds with the other. He wondered if Erin McNeal was right.
"I'll think about it as long as you promise not to become a professional basketball player," he said after a moment. "I couldn't handle you being on the road for long stretches."
She turned thoughtful. "You think professional players miss their dads when they're on the road?"
"You would." Grinning, Nick leaned forward and tugged gently on her ear. "But I'd miss you more."
Wheeling the chaff back, Stephanie bounced the ball toward him. "So, I can take lessons?"
Nick caught the ball, but couldn't bring himself to bounce it back to her. "I'll think about it, sweetheart, all right?"
"Promise me you'll think hard about it, Dad, okay?"
"I promise."
* * *
Erin sat at her desk and stared out the front window of the police station, trying not to think about Nick—and failing miserably. Frowning, she looked down at the blur of forms and reports spread out in front of her, and typed a line of information into her computer. Unable to drum up the least bit of enthusiasm for her work, she resumed her vigil of watching the cars as they drove down Commerce Street
. She'd been hard at it since seven that morning—two hours ago—and only sixteen cars had passed. Logan Falls, she thought. Life in the fast lane.
What in the world was she going to do about Nick?
Hector's philosophy on training new officers differed dramatically from Nick's. While the chief had started her out with making rounds, Hector preferred to pawn off his paperwork on her, while he did his rounds alone. Erin wasn't happy about the desk work. On the other hand, she didn't feel much like company today.
She wanted to blame Nick for her sour mood but knew she had no one to blame but herself—and that blasted kiss. How was it she could build an illustrious career in a police department the size of Chicago's, yet in her first week in Logan Falls she'd managed to alienate her counterpart, tick off her boss and generally screw up at every turn? What had she been thinking, letting Nick kiss her like that? What on earth had she been doing kissing him back?
She wanted to believe the kiss was a result of high emotion in the wake of Stephanie's reaction to the basketball. Or Nick's anger. Or her own guilt over having upset the little girl. But Erin knew better, and she wasn't going to start lying to herself now. She'd wanted Nick to kiss her, wanted that hard, uncompromising mouth against hers—consequences be damned. No amount of denial was going to change any of it, or the fact that her pulse kicked every time she thought about doing it again.
Her cheeks heated at the memory of their encounter in his driveway, but she quickly shooed it away. She couldn't change what was already done. It had been two days since the kiss, and she hadn't seen him since. She told herself that was best. She didn't need a man like Nick messing with her head and teasing her body with promises that would do nothing but make them both miserable in the long run.
He'd told her it was her recklessness he couldn't tolerate. Erin knew it had more to do with the fact that she was a career cop who wasn't afraid to put herself on the line. Well, she'd had her fill of men who couldn't handle her being a police officer. Warren Prentice was a prime example, and it still disturbed her deeply that six years ago she'd been naive enough to nearly throw it all away in the name of love.
Love? Whoa. Where had that crazy notion come from? Erin certainly wasn't naive enough to believe in the fallacy of love—or risk her career over it. Things were better if she avoided Nick, she assured herself. Simpler. A hell of a lot safer. She'd do her time in Logan Falls. Get back on her feet. Hopefully, in six months, Frank would reinstate her, and she could move back to Chicago where she belonged.
She started when the bell on the front door jingled. Expecting Hector, she felt a jolt of surprise when Stephanie opened the door and rolled inside. Not sure how to react in light of the fiasco at her birthday party, Erin looked down at the form in front of her and typed another line of information into the computer.
"Hi."
Erin looked up and felt her mood soften as she watched the little girl struggle to get her wheelchair through the door. "Hi, Steph," she said. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah." The answer lacked the enthusiasm one would expect from a nine-year-old. "Is my dad around?"
Concerned, Erin shoved away from the computer and watched her approach. "You're not sick, are you?"
No, I'm just desperately sad and lonely and need someone to talk to. Erin saw the words in the little girl's eyes as clearly as if she'd spoken them. Compassion and an odd sense of understanding squeezed Erin's heart. How many times had she felt that same sadness growing up without her mother? She wondered if Nick saw the same sadness when he looked into his daughter's eyes. She wondered if it tore him apart, because there wasn't anything he could do to fix it.
"I was hoping my dad was here so he'd take me home," Stephanie said.
"Nick's at the courthouse today. Hector said he'd be there most of the day. I can call him for you if you want."
Stephanie looked at her backpack. "Can you take me home?"
Nick had forewarned her that Stephanie skipped school occasionally, and had instructed both of his deputies to call the principal and take his daughter home to Mrs. Thornsberry if she showed up at the station when he wasn't around.
"Sure I can." Erin figured it was the least she could do, since she'd upset Stephanie so terribly the night of the party. "Now I have an excuse not to finish this paperwork."
* * *
It took Erin nearly ten minutes to help Stephanie out of her wheelchair and get her strapped in the cruiser. By the time she stowed the chair in the trunk and climbed behind the wheel, she'd broken into a sweat. For the first time, she realized fully the weight of Nick's responsibility when it came to his daughter. She knew he shouldered that responsibility without complaint—but she also realized fully the love and devotion that was required to care for a physically challenged child.
Pulling onto Commerce Street
, Erin steered the cruiser toward Nick's house.
"I guess you think I acted like a brat about the basketball," Stephanie said after a moment.
The statement startled Erin. Not knowing exactly how to respond, she glanced away from her driving and studied the girl. "That was my fault, honey. I should have realized the basketball might upset you."
"It doesn't. I mean, it did at first, but not anymore. After I got used to the idea, I started thinking it might be fun to, you know, play."
"It's okay for you not to like it, Steph. I'll take it back and get you something else—"
"But I do like it," she insisted. "I just … when you first gave it to me, I started thinking that I won't ever be able to walk again, and it made me feel sad. But after I thought about it awhile, I started thinking maybe I could take some lessons or something."
"You want to take wheelchair basketball lessons?" Erin asked cautiously.
"Maybe. I mean, you said kids in wheelchairs could take lessons. Didn't you say that, Erin?"
She thought of Nick and wondered how she should handle this. "How did your dad feel about lessons?"
"He worries too much, but he's always like that. Mom used to call him a worrywart. But he promised he'd think about it."
Erin blinked, s
urprised that Nick had told Stephanie he would consider letting her take lessons. He'd seemed dead set against it. The thought that he might have softened his stance sent a ribbon of warmth through her heart. "So … you had a pretty good birthday, after all?"
"Pretty good." Sighing, Stephanie looked out the window. "My dad's pretty cool. He let me stay up past my bedtime for once. He even got me a green parakeet. I named her Bertha. And Mrs. Thornsberry made that really yummy cake. She's like my grandmother, or something. I just wish…" The little girl's voice trailed off.
Erin gave her a moment, then pressed. "You wish what, honey?"
"I wish my mom could have been there. I mean, she'd probably be sad that I'm in a wheelchair, but she always made me feel better. She was pretty, and she laughed a lot. She made my dad laugh, too. He hardly ever laughs anymore."
The words sent a pang through Erin. The mention of Nick's wife sent another, more complex, pang right through her. "Your dad told me about your mom. I'm sorry." Remembering her own childhood, and the death of her mother, she ached for the little girl.
"I miss her sometimes."
"I know what you mean," Erin said easily.
"You do?"
"I lost my mom when I was six."
Stephanie turned wide blue eyes on her. "You mean your mom died, too?"
Erin nodded. "She had cancer."
"That must have been really hard, since you were only six. Did you cry?"
"I cried a bunch. I missed her so much."
"I used to cry all the time, but I don't anymore. I even saw my dad cry once. He thought I didn't see him, but I did. It was kind of weird. I told Mrs. T. about it, and she said everyone cries when they're sad. I never told my dad I saw him, though. I figured he'd be embarrassed or something."
Erin smiled despite the fact that she felt the warmth of tears in her eyes. She wondered how a nine-year-old could be so perceptive.
"Is that why you skip school, honey? Because you're sad?"
"I don't know." Steph's eyes skittered toward the window, then down to her sneakers. "Sometimes I get mad. I mean, not at my dad or Mrs. T. or anything. I just get mad because I miss my mom and I can't do stuff, like play basketball and ride Bandito."
Erin wasn't sure how to tell an innocent nine-year-old child that life wasn't always fair. "It's okay to be mad, Steph, but skipping school isn't such a good idea."
"I know."
"But you know what?"
The little girl looked over at her. "What?"
"It helps to talk about it. And I think your dad and Mrs. T. are pretty good listeners."
"So are you."
Feeling her own emotions rise, Erin glanced in the rear-view mirror and swallowed hard.
"Does that yucky feeling that makes you want to cry ever go away?" Stephanie asked.
"It gets easier," Erin said carefully. "Pretty soon when you think of your mom, you'll just smile and think about how much fun she was to be with, and it won't hurt so much to think about her."
"She was pretty fun. She used to braid my hair. Once she even braided Bandito's tail. He looked pretty funny."
Erin looked away from her driving and grinned. "See?" she said. "You're smiling already."
They rode in silence for several minutes, then Erin turned the cruiser into the driveway. In the adjacent pasture, the Appaloosa raised his head and watched them. "Hey, there's Bandito," she said.
Stephanie waved to the horse and blew him a kiss through the open window. "He's so pretty. I showed him at the county fair when I was in 4-H. I won first place in western pleasure class. We rode in the trail class, too, but he's never been good at backing. I could show you my ribbons if you want."
"I'd love to see them. In fact, I'd love to see Bandito, too."
The little girl's face brightened. "Really?"
"Sure." Erin stopped the cruiser.
"So, you really do like horses? The other day I thought you were just, you know, trying to be nice."
"I like horses a lot. And I am really nice." At Stephanie' s smile, she added, "Once you get to know me."
"Do you really think I could ride him sometime, Erin? I mean, with my legs the way they are? You talked about it the other day, and I've sort of been wondering."
Caution demanded Erin tread carefully when it came to this child. She didn't want to give her false hopes. The little girl had had too many disappointments in recent years to build her up for another letdown. Nick seemed to be dead set against her taking on any activity that could be even remotely dangerous. On the other hand, Erin knew for a fact Stephanie could at least sit atop her horse; Erin had seen severely handicapped children ride horses with the help of adult spotters in the weeks she'd volunteered at the Quest Foundation. She'd personally spotted one such teenage boy afflicted with syringomyelia. Stephanie wasn't severely handicapped. Surely Nick wouldn't deny her that small joy in the name of safety. He had, after all, softened his stance on the basketball. Why would he object to her sitting atop Bandito?
"Do you want to give it a shot?" Erin asked, praying she hadn't just committed herself to something that would once again put her and Nick at odds.
Stephanie's grin was all the answer she needed.
"Oh, honey, I don't know." Mrs. Thornsberry worried her pearl necklace with nervous fingers.
"Oh, please, please, please!" said Stephanie, using her arms to rock her wheelchair back and forth on the kitchen floor. "Bandito is so lonely, Mrs. T., and Erin said she'd spot me."
"Spot you?" the older woman asked. "What's that?"
"Uh … walk alongside the horse to make sure she doesn't fall off," Erin clarified from her place at the kitchen door.
"Oh." Mrs. Thornsberry shot Erin a stern look. "You've done this before?"
"I volunteered at the Quest Foundation in Chicago for a couple of months. They've got a renowned equestrian program."
Recognition flared in the older woman's eyes. "I know of it. Very reputable organization."
Erin nodded. "Volunteers go through an intensive training program."
Mrs. Thornsberry still didn't look convinced. "On my first day," Erin continued, "I watched a fourteen-year-old paraplegic ride for the first time. I'll never forget the look on his face when they lifted him onto that horse. It was one of the most moving experiences of my life."
"C'mon, Erin, come see my ribbons," Stephanie interjected. "I have a trophy, too."
Mrs. Thornsberry dried her hands on a dish towel and looked down at Stephanie. "Honey, why don't you go get your boots while Erin and I have a little talk."
Erin took a deep breath, certain that "talk" was synonymous with lecture. She'd overstepped again. Not the first time since she'd set foot in Logan Falls.
"You're not going to talk Erin out of spotting me, are you, Mrs. T?" Steph asked.
"Scoot." Mrs. Thornsberry pushed the wheelchair toward the door. "Dig your riding boots out of your closet, and I'll help you put them on. If your feet are swelled, you can wear your sneakers."
"Really? Okay!"
When the little girl was out of earshot, the older woman turned to Erin. "It's been a long time since I've seen her so excited."
"I hope I haven't gotten her hopes up for no reason," Erin said. "I don't want her to be disappointed."
"You mean if Nick doesn't approve?"
She met the older woman's gaze steadily. "He seems dead set against any activity that could be perceived as dangerous."
"Nick's a good man, Erin. He can be uncompromising, particularly when it comes to Stephanie. But he's devoted. I've never seen a more committed, loving father than Nick. His entire life centers around that girl."
"That's never come into question—"
"Of course it hasn't."
"But he's also a little…" Erin let her voice trail off, not sure how to put into words what she felt in her heart without sounding harsh, or appearing judgmental. She didn't have children; didn't know the first thing about raising them, either. Still, she'd had some experiences in he
r life that made her unable to ignore what she knew to be true.
"Overprotective?" Mrs. Thornsberry's gaze turned knowing.
Erin nodded. "There are a lot of things Stephanie can still do that Nick refuses to consider. I think that's where some of her frustration comes in."
"You mean her skipping school?"
"I think she's crying out for something she's not getting."
"Nick is a good father," Mrs. Thornsberry said fiercely. Busying her hands by adjusting her apron, she turned to the counter. "Rita's death was hard on this family. Stephanie nearly died that first night. Good heavens, Nick spent so much time at the hospital with her that first terrible week, he practically didn't have time to grieve. But Rita's death changed him. And not all the changes I've seen in him were good."
"What changes?"
"He's always been a very private man. He's not vocal about his feelings—well, unless he's angry. He isn't good at reaching out. After Rita's death, he just … shut down."
"You mean emotionally?"
"That's exactly what I mean. He was crazy about Rita. But she drove him nuts." As if immersed in memories, Mrs. Thornsberry smiled. "Rita was a free spirit. A dare-devil, if you will. She never listened to anyone. Never followed the rules. She liked loud music. Liked to drive fast with the top down on her convertible. She was into skydiving—at night, of all times. Scuba diving—dove with sharks down in Florida a few years back. Good heavens, she even went bungee jumping once. She'd do anything that was fast or dangerous or both. Drove Nick crazy."
Erin had an idea where the conversation was heading, and her heart did a long, slow roil under her ribs. "What happened?"
"Rita was out with Stephanie one night. Rita and Nick had quarreled earlier. He never told me that, but I heard them. As usual, Rita was driving too fast. She lost control of her car at the Logan Creek bridge. The car flipped and went down the embankment. The top was down on the convertible, so it offered no protection. I'd been working for them for a couple of years at the time. I'd just put in a casserole for dinner when the deputy called Nick." Mrs. Thornsberry removed her bifocals and made a show of cleaning the lens with her apron. "Lord have mercy, what that man must have gone through." The older woman shook her head. "He hasn't been the same since."