Full Contact
Tara Taylor Quinn
From good to great…to foreverEllen Moore has a good life. But she wants a great one. One that's full, not just safe. That means stepping outside her comfort zone to take a risk.And it doesn't get much riskier than Jay Billingsley. He has all the trappings of a rebel–the leather, the motorcycle, the restlessness. Every instinct tells her to run in the opposite direction–fast. Yet when she's with him, she feels something very different. Emotions this intense have to be right. She senses he could hold the key to helping her put that last piece of her great life into place. But first, she has to change his mind about leaving Shelter Valley.
“You’re going to have to come closer.”
Jay continued, “Otherwise, you can’t ride on the same bike I’m on.”
It took almost a full minute, but Ellen managed to mount without coming into contact with his body. He gave her some brief instructions about moving with him, leaning and not leaning, general principles of keeping the bike balanced.
“Where do I put my hands?”
“On me,” he said, staring straight ahead. “That’s the point of this exercise.”
“I know that. Where on you?” It sounded as though she was gritting her teeth.
“Your choice. You’re the boss. For this exercise, my body represents your safety. It is fully at your disposal—like a tornado shelter in a storm, or a fort during battle. Trust it.”
Her touch wasn’t much, a light resting of her fingers on the top of his shoulders, but as soon as he felt it, he started the bike and put it in gear.
“Hold on.” With a twist of his wrist he upped the throttle a notch. And received slightly more pressure on his shoulders.
“Faster,” she said, five more minutes down the road.
He increased the speed once more and she laughed out loud.
And that’s when the whole damn thing went bad. The laugh, the touch of her hands…whatever…generated heat in Jay that he had no right to feel.
Dear Reader,
Ever wonder why true love lands on some people but not on others? Or how you can come across real and lasting happiness?
Ellen Moore might have wondered those things. She certainly had reason to wonder. But Ellen doesn’t allow herself to ask why. She presses forward. Makes things happen. And she’s so busy raising her five-year-old son and working and helping other people that she doesn’t have time to wonder about much of anything.
Jay Billingsley is a black-leather-vested biker dude on a mission. He’s also a renowned medical massage therapist, able to help victims of violence overcome aversion to physical touch.
Ellen and Jay seemed like a perfect fit to me when I first sat down to write this book. But, not surprisingly, the two of them had different ideas. This is their story. Told by them. And it’s a much better version than mine….
Welcome to Shelter Valley! I hope you enjoy the visit enough to want to come back and stay a while.
I love to hear from readers. You can reach me at staff@tarataylorquinn.com. Or visit me at www.tarataylorquinn.com. I’m also on Facebook and Twitter.
Tara Taylor Quinn
Full Contact
Tara Taylor Quinn
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The author of more than fifty-four original novels in twenty languages, Tara Taylor Quinn is a USA TODAY bestseller with over six million copies sold. She is known for delivering deeply emotional and psychologically astute novels of suspense and romance. Tara won the 2008 Reader’s Choice Award, is a four-time finalist for the Romance Writers of America RITA
Award, a multiple finalist for the Reviewer’s Choice Award, the Booksellers’ Best Award, the Holt Medallion and appears regularly on the Waldenbooks bestsellers list. She has appeared on national and local TV across the country, including CBS Sunday Morning. Tara is the author of the successful Chapman Files series and, with her husband, recently wrote and saw the release of her own true love story, It Happened on Maple Street, from HCI books. When she’s not writing, fulfilling speaking engagements or tending to the needs of her two very spoiled and adored four-legged family members, Tara loves to travel with her husband, stopping wherever the spirit takes them. They’ve been spotted in casinos and quaint little small-town antiques shops all across the country.
For Courtney VanGarderen.
May you always have the strength to reach
for your happiness and never,
ever settle for less than that.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER ONE
“YOU SURE YOU DON’T want me to come in with you?” Shelley asked.
“I’m sure.” Ellen Moore’s voice, infused with confidence and cheer for the sake of five-year-old Josh climbing out of the backseat of her sister’s car, sounded strong and healthy to her.
Because she was strong and healthy. She could do this. No big deal. Thousands of women all over the country shared parenting with divorced spouses.
Though maybe not all of them had their younger sisters driving them to the airport for the month-long parental switch.
Martha Moore Marks, the girls’ mother, had been adamant about Ellen not making the trip alone. That was fine with Ellen. Her sister Shelley wanted Ellen’s opinion on an outfit she was considering for an upcoming vocal performance with the Phoenix Symphony, so they could take care of that while they were in the city. Then the sisters were treating themselves to lunch at their favorite Mexican restaurant in Fountain Hills—a quaint Phoenix suburb—before heading home to Shelter Valley.
“I want to wear my backpack.” The solemn voice of her son grabbed Ellen’s attention. And heart. “I don’t want Daddy to think I’m a baby or something.”
“He’s not going to think that, bud,” she said, resisting the urge to run her fingers through her little guy’s dark, silky hair. At home, especially when he was sleepy, he’d let her get away with it, but not here. Not now.
Instead, she helped him secure the straps of the new full-size backpack he’d specifically requested for the trip. The canvas bag—loaded down with his electronic handheld game console; extra discs; dried fruit snacks; animal cookies; cheese crackers; his Cars insulated water bottle filled with juice; two of his favorite nighttime storybooks, both starring Cars characters; and the stuffed Woody doll she’d bought him for Christmas the year before—replaced the smaller plastic one that had been suitable when he’d been going to preschool and day care.
He was starting kindergarten a couple of days after he returned from visiting his father.
“Remember, put Woody under the covers with you at night,” she told him as Shelley popped the trunk on her Chevy sedan. Ellen hauled out the first of two big suitcases, pulling up the roller bar.
“No one will know he’s there,” she said, dropping the second bag next to her and closing the trunk while her sister picked Josh right up off the ground with the force of her goodbye hug.
“You be a good boy and have fun, okay?” Shelley said, nose to nose with Josh.
Josh, arms wrapped tightly around Shelley’s neck, rubbed noses with his aunt. “I get to go fishing in the Colorado River,” the little boy said.
“I know, pal. And you better call me if you catch anything.” Shelley let Josh’s thin body slide to the ground.
“I will.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Shelley nodded at Ellen, climbed behind the wheel and drove off to the call lot where she could wait until Ellen was ready to be picked up.
With a roller bar in each hand, and Josh’s hand next to hers on one handle, Ellen pulled the bags to the curbside check-in station. Josh didn’t need a special-needs tag because, while he was checking in alone, he wouldn’t be flying alone.
Then they were in the terminal, Josh’s hand in hers whether he liked it or not, and Ellen swore to herself that the smile would stay pasted on her lips if it killed her.
It wouldn’t kill her. She was a survivor.
The squeeze of her son’s fingers around her own made her own angst seem selfish and petty.
“You’re going to have a blast,” she promised him.
“Why can’t Daddy and I have a blast right here?”
“Because he doesn’t live here. His job is in Colorado. And he has a room all ready for you in his new house and you’re going to love it.”
The terminal was bustling, with as many families as businesspeople hurrying around them in spite of the fact that it was a Monday morning.
“Then why can’t you come?”
“Because my job is here. Besides, Jaime is there and is looking forward to hanging out with you. You like Jaime, remember?” The beautiful model her ex-husband Aaron had chosen as a replacement for his damaged wife loved Josh and had taken off the entire month of August to care for him.
As far as Ellen was concerned, Josh was all that mattered.
“Yeah.”
She couldn’t really blame Aaron for choosing someone who oozed feminine perfection and sexuality. He’d been far too young to handle the emotional and physical backlash that had consumed Ellen after her attack. Too young to handle her physical rejection of him.
She would have opted out, too, if she’d had that choice.
Aaron had needed to get out of Shelter Valley, to start a new life away from the tragedy, and Ellen couldn’t imagine ever leaving Shelter Valley. There was no future in that kind of standoff.
Josh’s grasp did not loosen even a little bit as they approached the bustling rotunda where they’d arranged to meet Aaron. There was less than an hour’s turnaround between his arriving flight and his departing one with Josh. Aaron and Ellen had both decided whisking Josh off quickly was the best plan.
She was searching the crowd for the familiar dark hair of her ex when Josh stopped suddenly.
“What’s up?” she asked, gazing into his solemn face.
“I don’t want to go.”
“But you miss your daddy, Josh. You say so a lot.”
“I know.”
“You’re going to have such a great time with him. You always do.”
“But he always comed here.”
“Came here. You’re older now, bud. And Daddy wants to have time with you in his house, too. He bought you your own bed and it has Cars sheets and everything.”
Josh stared at her then his lower lip started to tremble.
Kneeling in front of her son, Ellen held him by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “Josh? What’s going on?”
His eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want to leave you here by yourself. You’ll be sad.”
“Ah, buddy, I’m going to miss you for sure. Remember the list we went over last night? The one on the refrigerator?”
He nodded.
“Those are all the things I’m going to be doing after work while you’re gone. And that list is so big, I won’t have a chance to get too sad.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“Name some of them for me,” Ellen said. “What am I going to be doing today after work?”
“Going running. Every day.”
“And then what?”
“You’re going to help Sophie make the nursery in their new house.”
He’d paid attention—and hopefully had pictures in his head of her busy and happy.
“What else was on the list?”
“Babysitting for Aunt Caro and Uncle John when they’re in Kentucky at their farm. Do I ever get to go to their farm like you said?”
“I’m house-sitting,” Ellen corrected him. “They’re taking the kids with them.” Caroline had moved to Shelter Valley, alone and pregnant, at a time when Ellen had been lost as well, and the two, though more than ten years apart in age, had formed a bond that Ellen cherished. “And yes, we’ll go to Kentucky. Maybe next summer.”
Which gave her another year to work up the desire to leave Shelter Valley for a few weeks.
Ellen took a seat on a bench with a clear view of the entrances to the A boarding gates, pulling Josh, backpack and all, in between her legs, keeping her arms linked loosely around him.
“And you’re going to put junk in jars,” he said.
“Canning tomatoes and peaches and corn and green beans to send to the food pantry in Phoenix,” she said, knowing he probably wouldn’t remember that part. A group of older ladies from the three churches in Shelter Valley met every year for the service project. They had lost a couple of members of their group during the past year and needed extra hands. Ellen was good in the kitchen—and eager to learn how to can.
Aaron still hadn’t appeared. Josh was shifting weight from one foot to the other and picking at a thread from the flowered embroidery on the front of Ellen’s T-shirt.
“What else?” she asked. “What am I going to be doing for you?”
“Painting my room.”
“Painting what in your room?”
He grinned. “Trains.”
“That’s right. What colors?”
“The engine is black, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And the caboose is red so the trains coming behind it will see it.”
“Okay.”
“And blue for my favorite color.”
“And purple for mine.”
“And—” Josh stopped when Ellen stood.
“Daddy’s coming,” she said.
Please, heart, don’t make it difficult for me to breathe. Don’t let me need anything from Aaron Hanaran. With her son’s hand in hers, she approached the man she’d once vowed to love, honor and cherish—and sleep with—until death did them part.
“Hey, sport!” Aaron’s grin was huge as he sped up the last few steps and scooped his son into his arms, hugging him tight. “I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” Josh said.
Ellen stared at those little arms clutching his father’s neck. Josh needed this time with Aaron. He needed his father.
Then, with their son perched on his hip, Aaron’s eyebrows drew together in concern as he looked at her. “How you doing, El?”
“Fine! Great!” The smile she gave him was genuine. “It’s good to see you.”
“You, too.”
Then they stood there with nothing to say. There had been no big angry outbursts between them, no hatred or resentment or bitterness. Just a sadness that had infiltrated every breath they took together.
“I better get him through security.” Aaron’s comment filled the dead air. “Our flight will be boarding in fifteen minutes.”
“Okay. Well, then…”
Aaron put Josh down. “We’ll call you the second we land, El, I promise,” he said, his gaze filled with the sympathy she’d learned to dread. “And you have my cell number. Call anytime. As often as you…need.”
She knelt in front of Josh. “You be a good boy and listen to your daddy.”
He nodded, tears in his eyes again.
“I love you, bud.”
“I love you, too.”
Ellen kissed him. Josh kissed her back. Like usual. Then the little boy threw his arms around her neck, clutching her in a death grip.
Ellen couldn’t breathe. Without thought she jerked the boy’s arms apart, stopping herself in time to keep from flinging those tiny arms completely away from her. She held on to Josh’s small hands, instead, squeezing them.
The boy didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. A glance at Aaron’s closed face told her his father had witnessed her reaction.
She gathered her son against her, close to her heart, and held on before finally letting go. “Now, have fun and remember to store up all kinds of things to tell me when you call,” she said with a smile as she stood.
“’Kay.”
She watched as the two men who used to be her entire world walked away, her jaw hurting with the effort to keep the smile in place in case Josh turned around to wave goodbye.
She made it outside the airport before she let the tears fall. But she let go for only a second. Josh was going to be fine. And so was she.
ELLEN WAS COMING AROUND the corner of Mesa and Lantana streets Tuesday afternoon, her second jog since Josh had left, when she heard the bike roar into town. Without conscious thought, she took stock of her surroundings. Ben and Tory Sanders’ home was on the corner. Bonnie Nielson—owner of the day care Josh had attended the first four years of his life and would attend after school once kindergarten started the following month—had a home around the next corner. Bonnie and Keith wouldn’t be home. Tory would be. It took only a second for the awareness to settle over Ellen.
Staying safe was second nature to her. She always knew, at any given moment, where her safety spots were.
She didn’t alter her course, though. Not yet. Though she wanted to. But because she wanted to run for cover, she maintained her trek.
Slowing her pace, Ellen controlled her breathing with effort, her gaze pinned to the spot where the bike would appear—a stop sign at the corner. Waited to see who would roar past her.
Sam Montford had a new motorcycle. But it had a muffler, or something that made it run much quieter than the noise pollution she was hearing.
Sheriff Greg Richards had one now, too. He’d bought it as a gas saving measure. His bike was like Sam’s—the quieter variety.
And there he was. A body in black leather on a black machine framed by shiny chrome. She didn’t have to know anything about motorcycles to know that this monstrosity was top-of-the-line. It even had a trunk-looking thing that was big enough for a suitcase.
Ellen noticed, without stopping. Shortening her stride, she jogged. And watched.
Black Leather was not from around Shelter Valley. Of that she was certain. The bike and black leather were dead giveaways. The ponytail hanging down the guy’s back was advertisement for outsider.
Tensing, Ellen paused, jogging in place at the end of Tory’s driveway. If the guy turned onto this street, she was running to the front door.
If not, she’d continue with her run. Her day. Her life.
Her mother was having a family dinner tonight— Rebecca and her husband, Shelley and, of course, Tim, who still lived at home—and Ellen was bringing brownies for dessert. Brownies that weren’t yet made.
She also had to stop by the Stricklands’ house to collect the mail. And she wanted to call Josh. It was an hour later in Colorado. Her son would be in bed before she got home from her mother’s.
With his feet on the ground on either side of his mammoth machine, the biker mastered the weight between his legs, seemingly unaware of the disruptive noise he was emitting along the quiet and peaceful streets of Shelter Valley.
A light blue Cadillac drove by. Becca Parsons—the mayor. Becca was Martha’s best friend. Ellen’s youngest sister, Rebecca, was named after her. Ellen could see the woman’s frown from a block away.
Hot-rod engines simply didn’t belong in Shelter Valley.
BLACK LEATHER DIDN’T SEEM to see the car at all. He sat there, gunning his motor with a gloved hand, unaware that within minutes Sheriff Richards would be all over him.
Or at least, right behind him, finding a reason to stop him and determine his business in town. And if that business wasn’t just passing through, Black Leather would be on the radar. The heroines of Shelter Valley—the core group of women whose strength and nurturing of each other and everyone else in town were the glue that held Shelter Valley together—would convince him so sweetly to exit their borders, he would never know the departure wasn’t his idea.
That was how it worked around here. The people of Shelter Valley would help anyone. They were compassionate. Welcoming. And anyone who didn’t emulate the town’s values and ways was encouraged to find happiness elsewhere. That’s what kept Shelter Valley what it was—a town that embraced and protected in a balance that was even enough to create a form of heaven on earth.
At least most of its residents, including Ellen, thought so.
Black Leather picked up his feet, his gaze locked straight ahead as Becca drove past. He yanked on his throttle one more time.
Ellen watched the thirty-second episode, her chest tight, and wondered at the man’s audacity. Wondered why she didn’t simply go say hello to Tory. Ask how the kids were doing during this last hot month of summer.
“Ellen? You okay, sweetie?”
Tory’s soft voice floated to Ellen from the front steps. The thirty-one-year-old stay-at-home mother looked as put together and beautiful as always.
“I’m fine,” Ellen called with easy assurance, staring down the street.
Black Leather leaned. He was turning in the opposite direction. She breathed a little easier and with a wave to her mother’s much younger friend, resumed her course down the street. As she increased her pace, Black Leather glanced her way, pinning her with a stare that struck at her core.
Then he was gone.
But the memory of him wasn’t.
The man had guts. And the seeming intelligence of someone who would house bulls in china shops. Fortunately, he was not her problem to worry about.
HE’D SPENT TIME IN MORE boring places. But Jay Billingsley couldn’t remember when. Or where. He was ready to leave. Every place and every activity the quiet desert city had to offer he’d already been to and done. And he’d been in town only twenty minutes.
Didn’t bode well for his future, since for the foreseeable part of it, he was here—living in the furnished home a few blocks from the clinic where he’d be working part-time at a job that satisfied him. He’d already made arrangements to rent the property on the edge of Shelter Valley on a month-to-month basis. The hours he wasn’t at the clinic he’d be hell-bent on completing the tasks that had forced him to come to Shelter Valley.
He’d driven by his new place. Didn’t try the key he had in his pocket because the boxes he’d had shipped weren’t due until tomorrow morning. The pool in the backyard was pristine with a rock waterfall. And there was a fire pit for grilling. For once the real thing was even better than the picture.
Really, it wasn’t Shelter Valley’s fault that he was in a rank mood. Wasn’t anybody’s fault. Not even his.
Not many guys would like being forced into distasteful situations.
Best get on with it. His life’s motto. Which was why an hour after he’d driven into—and around—his latest home base, Jay showed up at the clinic looking for Dr. Shawna Bostwick, the psychologist who had so effusively accepted his offer to practice clinical massage under her auspices. She had a small room at her clinic ready for him to use and some patients to refer to him.
“You’re Jay Billingsley?” The young woman’s shock wasn’t carefully enough disguised.
“Yes, ma’am.” He bowed his head, his hands crossed in front of him, standing the way he’d learned while waiting in the mess line during his eighteen months on the inside.
Back to the wall and cover your balls, as he privately described it. Those months had taught him other life lessons. Accept what you can’t change. Don’t expect anyone else to watch your back. Being still is the best way to assess the opposition. Adopting a subservient stance is the fastest way to disarm others’ defenses.
Eleven years on the outside and, whenever he was being negatively judged, he still reverted to the man he’d become while doing time for drug possession.
Some lessons lasted a lifetime.
“You, uh, ever been to Shelter Valley?” The pretty blonde seemed to be somewhere around his own thirty-two years.
He waited until she looked him in the eye and said, “No. I’d never heard of the place until a month ago.”
Her smile, though tentative, seemed genuine. “You might be in for a surprise.”
“I doubt it,” he said easily. Then something about her, or about the damned town, had him adding, “I’m good at what I do, Dr. Bostwick. I’m in this business because I care. Because I want to help people. You can rest assured that I won’t let you down.”
She grinned at him. “I’ve read your résumé. I’m not worried. But I do think you might want to get your hair cut. And lose the vest.”
“My only transportation is a motorcycle.” He told her what she’d find out soon enough anyway. Who would have believed he would find a Western town without a Harley dealership? Or any other signs of motorcycle ownership? “Leather deflects bugs and is more impervious to wind.”
“And the hair?”
He shrugged. He could have cut it, if he’d wanted to give a false first impression. Jay was who he was. A free spirit. A man who didn’t conform to social pressure. His hair told people that up front.
And it reminded him every single day that his freedom was in personal expression and belief, not in the making of his own laws—either moral or physical.
“It’s taken me eleven years to grow it.” That was all the explanation anyone would get.
Jay noticed the doctor’s firm backside at the tail end of the blue blouse that hung over her jeans as he followed her down the hall to his new space. The room would suit and, once his table arrived tomorrow, he would set up quickly.
He’d only been in town an hour and had already seen two very fine-looking women—a jogger and his new professional sponsor.
Too bad he wasn’t in Shelter Valley to have sex.
JAY SWAM IN THE NUDE. His temporary backyard was completely enclosed by a cement block privacy fence. He had to traverse the entire length of the pool four times to get what he determined to be one lap. Somewhere around forty lengths he lost count.
The cool water sluicing against his skin was like the wind pulling at his hair when he rode full-out. A communion between nature and man—raw life. Something he could trust. Count on.
When his body was tired enough to stay put on the stool awaiting him inside the house at the breakfast bar, he hauled himself out of the deep end and grabbed the jeans he’d left in a pile on the patio.
Zipping the pants with care born of practice, he grabbed a cola from the fridge and glanced at the neatly stacked folders awaiting him. Usually his investigative skills itched to be used. This time, Jay was reluctant to begin.
Finding the man who’d deserted him—who’d walked out only weeks before Jay’s mother’s murder—was on his top ten list of things he most wanted to avoid. Right up there with going back to prison.
Or ever again being out of control of his mental faculties.
His aversion to the task at hand was the only reason he was glad to hear the knock on his front door. The uninvited intrusion delayed having to open those folders.
He wasn’t so sure he hadn’t jumped from the frying pan into the fire when he saw a uniformed lawman standing on the front porch. “Jay Billingsley?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Sheriff Richards.”
Greg Richards, Jay read the official identification the man held out. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”
He hadn’t done anything wrong.
“You have a second?”
As many of them as he wanted to have. “Sure.” Jay stepped back, leaving Greg to come in, close the door behind him and follow Jay to the second of the two bar stools at the kitchen counter.
He offered the lawman something to drink, retrieved the bottle of water Richards requested from the fridge. The sheriff perched on the stool, both feet planted on the floor. The man’s hair was dark. Short. Proper.
“I had some complaints about that motorcycle of yours.”
Jay met his gaze head-on, drinking from his can of cola while he did so, his bare feet resting on the silver metal ring along the bottom of his stool. “There a law against motorcycles in Shelter Valley?”
“No. I’ve got one myself,” Richards said, and Jay reminded himself that those who judged prematurely generally ended up making asses of themselves. “But we do have noise restriction laws.”
“No semi engines after six o’clock?” Jay guessed.
“No excessive noise within city limits, period.”
“Who defines excessive?”
“I do.”
Jay nodded. Less than twelve hours in town and he was already being run out. If only the sheriff knew how happy Jay would be to oblige….
“I’ll run my machine on low throttle in city limits.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
The lawman hadn’t opened his bottle of water. And he wasn’t leaving, either.
“There something else?”
“I talked to Martin Wesley. He says you’re renting this place month to month.”
Jay had found Martin’s rental ad on the internet. “That’s right.”
“He says you’re a medical massage therapist working with Shawna Bostwick.”
“That’s right.” And if Jay was a betting man, he’d put money on the fact that Richards had already been in touch with the pretty doctor for confirmation.
“We don’t have a lot of call for that around here. Seems like you’d find more work in a city like Phoenix.”
“Or Miami,” Jay agreed, “which is where I’ve lived a lot of the past ten years.”
“So why here? Why now?” The sheriff’s expression wasn’t unfriendly. But he wasn’t making small talk, either.
“I’ve got some business in the area.” Until he knew what he was going to find, his father was his secret. “Personal business.”
“And when you’ve completed your business? What then?”
Shrugging, Jay took another sip of cola and tried not to get depressed. “Who knows?” He wondered what the hell his life would look like when he was through messing it up.
“Is a life here in Shelter Valley among the choices?”
At least he could put one man out of his misery. “No.”
“You did some time in prison.”
Were there laws against that in Shelter Valley, too?
Jay didn’t respond. There was no point. Richards had access to Jay’s records. The man knew what he knew and he’d make of it what he would.
“Possession with intent to sell.”
Those were the charges. He hadn’t had a hope in hell of proving his innocence. Mostly because he’d been high on cocaine when the cops raided the frat party he’d been attending.
It didn’t help that his so-called friends had all been rich kids with daddies—or more importantly, daddies’ lawyers—who made sure that Jay, the scholarship kid without family, took the fall.
Still, he’d made choices. And he’d deserved to pay for them.
“I hope that it’s just coincidence that you’ve chosen to work in a clinical environment.” The sheriff’s words threw Jay for a second. Until he put it all together. Clinics had drugs, giving him potential access to them.
“I was arrested at a frat party. We were doing cocaine. No one there was making a living off the stuff,” he said. “My professional record is as available to you as is my criminal one, Sheriff. You’re welcome to take a look at that, too. I don’t use drugs, nor have I been caught with any in my possession.”
“I’ve seen your professional résumé. You come highly recommended. In the field of medicinal massage, but also as a private investigator. I’m told you’ve done some impressive work assisting detectives with cold cases.”
“Mostly volunteer.”
“You don’t make a full-time career at anything.”
“I’m not a white picket fence kind of guy.”
“Most people who can’t settle down have something to hide.”
“Criminal types, you mean.”
“You said it. Not me.”
“I did my time. And I learned my lesson. I do not make choices that could send me back to prison. Ever.”
“I’ll bet that makes your mother happy.”
“My mother was killed during a home invasion when I was a baby.”
“Your father then. Grandparents. Siblings. Whoever was hurt when you were sent to prison so young.”
“No one was hurt.” At this rate Jay was going to need another fifty or so laps in the pool to calm down enough to get to work. “My only living relative—the aunt who raised me—passed away during my freshman year of college.”
“You ever been married?”
“No.”
“What about girlfriends?”
“No one serious.” Not that it was any of this man’s damn business.
“Any close friends?”
“Not that I can think of offhand.”
“You have no one at all.”
Jay felt exposed by the shock in the sheriff’s voice. And forced himself to answer the question, too. “No.”
Now the other man knew Jay’s dirtiest secret. He was completely alone in the world. No meaningful relationships. He’d never had anyone with whom he felt close. Had no idea how to be a member of a family unit. Let alone the head of one.
“Any more questions, Sheriff?”
Jay’s voice must have had more of an edge than he’d intended. Leaving the unopened bottle of water on the counter, Sheriff Richards stood and moved toward the front room. Before he reached the door he turned, a look of concern lining his face.
“We aren’t unforgiving folks,” he said, his hands at his sides. “Nor are we unwelcoming. We’re just protective of our way of life out here. It’s why we’re all here, and not in some other place. The people of Shelter Valley have chosen a lifestyle that makes them happy. It’s my job to protect that as well as to protect them.”
And an ex-con with long hair and secrets roaring into town on the back of a Harley didn’t fit.
Jay couldn’t agree more.
“We’re a family here in Shelter Valley. A big, overgrown family sharing a homestead in the desert. We all look after each other’s kids, and after each other. But I guess you wouldn’t understand that.”
No, probably not.
And he sure as hell wasn’t selling his bike or cutting his hair to make them all happy.
At Jay’s continued silence, Richards opened the door. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around,” he said. “Call if you need anything.”
Jay had the oddest feeling that the guy’s offer was sincere.
“Come back anytime,” Jay offered in return. But only after he’d shut the door firmly behind the other man.
THE ROAD WASN’T WELL TRAVELED. Two dirt tracks was the extent of it. Ellen bumped along easily, breathing in the peaceful mountain air through the open window of her green Ford Escape, appreciating that the temperature dropped so drastically in mere minutes as she left behind the hot desert that she also adored.
Each time she made this bimonthly trek she felt torn. Part of her wished that Joe Frasier could open himself up to a move to town, to having more than only her and Sheriff Richards in his life. And part of her understood why Joe clung so voraciously to his mountaintop home. Life made sense out here.
Still, life was meant to be lived, not avoided.
Ellen slowed from the 15 mph she’d been going to climb the steep track to 5 mph as she pulled into the cleared bit of dirt in front of Joe’s rudimentary cabin. He’d cleared the spot for her—had that been almost five years ago?—when Sheriff Richards had first asked Ellen to be his partner in this effort to assist the lonely mountain man who’d helped the sheriff find his father’s killers.
“Joe?” Pulling the thin, short-sleeved button-down over the top of her shorts, Ellen climbed out of the SUV and stood.
Ellen was a trained social worker. Joe needed to be socialized in the worst way.
“Joe?” she called again. She wouldn’t go any farther, take another step, until the fiftysomething bearded man appeared. If this wasn’t a good day, she’d come back.
Joe knew that. He knew he could stay hidden.
He never had before.
They had something in common, Ellen and Joe. A shared awareness of the tragic effects of inexplicable violence against women.
“I’ve got your syllabus and textbooks,” she called. Joe had a thirty-year-old degree in engineering. Once Ellen had discovered that fact, she’d started planting the seeds of him upgrading his courses with the hope that a love of learning would be able to do what five years of visits had not—get him out of the hell he’d thrown himself into after his wife’s death.
She had bags of groceries, too, as always.
“Where’s the sheriff?” Joe’s gruff voice came from somewhere behind the one-room log cabin he had built by hand over thirty years ago.
Ellen and Greg usually made this trek up the mountain together. But not always.
“There was a traffic accident out by the highway.”
“You shouldn’t be here without him.”
“Of course I should be,” she called, completely without fear. “Sheriff Richards knows I’m here. And you need your groceries.”
Besides, Joe would never, ever do anything to hurt Ellen. Ever.
Now if she had been meeting Black Leather, as she’d come to think of the man she’d seen roaring through town the other day, she would have—
She simply wouldn’t have done it. Period.
“Can I come sit by the window?”
He’d built a seat for her there when she’d first started visiting him. Greg would sit in the cruiser and Ellen would counsel with Joe in plain sight but out of hearing range of the sheriff. Then somehow things had changed and Ellen and Joe had been more friends than social worker and hermit.
“Wait.”
She heard a rustle of grass then saw the thin, slightly stooped man, dressed in baggy overalls and a flannel shirt, skirt around the front of the house and inside. He promptly latched the door with the board Ellen knew he used to lock himself in.
“’Kay.” She only heard the word because she’d been waiting for it. Listening.
Leaving the cooler in the back of the Escape, Ellen grabbed the blue book bag she’d purchased at Walmart the same day she’d bought Josh’s and headed to the house.
With her back to the building, she pulled out a folder of papers and rested them on the windowsill.
Joe’s fingers didn’t come close to brushing hers as he gently tugged the folder away from her.
“It’s all there. Dr. Sheffield is glad you’re in her class. And she hopes she gets to meet you before the semester is through.” Classes didn’t officially start for another couple of weeks, but Phyllis had agreed to send along Joe’s work early. Ellen figured her mother’s friend shared her wish that the studies would interest him enough to get him off the mountain and into the classroom.
“If it was anyone else but you, I’d think there was a trick here. Psychology class. Like I need psychological help.”
“You probably do.”
“Not up here, I don’t.” It wasn’t the first time they’d had the conversation.
“I have an ulterior motive, Joe,” Ellen said, as honest with him as always.
Their ability to speak openly was one of the things she valued most about their peculiar relationship. Conversation with Joe was stripped of most social graces. Or pleasantries.
“I hope that you love the class enough that you’ll need to take more of them.” She chose her words deliberately.
Joe grunted. He didn’t believe himself capable of feeling anything as alive as love. “How’s Josh?”
“Lonesome.” Just thinking about her son hurt her heart. “But I think he’s having fun, too.” This was their first time apart for more than a few days.
“How are you?”
“Fine. Busy. Mom and David have had me over for dinner twice this week. And I’ve been going to work in the evenings. I’m helping some of the residents cheer up their rooms. We’re doing collages, mobiles and photo mosaics. I’d like to paint the multipurpose room, too.”
“How many dates have you been on?”
Josh was her usual excuse for not dating.
“None.”
“You’re not fine.”
She sighed. “Mostly I am, Joe. I’m busy at work. I love the center. How could I not? I get to spend my days helping senior citizens enjoy life. And Josh and I have a new house that I love. We even have a pool. And…” She fiddled with the hem on her shirt. “I’m really okay. I’m running every afternoon. I’m going to do a 10K with Randi Foster in November.”
“In Shelter Valley?”
“Of course. Montford is sponsoring it.”
“Is Randi training with you?”
“No. She runs at school.” Randi was the athletic director at Montford—and baby sister to the university president, Will Parsons, Mayor Becca’s husband.
“Who are you training with?”
“No one.”
“You’re running alone.”
“Yes.”
“You shouldn’t be running alone.”
“I’m careful. I carry pepper spray. And I’m not going to be held hostage to fear.”
“You shouldn’t be running alone.”
He wasn’t going to be convinced. She understood that. And even understood why. But she was still going to run.
Because it was something she had to do for her. Whether Joe understood that or not.
She could so easily end up like him.
“You should be dating.”
“You’ve done fine on your own.”
“It’s different.”
“How?”
“I— My… She was the one.”
“Maybe Aaron was, too.”
“You really think so?”
She had. At one time. Then…time…had changed things. Less than sixty minutes of it had changed everything.
Forever.
And that was something that Joe Frasier understood all too well.
CHAPTER TWO
BEFORE DAWN FRIDAY MORNING, Jay left his motorcyle in the short-term parking lot at the Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport. He caught the shuttle for the off-site car rental place he’d phoned the night before.
Half an hour later he was on I-10, his six-foot frame chafing beneath the seat belt in the Chevy Impala. He’d never driven in Phoenix before, but at that early hour there was little traffic and he’d studied maps. He also had a sense of direction that could get him from one dark hole to the next without a spot of light.
Mostly what he wanted to do was remain inconspicuous. As inconspicuous as a long-haired, broad-shouldered man could be. He’d shed his leather vest and figured his white T-shirt blended in as well as anything might.
He’d signaled his exit and followed his preset route to his destination. The neighborhood, once he got to it, was a nice one. Elegant. Expensive. The best.
He’d expected nothing less.
The gated entry slowed him not at all. Saying he was surprising his sister with a visit, he’d coaxed a garbage guy down the street to give him the service code.
Jay had been investigating those who didn’t want to be found too long to let things like gates stop him.
Not that this particular jaunt had anything to do with him finding someone who didn’t want to be found. No, this time it was him who didn’t want to be seen. Not yet. All in good time.
“HOW DO YOU FEEL WHEN Josh hugs you?”
Ellen didn’t want to answer Shawna’s question. She didn’t want to answer any more questions ever again. Period. Questions made her feel like a freak.
And…they helped.
Which was why she was in counseling again.
She took a deep breath and forced herself inside, where the truth she was seeking lay waiting for her. “Sometimes his arms around my neck, his little body close to mine, is like what I imagine heaven to be. Light and free and so good you need to cry. With overwhelming joy. Other times, I feel peaceful.”
There. All true. And as normal as it got.
“And?” Shawna peered at her over the reading glasses she always wore when she had Ellen’s file on her desk in front of her.
Ellen, hands folded across her stomach, met the older woman’s gaze head-on.
She and Shawna had been together, on and off, since before Josh was born.
“And sometimes, most particularly when he comes at me when I’m not expecting it, I have to fight the instinct to tear his hands away.”
And then she quickly added, “But my patients at work hug me all the time and I’m fine with that. I love it.” She was fine. Healthy.
She just wasn’t dating.
And while no one but old Joe Frasier was on her about it, Ellen didn’t want to spend her life alone, raising her son alone, watching him grow and succeed alone.
She didn’t want to sleep alone for the rest of her life.
“How many of them come at you unexpectedly?” How could Shawna’s question come out so quiet when her voice sounded so firm?
“None.”
“Are there times when Josh hugs you, when you are expecting it, that you feel cramped?”
Oh, God. Was she a horrible mother? “Yes,” she barely whispered.
“Hey.” Shawna leaned forward, her blond hair falling over her shoulders to her desk. Ellen focused on the hair. “It’s okay.”
She met Shawna’s gaze and listened intently.
“You’re fine,” Shawna said. “Look at you, Ellen, you live independently. You have a successful career that you love. From what I can tell, everyone in town, young and old, comes to you for assistance because they know they can rely on you. You go out alone all the time.”
Of course she did. She was alive. She lived.
She just didn’t date.
“You’re going to have hard times. We talked about that five years ago. I told you to expect them. And to know that you would get through them.” But…
“And you have gotten through them, haven’t you?” Shawna asked.
Ellen thought to the time when she couldn’t be in a room alone. When she couldn’t leave her mother’s house.
It had taken her two years to walk into Walmart.
She thought of the years when she hadn’t slept through the night—any night.
“Yes,” she finally said.
“You’ll get through this, too, if that’s what you want.”
Because she could do anything she set her mind to. She knew that. Believed it.
And yet…
“Listen, I have a suggestion…” The way Shawna sat back, her words trailing off, got Ellen’s attention. “What?”
Studying her, Shawna remained silent, then glanced at Ellen’s file and seemed to come to some kind of decision. “There’s this new guy in town. He arrived this week. His name’s Jay Billingsley.”
Black Leather. Ellen’s mother and most of the heroines of Shelter Valley—as Ellen secretly called the ladies who officially met for lunch once a month to solve the world’s problems, but who spoke to one another almost every day—had assured Ellen last night that they were going to have him out of town in no time. Not that Ellen had asked for, or needed, the reassurance.
She didn’t doubt the heroines’ prediction for a second—though she was half rooting for the bold man who had the courage to roar through their quiet town without apology.
“I heard he’s a massage therapist.”
Suddenly, considering that Shawna might actually be about to suggest that Ellen use massage as therapy for what ailed her, she decided this Friday-morning visit was unnecessary after all. She was happy not to be dating. Who had time for it?
When she met the right guy…
When she was ready…
“That’s right.” Shawna folded her hands on her desk. “I hired him.”
“Why?”
“He’s a medical massage therapist, and a good one. His reputation is above reproach. He works with elderly people, volunteers his services a lot of the time, and his success stories would keep the Hallmark Channel in business for years.”
“What kind of successes?”
“Patients with broken hips facing being bound to a wheelchair walking again. Stroke victims brushing their teeth, feeding themselves, learning to talk. A cerebral palsy patient taking his first step at seventy-two.”
“I don’t have a muscular disability. Nor am I geriatric.”
“No, but he’s also done quite a bit with trauma patients. Soldiers suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, and abused women and children.”
“He helps them walk again?” She was defensive. She knew it. She just couldn’t help it. She wasn’t getting undressed for some biker guy. No way. Even if she was half rooting for him.
“No, he helps to retrain their instincts, teaching them to trust sudden physical movement in their space and, eventually, accept touch to their skin. He’s assisted women who couldn’t tolerate any kind of physical contact. Apparently several of them have invited him to their weddings.”
“Abused women. You mean women who were beaten? Like domestic abuse.”
“Yes.”
“What about rape victims? Has he ever had a rape victim for a client?”
“Not that I know of.”
She was off the hook then. “I don’t see—”
“What you’re going through, this aversion to being touched, even in a completely noninvasive, trusted situation, is the same thing many abused women experience.” Shawna’s words hung in the air. Echoing around the small office. Getting louder by the second.
Or so it seemed to Ellen.
“Fine,” she blurted to silence the sound. “I mean, what does this guy do? If you think I’m suddenly going to want a massage because a good-looking biker wants to give me one—” Heat flooded under her skin.
“You’ve seen Jay.”
“Maybe.”
“Were you afraid of him?”
“Not as much as I would have expected.”
“Good. He’s got a way about him.”
“My mother and her friends don’t think he should be trusted.”
“It’s not like them to judge by appearances.”
“I guess David invited him to the men’s group at church Sunday night and he said no. No excuses, just no, thank you.”
Shawna didn’t dignify the comment with a response.
“And Ben and Tory invited him to dinner. He turned them down, too.” Why Ellen felt compelled to defend the heroines wasn’t clear to her.
“Jay’s personal life has nothing to do with his skills as a therapist,” Shawna said. “I think you know that.”
Ellen didn’t always agree with some of the more narrow-minded opinions espoused by the heroines of Shelter Valley, as Shawna was well aware.
“If you see Jay, I’ll insist on being a primary player in your treatment. So far, with the few clients I’ve referred to him, Jay’s insisting on that, as well. I’ll want to speak with him first, but from what I know about his methods, the treatment will be completely noninvasive.”
The repetition of the word noninvasive set Ellen off. “What does that mean?” The words were out before she had a chance to take a deep breath. Temper her reaction.
“It means you’ll be fully dressed at all times.”
Oh. Well, then. She relaxed her fingers from the edge of her chair. “Where?”
“Here. I’ve given him a room right down the hall.”
She’d known she had to seek all the help she could get the second she’d pulled her son’s arms from around her neck five days ago.
She had a month to fix herself.
CHAPTER THREE
JAY HADN’T PLANNED TO spend the entire morning sitting in a car. It was a school day, Friday—what crazy school system started at the beginning of August?
With the academic year barely under way, why in hell hadn’t the kid left his house to catch the bus with the rest of the junior-high-aged kids?
There had been five of them. Three girls and two boys. Jay could describe them all in detail. He knew which houses they’d come from, too.
But he hadn’t seen the boy he wanted to see.
Only to see.
Without being seen.
At ten o’clock, after three hours of surveillance, he gave up. Either the boy was sick, cutting school, had spent the night at someone’s place or was in juvenile detention.
Hoping it wasn’t the latter, Jay made a couple of calls to be sure.
Satisfied with the news that Cole MacDonald—his primary reason for being in this state—wasn’t in custody, Jay spent the rest of the morning at the Department of Vital Records and the library accessing newspaper archives tending to the other reason he was in the godforsaken desert when he could be watching waves hit the sand. Before he could offer anything to an out-of-control boy, he had to find his father. Find some answers about his life, about himself.
Cole apparently needed a strong hand—and stability. Jay had an aversion to being tied down. Shied clear of emotional attachment to the point that he’d never had a committed relationship beyond the kind but emotionally distant one he’d had with the aunt who’d raised him.
Jay’s father had had an aversion to family ties, too.
Was Jay a chip off the old block? A man who couldn’t be counted on to hang around? Was his need to be a free spirit hereditary?
Jay had no idea whatsoever how to be a part of a family and that couldn’t be all by his choice alone. Was there something genetic that precluded the ability to have close relationships?
One thing was for certain, he wasn’t about to contact Cole until he was convinced his presence in the boy’s life would mark an improvement.
A call rescued him from the archives—in the library and in his mind—shortly after noon. Stepping outside to answer, Jay quickly agreed to Shawna’s request he take an afternoon appointment in Shelter Valley. He returned the car, collected his bike and hightailed it out of town.
All in all, the first half of his day had been a total waste. Good thing he wasn’t being paid for his private investigative work.
SHE SHOULDN’T HAVE AGREED to this. At the Shelter Valley Medical Center for the second time that day, Ellen studied the pamphlets on the bulletin board to the right of the reception desk in the lobby, waiting for her appointment with Black Leather—Jay Billingsley.
She would much rather be at Big Spirits, the retirement center and adult day care where she worked as a social worker and activities director. They were a relatively small operation—only fifty beds—and some days it seemed as though Ellen was a jack-of-all-trades, between the counseling and the planning and implementing activities to keep the seniors busy, challenged, healthy and happy. Still, she loved her job. Loved the people she cared for. They had so much wisdom. And many of them possessed an inner peace and acceptance that she would give much to obtain.
Even more than wanting to be at work, she would rather be with her son, who would have been playing happily at Little Spirits, the day care that was attached to the facility where Ellen worked. Had he been in town, that is.
“Ellen?”
Heart pounding, she spun around. Black Leather. He’d snuck up on her.
Not a good sign.
“Come on back.”
No. She didn’t think so. At all.
He smiled. Not a guy smile. Or a doctor smile. A…smile smile. Like what a stranger would give to another stranger passing in the hall. No threat. No invasion of her space.
Taking control of herself, Ellen stepped through the door with him, intending to tell him in private that Shawna had made a mistake, that this treatment wasn’t a good idea. Maybe Ellen would soften the blow by agreeing to reschedule.
Probably not. She had no intention of coming back. And she wasn’t duplicitous.
“Shawna says you work at Big Spirits.”
“That’s right.” She stayed a step behind him as they passed mostly closed doors that housed Shawna’s office, a weight-loss clinic and an eye doctor.
“I’ve got an appointment with a client there in the morning.”
Why didn’t Ellen know about that? Those were her people. Every one of them.
Not that she had a thing to do with their medical needs. She was their social-emotional captain.
No one needed her permission to call a massage therapist. Nor did anyone have to inform her when someone was having a medically prescribed procedure unless it related to something Ellen had planned. Or limited a resident’s participation in activities.
But they usually did let her know.
The man in front of her slowed.
A vision of Josh’s face as he’d turned around to wave goodbye to her at the airport flashed before her eyes. In the last minutes she’d been with her son, she’d pulled his arms away from her.
She had to get well.
For him, if nothing else.
Black Leather opened the door second from the end. The one Shawna had taken her to earlier that day.
Ellen knew exactly what waited inside. A padded table with a headrest extending from one end. There was a small table, too, with a box of tissues and an MP3 docking station. Next to that was a cloth-draped cart with drawers and a couple of shelves filled with white sheets and towels. The top of the cart was covered with various bottles filled with liquids.
She couldn’t go in there. Not even for Josh. Well, to save his life, she would. She’d die for him.
But Josh’s life wasn’t in danger.
Black Leather, who wore black denim jeans and a white lab coat with black leather boots that made no noise when he walked, turned in the doorway to see her standing several feet away.
“Wait here,” he said, when she’d already formed her lips to blurt out her unequivocal refusal to go any farther down the hall toward that door—or with any treatment he might have in mind.
Ellen stood there, the refusal to enter any room with him still hovering. She felt caged, staring at the ponytail hanging down his back as he strode away from her.
This was her chance to leave. She could have Shawna make her apologies. Shawna was the one who had put her in this spot so she could be the one to get Ellen out of it.
Not entirely fair. Ellen had asked Shawna for help. And Shawna thought Black Leather could help. He had training. History. Previous successes.
He liked old people.
So did Ellen.
He exited Shawna’s office carrying a chair. Was he intending to use it? Or to have Ellen use it? Didn’t much matter to her. She was not going in that little room alone with this man.
Not today anyway.
Not while she was in the middle of a panic attack.
She recognized the symptoms. The tightness in her chest. Butterflies in her stomach. Foggy thoughts that wouldn’t land.
“Try this.” Black Leather set the chair at the end of the hall and pointed.
“You want me to sit there?”
“Sure.”
“Out here?”
“Yes.”
Okay. Well, her knees were a little shaky. Maybe her symptoms were more obvious than she’d thought. And it wasn’t as though he could do anything in the middle of the hall.
Granted the area was in a corner of the medical center. And not one soul had come or gone in the minutes she’d been there. But still, someone could. At any moment one of the other doors could open and someone could walk out.
Ellen sat.
“Shawna tells me you’re suffering from PTSD.”
Ellen had negotiated with Shawna and they had finally settled on her releasing only that information to him. It was all he needed to know to be able to treat her.
Stiff and ready to bolt, Ellen stared at him—as if he were a train wreck. She had to survey the damage. To see the suffering.
“You look too young to have been in the service.”
“I’m twenty-six.” Not young at all.
“Were you in the service?”
“No.”
His gaze made her uncomfortable. Could the man see the quaking inside her? Better that than having him see the dark shadows in her mind.
“The idea here is to teach your body that physical touch is nonthreatening. And to teach your mind that physical touch will bring you pleasure. To get you to the point where your automatic reaction is to welcome touch because you associate it with pleasure. To retrain you to expect it. Does that make sense?”
She wasn’t a moron.
And he wasn’t going to get her in that room.
“I’m going to start out with one hand. I’ll place it lightly where your right shoulder and neck meet. You naturally hold tension there and we want to relieve that tension.”
He was not getting her in that room.
“You ready?”
Ellen glared up at him. “What? Out here?”
“Yes.” He met her gaze head-on.
And the honesty, the understanding she saw there reached through her haze of panic.
“Just one hand?”
“Yes.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
“Only in the one spot?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t move.
She tried to prepare. To imagine his hand on her neck. To brace herself for how that would feel.
“Are you just going to lay your hand there, or what?”
“I’m going to start with three fingers. I’ll take them away then touch again. I’ll repeat that until your body accepts the contact.”
“How will you know that?”
“You’ll let me know.”
She had to do something? The butterflies were swarming fiercely.
“What if I don’t?” Did that mean he’d keep touching her? And claim that she hadn’t told him not to? Because she’d—
“You will. Your muscles will tense up—their way of responding to unwanted contact.”
Oh. Right. As a massage therapist, he knew all about muscles. Was probably trained to “listen” to them in ways Ellen didn’t even know about.
What else would he be able to understand about her if he touched her?
“That’s it then? You touch with three fingers—lightly—and that’s all?”
“Once your body accepts it, if we get to that point, I’ll apply light pressure—something meant to feel really good. I’ll give you plenty of warning before I change a process. That’s how this works. No surprises. And nothing without your explicit agreement. Okay?”
She wanted to date.
She didn’t want to sleep alone for the rest of her life.
She was not going to spend her life—even one aspect of it—hostage to what that bastard had done to her.
Josh needed her to be healthy.
Ellen nodded.
“Look at me please.”
She did.
“Okay?”
She nodded again.
“I need to hear you say it. This is totally your call.”
“Okay.” She tensed.
Black Leather waited then moved slowly to her side.
“Three fingers,” he said, holding them about a foot in front of her so she could see them. “I’m going to touch. On top of your hair. Ready?”
“Yes.”
She sensed more than heard his movement. “Touching now…”
Emotion exploded inside of Ellen, a volcano that rose from her stomach and took her breath away. Sight blinded by tears, she turned the corner of the hall before she even realized she was out of the chair.
And she didn’t stop. Not when people called her name. Not until she was in her car with the door locked. Not until she was driving down the road, heading toward…she had no idea where.
That hadn’t gone well.
CHAPTER FOUR
JAY HAD NEVER BEEN ONE to leave well enough alone. He had this cursed inability to turn his back and walk away. Even after the trait had landed him eighteen months in prison, he continued to let it drive his actions. And now he couldn’t leave Ellen Moore to handle the fallout of their afternoon session alone.
But she’d disappeared—had been out of the parking lot before he’d been able to grab the keys out of the locked drawer in his table. Although he’d driven around the entire town, he hadn’t spotted her.
Jay knew better than to ask people if they’d seen her. Or to hope they would direct him to her. She was a daughter of Shelter Valley. He was the outsider.
He called Shawna, knowing the counselor would have a hell of lot more luck at locating Ellen than he would, but reached her voice mail and left a message for her to phone him as soon as possible.
He had nothing to do this afternoon except wait for that call and tend to the one aspect of his life that he’d left completely alone.
His father had deserted him and his mother. The man was weak and irresponsible. He’d loved his mother enough to marry her, but not enough to stick around after she’d had Jay. And Jay had seen nothing worth pursuing in that situation.
Then Kelsey Johnson, now Kelsey MacDonald, had contacted him a month ago. They had known each other in college. He’d had sex with her. She’d married one of Jay’s ex-frat brothers. And twelve years later, she confessed he had a son.
A delinquent son. One her husband was tired of dealing with. Apparently, MacDonald had known all along that the boy wasn’t his. So out of the blue, Kelsey wanted Jay to take responsibility for Cole.
A man couldn’t very well expect to father a troubled teenager when he had his own father issues. Jay didn’t trust fathers. Or families.
He had no idea how to be the first. Or to be a part of the second.
To make matters worse, Jay, who knew what it was to be abandoned, had unwittingly put his own son in the very same position.
Damn Kelsey for putting him in this position.
The idea that he had a son was not sitting well with him. Despite having had four weeks to come to terms with the news, to make the plans that uprooted his entire footloose and fancy-free, lay-on-the-beach-whenever-he-wanted-to lifestyle, the existence of a boy with Jay’s blood in his veins still seemed completely unrealistic.
He sat at his computer, intent on searching various databases he had access to for any mention of Jay Billingsley, Sr.
He had a copy of his mother’s birth certificate and death certificate, which had been listed in her maiden name—his aunt’s doing. She’d wanted to eradicate any mention of the man who’d deserted her baby sister.
Jay had his own birth certificate, too. But he couldn’t connect Tammy Renee Walton to Billingsley. He couldn’t find any record of his father at all. Not even on his own birth certificate. Even though they had been married, his mother had chosen to list her maiden name and leave the father blank.
He knew the man’s name was Jay Billingsley. He knew he’d worked at a car dealership in Tucson—as a salesman his aunt had said—that had long since gone out of business.
With those three pieces of information, it should be easy enough to trace the guy. Jay had always thought he could find his father in a matter of hours if he’d really wanted to do so.
Apparently not.
This morning, when he’d attempted to access his mother’s marriage license, he’d been told there wasn’t one. The records clerk who had been helping him suggested that his parents might have been married in another state.
Just damned fine.
Like the majority of U.S. states, Arizona was a closed record state, which meant that without the man’s name on his birth certificate, Jay had no legal way of accessing his father’s records—other than those that were public such as birth date, marriage or death. He couldn’t find any public records for the man in Arizona.
For all he knew, Jay Billingsley, Sr. could have been born in another state, as well.
Maybe he’d died at some point, too.
Jay had other avenues to check. He hadn’t developed the reputation he had for ferreting out the most hard to find facts in order to solve cold cases without learning a few hundred tricks.
But he hadn’t expected to need them this time. He’d figured he’d make a few simple inquiries, do a stake-out—similar to the one he’d done that morning—then, depending on what he found, plan his next move.
Typing usernames and passwords on various internet public document reporting agencies Jay searched U.S. marriage, birth and death records.
Surprised as hell, Jay came up with another dead end. Jay Billingsley, Sr. had obviously lied to Tammy about his real name. That could explain why the man had taken off without a backward glance.
Had he been in trouble?
A member of the underworld?
Living a double life with a wife and family elsewhere?
Or simply a scumbag con man?
Trying a different tactic, Jay gathered the articles he’d located this morning. He opened a can of soda and sat back to spend the time before preparing his poolside dinner of grilled shrimp with news stories from the Tucson Citizen and the Arizona Daily Star dating back thirty-two years ago.
Maybe a birth announcement would shed some light on the latest irritation in his life. Or maybe a piece of school sports trivia would. He already had the few brief pieces that had been printed about his mother’s death before the records had been sealed from the press.
There was no mention of his father having been on the scene at any time. During his years-long investigation to find his mother’s killer, he’d looked for any mention of his father. The only family listed had been his mother’s sister—the aunt who had raised Jay. The same woman who had told him that his father had abandoned Jay and his mother before she’d been murdered.
It was conceivable the man might not even know about the heinous crime that had robbed Jay of any semblance of a normal life.
He’d known about Jay, though. That much was quite clear. Billingsley, Sr. had put it in writing, giving sole custody of his son to Tammy Walton Billingsley. Jay’s aunt had kept the letter in a lockbox. Jay had it now.
But just because his father wasn’t mentioned at the time of his mother’s death, didn’t mean that the man hadn’t made the news in some other fashion. Jay had done the obvious—searched for any mention of Jay Billingsley—so now he was going to do the more tedious part of an investigator’s job. Read through layers and layers of unrelated detail attempting to find that one piece of information that would click with something he already knew but didn’t yet know was pertinent.
The man had lived in Tucson. That much was certain. His aunt had also mentioned—let slip was more like it—that his father had had some later ties to Shelter Valley.
The sooner Jay found his father, the sooner he could contact Cole’s mother and determine exactly how the next phase of his own life would unfold. It wouldn’t be a white picket fence in a small town—or anywhere. He knew that much. But if Cole’s mother had her way, the kid could end up living with Jay.
He picked up a sheet of paper with a shrunken news paper page copied to it. He took in the details of reported life in Tucson, Arizona. On January 13 some thirty years ago, Dr. Paul Fugate, a botanist and park ranger, left his office to check out a nature trail and never returned. Thumbing through pages, Jay found many references to the search for the bearded National Park Service employee, but couldn’t find any reference to the man being found.
Could the man’s disappearance have anything to do with his father? Could the man be his father? Sure…except for the name, and the age.
But what if his aunt had been mistaken about his father? What if Tammy Walton had been involved with, married to, an older man?
At his computer he typed the name Fugate into a secure database for public records. There was nothing linking Tammy Walton to any Fugate.
He searched the name Paul Fugate—and found an article dated 2010 about a memorial service for the man who had never been found. His wife, a woman who looked to be near seventy, had been in attendance.
Another dead end.
Jay’s day had been filled with them.
As his thoughts trailed over the past several hours, the obstacles he’d encountered at every step of his day, in his mind’s eye, Jay saw a set of eyes. Brown. Filled with panic.
His newest client.
He’d catapulted her into a very bad day.
When he’d given Shawna his word that he’d do all he could to help Ellen Moore, Jay’s goal, his purpose, was to help her feel better.
And because that hadn’t happened during their first encounter, he was worried about her. Did anyone outside of him, Ellen and Shawna know about the session? Would she seek help? Or comfort?
From what Shawna had told him about the woman, he suspected not.
He’d seen Ellen jogging the other day at four o’clock. It was almost four now. A person suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder often relied on the sameness of routine and schedule to maintain a sense of security. And that person might exercise religiously to relieve stress.
He knew at least a portion of her route and could figure out the rest. The town wasn’t that big.
Still, it was Friday. She probably had plans. A beautiful woman like her—she probably had a date.
Taking the chance that she’d take her run regardless of later plans, Jay decided to find her.
ELLEN HEARD HIS MOTORCYCLE as she turned the corner past Tory’s house. He must live nearby.
She stopped. But she didn’t even think about turning back. Or trying to avoid the man who pulled up to the curb beside her and turned off his engine.
In fact, she walked toward the bike, studying the chrome while she willed her heart and her breath back to normal range. If he’d come looking for her, she would deal with him.
If he hadn’t, then she’d extricate herself from the awkward position with the dignity and class that were her trademark—or so she’d been told dozens of times.
Dignity and class had been embarrassingly absent when she’d bolted from her appointment with Black Leather earlier.
“Nice bike.” She walked around it, pretending she knew what she was looking for. Or at. It was a motorcycle, all right. And it was shiny.
“Thanks. You ride?”
“Nope.”
The seat behind him had a backrest and arms.
“Ever?”
“Nope.”
“You’ve never been on a motorcycle?”
Was the concept really that hard to comprehend?
“No, I’ve never been on a motorcycle.” Proud of the even tone of her voice, Ellen forgave herself for feeling like a backwoods hick thanks to his incredulity. “You might have noticed, there aren’t a lot of biker types in this town.”
The jeans he’d worn at the clinic looked different astride his bike. He’d donned the black leather vest, too.
In her bike shorts and running T-shirt, Ellen wore far less than she had before. But standing on the curb—her curb in her town—she felt twice as covered. Because she had fresh air on her skin, the air of Shelter Valley wrapping her in a loving cocoon—and she was wearing the gazes of anyone in town who passed by, or watched through a window.
“Have you ever had a massage?”
“No.” He wasn’t going to unnerve her. She’d had time to realign herself.
“Are you afraid of me?”
“No.” The answer came quickly…and rang true. Surprisingly true.
“I came looking for you.”
Ellen held her ground. “That wasn’t necessary.”
“I thought it was. You were obviously upset when you left.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d had a breakdown. Wouldn’t be the last. But they were fewer and further between.
“As you can see, I’m fine now.”
“Can we talk about it?”
“I’m not coming back.”
“I don’t intend to talk you into it.”
“Then what’s the point of talking about it? We tried something. It didn’t work.” She was fine. Healthy enough. No one was perfect. She didn’t need help. She only needed to focus on who she was—Ellen Moore, social worker, activities director, mother of a five-year-old bundle of energy who was away for the entire month visiting with his father and the model girlfriend.
“I’m not good with failure.”
He was Black Leather. A man who had popped into her thoughts on more than one occasion since he’d roared into town—quite a shock, considering she was a woman who avoided thoughts of men because of accompanying feelings of fear, revulsion or inadequacy.
“Has anyone asked you to leave town yet?” she asked.
“Of course not.”
“They will.”
“They’ll be disappointed.”
She didn’t think so.
And she hoped so.
“Do I offend you?”
“No.” He fascinated her. In a distant sort of way. A train wreck sort of way.
With both hands still on the handlebars of his motorcycle, Black Leather sighed then looked straight at her. “I’d really like a chance to sit and talk with you,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft. Gentle. “I think I might be able to help.”
No didn’t spring immediately to her lips, which unnerved Ellen a little bit. “How?”
“I’m not sure.” He shrugged and she appreciated his honesty. “Obviously there are a lot of things about you, about your situation, I don’t know. I agreed to see you with only a minimal amount of information but I now think that was a mistake and a disservice to you.”
“That’s not your concern.” He was a biker massage therapist. And not long for this town.
“I think it is. Most particularly if I have inadvertently made the situation worse.”
Two cars she recognized had driven past. Becca Parsons again. Ellen often passed the mayor during her run since Becca left work at the same time each day in order to have time in the pool with her kids before dinner. Ellen had been in high school when Becca had finally, after more than twenty years of failed attempts, carried a baby to term. The whole town had watched that pregnancy, but no one more than Ellen’s mother—best friends with Becca since grade school.
The other car that passed was Keith Nielson’s, Bonnie’s husband. Josh would have been at Little Spirits, Bonnie’s day care, waiting for Ellen to pick him up. If he was in town…
“I have to go.”
“Can we set up a time to talk about what happened today?”
He really seemed to want to help. Seemed to believe he had something to offer.
Was she honestly ready to give up? To accept who she was, as she was? To be forever held hostage to a past she couldn’t change?
She looked at Black Leather. She wasn’t afraid of him.
“Do you ever braid your hair?” It was longer than hers. And absolutely none of her business. “Nope.”
She wanted out of the cage her past had trapped her in. She wanted to be able to date. Marry again. She wanted her son to be able to hug her without having his arms wrenched away.
She’d been through counseling—individual and group. She’d exhausted all of the conventional channels and, seven years post-attack, was still struggling to accept being touched. Shawna thought this man could help her.
As a social worker, a counselor, Ellen knew that a huge part of the success—or failure—of Jay’s therapy rested with her. If she was going to do this, she had to be open to him. Completely. No matter how hard that might prove to be.
Considering this afternoon in the clinic, she didn’t think she could be that open.
But she knew something else. If she didn’t at least explore the possibility one more time—by speaking with him—she’d feel as though she’d given up on herself.
“Can you meet me tomorrow morning? Around ten?” Her stepfather, David Marks, was expecting her to help with the church bulletin before that.
“Yes. Where?”
Ellen suggested the Valley Diner.
“You want to be seen in the middle of downtown, sitting at a table with me?”
“Yes, I think I do.”
She wished she could explain to herself why that was.
CHAPTER FIVE
JAY MADE IT TO THE DINER a few minutes ahead of schedule the next morning and went in to use the restroom. By the time he’d returned, Ellen was already seated in the last booth, her back to the wall. He recognized her first by the ruler-straight set of her shoulders then by the distinctive natural blond hair that hung freely down her back.
He knew even before he slid onto the bench opposite her that she wouldn’t be wearing any makeup. Nothing about Ellen was made-up.
Hidden, maybe, but not made-up.
“Did you order already?” he asked in lieu of a greeting.
“No, I waited.”
He picked up the menu, decided on the first thing he saw—a man-size stack of homemade pancakes—then returned the plastic-coated sheet to its place along the wall.
Ellen watched him, her hands folded on the table.
“Ellen?” The waitress, a middle-aged woman, approached, staring, not at the woman she’d addressed, but at him.
“Hi, Nancy. How are the kids?”
“Good. You know that Cameron starts at Montford this fall, right?”
“Yeah. And Leah will be following next year, I’m sure.” Ellen ordered a diet soda, oatmeal and toast and waited while Jay asked for coffee, black, and his pancakes.
“Have you eaten here yet?” Ellen asked as Nancy, pocketing her notepad, walked away.
“Nope, this is my first time in.” Glancing around, he figured he could have described the place accurately without the visit. Hometown diners looked the same the world over.
But as diners went, this one was one of the nicest. It was clean, of course, but the decor was…fresh-looking.
And it fit right in with this family-based town.
Jay focused on the woman he’d agreed to help, wondering about her. “Do you have siblings?”
“Three.”
“Younger or older?”
“Younger. I’m the oldest.”
“Are they all here in town?”
“Yep. Shelley’s twenty-three, working toward her doctorate in music at Montford. She had her bachelor’s at twenty and finished the master’s program last year. Rebecca’s twenty-two and married. No kids yet. Tim’s just turning twenty. He’s at Montford, too, playing baseball. And his interest is definitely more on the field than in the classroom, though he’s planning to go to law school.”
The woman was beautiful. He stared at her mouth, watching the way her lips moved as she talked. Her features were soft, almost innocent in their allure. Yet her eyes held secrets. And a sadness directly offset by the straightness of her spine.
He liked sitting here with her. Wanted to be here.
He noticed the uniformed man walking toward them. “Sheriff.” He nodded acknowledgment.
“Ellen, you okay, sweetie?” Greg asked.
“Hi, Greg. Yes, I’m fine.” Ellen’s tone, her smile, was almost that of a child humoring a too protective parent. “Have you met Jay Billingsley? He works at the clinic.”
Greg Richards glanced Jay’s way, nodding, but the smile on his face didn’t quite mask the concern lining his forehead. “Yes, we’ve met.”
“The sheriff paid me a visit my first night in town,” Jay said easily. “I invited him in and we—”
“Sheriff Richards. You did not go over and search this man’s house simply because he rode into town on a loud motorcycle.” Ellen’s grin was filled with a disbelief that could only be genuine.
“No, he didn’t,” Jay asserted. If Ellen didn’t already know about his police record—and shocking lack of family—then he preferred she not find out now when he needed her to feel comfortable with him. “He introduced himself and let me know that he was around if I needed anything.”
The sheriff had crossed Jay’s path twice since then and had been respectful. Jay responded in kind.
“Does your mother know you’re here?” Sheriff Richards wasn’t letting Ellen off the hook.
“If she doesn’t yet, she will soon.” Ellen’s slight derision wasn’t lost on Jay. And he didn’t think the sheriff missed it, either. “I’m okay, Greg, really. David knows I’m here. And why.”
David?
“Oh, well, okay then. Enjoy your breakfast.” With that, the man was gone as quickly as he’d arrived. Whoever this David was, he apparently had clout with the sheriff.
“DAVID IS MY STEPFATHER,” Ellen said as soon as Sheriff Richards had left her peripheral vision. Opening up about her family, about her life, with an outsider went against deeply ingrained instincts.
Still, he might look like a Black Leather kind of guy but he was a professional. Shawna trusted Jay. Ellen trusted Shawna. Ellen wanted to get better. Therefore, she had to confide in him. She should have let Shawna fill him in to begin with and saved herself this awkwardness.
“You a churchgoer, Mr. Billingsley?”
“Call me Jay. And no, can’t say that I am.”
“I didn’t think so. Otherwise you’d know David. He’s the preacher here in town.”
“And your stepfather.”
“Yes. It’s been seven years and he and my mom are still crazy about each other.” In some ways it was hard to believe that much time had passed. In others, it seemed an eternity. “He’s also one of my best friends.”
Let Jay make of that what he wanted.
Nancy reappeared with breakfast.
“I thought you had an appointment at Big Spirits this morning,” she said as she spooned hot oatmeal from the side of her bowl.
“Yes. At eight.”
“How did it go?”
“Good.”
The man kept the confidence of his clients. A point for him.
“I met with a mother and daughter from Phoenix yesterday,” Ellen told him as they ate. “They were looking at the center as a possibility for the mother’s brother.”
“I thought the residence was full.”
“It is. But there are a couple of rooms that have been used for storage that can be converted. After the meeting yesterday I volunteered to do the painting and decorating to prepare the rooms.”
“They can’t afford to hire a painter?”
“Yeah, they can, but I’ve got the time right now, and the rooms could be available by next week, which would work for those women. The man is being released from six months of rehab for a broken hip.”
“So his stay will be temporary?”
“No.” Ellen opened a packet of mixed fruit jelly. “He broke his hip when he ran a red light and was sideswiped. His wife died in the accident. His sister wants to take him to live with her, but the man is twice her size and she still works full-time. She can hire a nurse for home care, but she’s afraid he’s going to mourn and not improve. She heard about us and came for a tour. She has to make a decision this weekend.”
“That’s gotta be tough.”
“Yeah.” People had real problems. Much worse than an aversion to being hugged. “I gave her my cell number in case she had questions or concerns.”
“You’re committed to your job.”
“I love my job.”
He stopped eating and looked at her. “Why?”
The question was intrusive. Penetrating.
She held the slice of jelly-covered toast. She could do this. She could talk to him. “I have an affinity for old people. I think in part because they have so much wisdom.” She silently fought the internal battle to flee. “The kind of wisdom you can’t learn from books—or even always put into words. They teach by example. And I’m a sucker for that kind of lesson.”
“So how do I teach you by example?”
She dropped the toast, the beginnings of a cold sweat coming on.
“I’m not— You’re not—” She couldn’t do this. She’d tried, but…
Jay wiped his mouth, put the used napkin in the center of a pool of syrup on his plate, then picked up the bill. “You ready to go?” He stood and pulled a couple of bills from a wad in his pocket and dropped them to the table.
She nodded then followed him outside. “Thank you for breakfast.”
Every single person in the diner had watched them walk out. She slid her hands into the front pockets of her jeans and resisted the urge to run.
“I’m not giving up on you.”
His quietly spoken statement slowed the cacophony inside of her. He wasn’t giving up on her. Was she?
“I have a son.” Josh. If she couldn’t do this for herself, she had to do it for Josh. “His name’s Josh. He’s five.”
They were standing on Main Street on Saturday morning. Attracting looks.
Shelter Valley protected its own—most particularly Ellen. She’d been in the papers. Everyone knew who she was.
“Did you talk to his father about your session with me?”
“No. Josh’s father lives in Colorado now. He’s got a live-in girlfriend. Josh is with them for the month of August.”
“Oh.”
One word, but it seemed to mean more than a professional collection of knowledge.
Or she was overreacting.
“How long has his father been in Colorado?”
“Three years. He left us to take a job there.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Me, too, for Josh’s sake.”
“Not for yours?”
Ellen shrugged. “Not so much. By the time Aaron left, our divorce was almost a relief.”
He didn’t ask any more. But she could see the questions in his gaze. The battle raging inside her—run, get away, protect, protect, protect! on one side and you need help, you’ll be imprisoned for life, you’ll never be normal! on the other—was overwhelming her. She couldn’t hear either side clearly.
But she could picture her son’s face.
“Do you have time to take a drive with me?” She was losing it. She couldn’t be doing this. Couldn’t be contemplating opening up any more to this man.
She had to do something.
“In your car?”
“Yeah. I drive or we don’t go.”
“I have no problem with that.”
She did, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. She lived life. She didn’t run from it.
CHAPTER SIX
JAY HAD NO IDEA WHAT, specifically, was going on. But he knew it was significant. In her jeans, Ellen looked about eighteen behind the wheel of her mini SUV as she drove beyond the city limits and approached the highway entrance ramp. He glanced at the steely set of her chin.
From there he watched the road. And waited.
Past the ramp, she turned into a parking lot full of potholes and in need of repair. He’d ridden by the seedy-looking motel turned studio apartment rentals any number of times. At least fifty years old, the place had clearly seen better days, and he had thought it closed before he’d seen a car parked outside one of the rooms earlier in the week.
Judging by the way she drove in without hesitation, Ellen had been there before. She pulled up in front of door fourteen, then put the Escape in Park.
Surely she didn’t live here?
Even if she did, she wouldn’t be taking him inside. The car was still running.
“How much time do you have to talk?”
The question wasn’t what he’d been anticipating. At the least, he’d expected an explanation of why they were here. The trashy place with its peeling paint and filthy windows wasn’t the setting he’d pictured for the intimate conversation he’d been hoping to have.
“A couple of hours. I’ve got a client at two.” In Phoenix. Because work would initially be slow in Shelter Valley, Shawna had asked if he would be willing to do a few sessions in Phoenix. He was using the space of another medical massage therapist who didn’t work weekends.
But right now, Ellen was all that mattered to him.
“I had the perfect life growing up,” she said. “Parents who loved me. A safe town where people care about each other. Enough responsibility to shape me into a contributing member of society, enough freedom to learn from my mistakes, enough material comfort to more than satisfy my needs and enough time for fun.”
Jay listened. He stared at the ugly door and didn’t kid himself that he and Ellen were simply getting to know each other. Something was coming.
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