Some Kind of Hero

Riane nodded. “She died just a few weeks after we got there. That was when I resolved to do something to help children like her.”

“How old were you?” he asked.

She looked away again. “Twelve.”

“That’s a hell of a commitment for a twelve-year-old to make.”

“It’s a hell of a way for a three-year-old child to die,” she replied sadly. Then she shook her head, shook off the melancholy mood that had stolen over the moment.

“We were talking about your childhood,” Riane reminded him.

“I think you got the gist of it.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

He shook his head. “I had a sister. She was a few years older than me, took off on her own when she was fifteen and died on the street of a drug overdose less than a year later.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. As an only child, she couldn’t imagine what it was like to grow up with someone, to lose that someone, to be left alone to remember. For so many years she’d wished for a sister—would willingly have settled for a brother—but her parents hadn’t been able to have any more children. Riane knew it had to be easier to have never had a sibling than to have shared such a connection and have it ripped away.

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

“You were close,” she guessed.

“At one time.” Then, in a not-so-subtle effort to change the topic, “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

Riane shook her head. She’d agreed to play tour guide for him to prove that she was her own person—and to prove to herself that she was immune to whatever chemistry she thought existed between them. Her reaction to his unexpected appearance at the camp today proved otherwise. She wasn’t immune at all.

She’d never believed in chemistry or destiny or any other such nonsense. But the more time she spent with Joel, the more she found herself questioning her beliefs. Rational or not—and she was pretty sure it was not—she was attracted to Joel Logan. Which was why she was determined to keep her distance from him as much as possible. She may have already committed herself to showing him around the following day, but that was going to be the extent of her involvement.

“Do you have other plans for dinner?” Joel’s question interrupted her meandering thoughts.

“Yes.”

“With the fiancе?” Joel prompted.

“No.”

Joel didn’t take the hint. “What are you doing?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Riane said, “but I told Sophie I’d be home to eat.”

“What’s she making?”

“Pot roast.”

“Sounds better than anything room service has to offer,” Joel said hopefully.

“I’m not inviting you to my house for dinner.” Although there was a part of her that wanted to do just that. She was intrigued by this man who’d appeared in her life seemingly from nowhere. She wanted to spend time with him, to get to know him. All she really knew was that he was a former cop who lived in Fairweather, Pennsylvania. These sparse details didn’t begin to satisfy her curiosity.

Despite her curiosity, though, she was afraid. Not of Joel, but of her own responses to him. And it was this fear that held her back.

“Please.”

She sighed again. Although she knew it could be dangerous to spend more time with him, they wouldn’t be alone together. Sophie would be there.

So she relented, not entirely unwillingly, to his request. “Dinner will be on the table at seven o’clock.”

Chapter 4

At precisely seven o’clock, Riane found herself seated across from Joel at the gleaming mahogany table in the Quinlan dining room. On her way home from the camp, she’d called Sophie to tell her Joel would be coming for dinner, and Sophie had set the table with the best china, sparkling crystal and gleaming silver. As if that wasn’t enough, she’d added long, slender candles in antique holders and opened a bottle of Riane’s favorite merlot.

It was obvious, at least to Riane, that Sophie was setting the scene for romance. But Riane wasn’t looking for romance—not with anyone, and especially not with Joel Logan.

Still, that wasn’t the worst of the housekeeper’s betrayal. Worse, far worse, in Riane’s mind, was that Sophie had set the table for two. Sophie usually took her meals with the family, but tonight she’d begged off, leaving Riane to dine alone with Joel—the exact scenario Riane had been confident she could avoid by inviting him to the house.

“That was the best pot roast I’ve ever had,” Joel told Sophie when she came to take their empty plates away.

Sophie beamed at him as though he was a favorite child. “Are you sure I can’t offer you another helping?”

“I’m sure,” Joel said. “I’ve already had seconds.”

“Then I’ll leave the two of you to finish up your wine before I bring out dessert,” Sophie said, slipping out of the room as quickly and quietly as she’d slipped in.

“I’m glad you invited me for dinner,” Joel said to Riane.

“You invited yourself,” she reminded him.

“And you very graciously didn’t withdraw the invitation.”

Riane felt a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. They both knew there had been nothing gracious about her response.

“Don’t do that,” Joel warned.

The blossoming smile faded. “Don’t do what?”

“Smile. If you do, you might have to admit that you don’t detest my company as much as you want to, sweetheart.”

“If I really disliked your company, I wouldn’t be in it.”

“But you’re not entirely comfortable with me,” he noted.

“Why is that?”

She sighed and pushed away from the table. He stood, too, and followed her to the enormous arched window that overlooked the backyard.

“Because I don’t know anything about you. Every time I ask a question about what you do or why you’re in town, you evade or mislead or redirect the conversation. For all I know, you could be a tabloid reporter or a con man or—”

“A private investigator,” he interjected.