Conception Cover-Up

He looked up at her. “I’m fine.”

His blue gaze met hers. His eyes were quite beautiful, she thought involuntarily. Clear and shiny, like the sky reflected in a raindrop. They seemed to see inside her, sense things Shannon didn’t want to share.

She looked away. He was much too compelling. She’d told herself her reaction had nothing to do with him, but that wasn’t exactly the truth. Taking him into her home, she’d probably saved his life. It didn’t matter that he was a stranger, and a lying one at that. She still didn’t want to pick up the newspaper next week or next month and see an article reporting the death of Caleb Joseph in some freak accident. Thinking of those beautiful blue eyes cold and lifeless hurt her heart in a way she hadn’t felt since she’d lost Tony.

Not liking the path her mind had taken, Shannon searched for an out and found it. “I put some chicken soup on the stove earlier. I’m sure it’s been hours since you’ve eaten.”

Caleb shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m not really hungry. If you’ll give me my clothes, I’ll get out of your hair.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. The concussion had obviously scrambled his brain. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to accept my hospitality for a while longer.” She walked over to the stove and turned on the burner.

“Shannon, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your taking me in and taking care of me, but I have to check on my friend. He got caught in the landslide, too. I really need to borrow your Jeep.”

“It won’t do any good,” Shannon told him patiently as she stirred the soup. He really sounded worried. Her heart went out to him.

And that has to stop right now, she ordered herself. You’re better off treating him like one of your readers. A stranger looking for expert advice. Though she’d never felt less like an expert.

“It’s a four-wheel drive,” he persisted. “Surely it’ll be able to negotiate a little flooding.”

Lightning flashed, followed immediately by thunder so loud it rattled the windows. Shannon turned on him, hands on hips. “Are you paying attention at all? The Santa Cruz Mountains don’t know what ‘a little flooding’ means. It’s been raining off and on for weeks. Power lines are down. The hills are saturated. The landslide that almost buried you wasn’t the first this winter and it won’t be the last. Until the rain stops, you’re just going to have to stay put.”

She swung back to the stove. This was really something, having to convince the man to stay when she didn’t want him here in the first place!

The soup started to simmer. She picked up the wooden spoon and stirred it. “Besides, your right arm is injured. How do you propose to drive a stick shift?” Realizing that might sound like a challenge, Shannon hurried on, “But if you’re really set on leaving, I guess I could drive you.”

“Absolutely not!”

Shannon turned to look at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“There’s no way in hell I’d let you drive in this kind of weather. The roads are far too dangerous and—” Caleb stopped abruptly. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Shannon shrugged and picked up a soup mug and ladle. Reverse psychology. Tony had used it on her so often that she’d picked up the trick herself. She filled the mug, then found a spoon and returned to the couch.

He looked up at her, eyes narrowed. She could almost hear the wheels turning. She held the mug out to him. “Go ahead. You won’t lose any macho points by eating a little soup.”

He took it. “This isn’t macho posturing. There are people out there who are counting on me.”

“Counting on you to what? Fix their computers?” she asked innocently. “Since there’s no electricity for miles, I bet they can wait.” She took her own mug and crossed to the rocking chair next to the fireplace. “Besides, you’re not going to be much help to those people if you’re dead. Driving around in the rain with a concussion is not conducive to good health.” An understatement to be sure, and the reason she refused to tell him about Tony’s automatic four-wheel-drive pickup truck sitting in her garage. He might be capable of driving it, but that didn’t guarantee he wouldn’t end up in a ditch. “When the weather calms down a little, I’ll drive you wherever you want to go. For now you’re stuck, so you might as well enjoy your soup.”

Obediently Caleb ate a spoonful. He couldn’t argue with her logic, but it wasn’t going to be easy waiting around until he could safely leave. Well, one thing he could be grateful for: If he couldn’t get out, then no one could get in. Which meant he didn’t have to worry about one of the Driscoes showing up looking for him.

He glanced over at Shannon. With the light behind her, her face was cast in shadows. He suspected she preferred it that way. Secrets and shadows.

“So who was the man who made you bury yourself in the wilds of the Santa Cruz Mountains?”

Shannon started at his deliberately abrupt question. “How do you know I’m not just staying here for a vacation?”

He glanced around the room, taking in the surroundings with a trained eye. “Bookshelves filled with books. Curtains on the windows. Furniture old but well cared for. Art on the walls. Way too homey to be only a temporary retreat. Besides, even the most dedicated techie doesn’t travel around with all that state-of-the-art equipment.” He gestured toward her computer. “I should know,” he added. Even if she did suspect the lie, she couldn’t be sure of the truth. It was safer that way. “So why don’t you tell me about—”

“It’s really none of your business,” she said coolly.

And he might have let it go if he hadn’t seen the flash of pain that crossed her face. “Well, the storm outside isn’t letting up. And until it does, as you pointed out, you’re stuck with me. We can’t just sit and stare at each other.”

“I’m sure we can come up with lots of subjects to discuss.”

Yes, he thought, but none of them interested him as much as learning about the man who’d been idiotic enough to hurt this lovely woman. “He must have meant a lot to you.”

She took a sip from her mug, then placed it carefully on the side table. “I really don’t want to talk about this, Caleb, so—”

“You might not want to,” he interrupted, “but you need to.”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “So now you’re a psychologist?”

The sarcasm didn’t bother him. It meant he’d gotten to her. He didn’t know why this was so important, but it was. “You can be as rude as you like. It doesn’t change the fact that you could use a sympathetic ear. And I need something to keep my mind off my friend.”

Shannon searched his expression, looking for signs of manipulation. What she found was genuine concern. “Tony Garrett,” she supplied, still a little reluctant. “He was my husband.”

“Was?”

His expression was interested, not avidly curious. He wasn’t looking for a sensational story. He was offering an ear.

Needing to move, she got to her feet and walked over to put her mug in the sink.

For days after Tony’s death his fellow officers had dropped by. They’d offered her a shoulder to cry on, too. But she’d gotten the feeling that they needed to talk about Tony, to reassure themselves that the same thing wouldn’t happen to them. When she’d tried to express her own frustration, they’d turned off. They didn’t want to hear what their wives and girlfriends felt when their loved ones put their lives on the line time and time again.

She walked back into the living area. Caleb had set his empty mug on the coffee table. “Can I get you anything else?”

He shook his head. “Come sit down.”

She sat on the opposite end of the couch from him. Two seat cushions separated them. It wasn’t enough. She could feel the warmth radiating from him. His arms were tanned and muscular, their strength undiminished by the cuts and bruises that marred the flesh. Her fingers tingled as if remembering the texture of his skin.

She wrapped her arms around her waist to keep from reaching out. What the heck had gotten into her? Had she lived within her self-imposed seclusion so long that she was ready to throw herself at any man who came along?

“Shannon? Are you all right? I’m sorry I pressed you. If it’s still too painful to talk about your husband…”

She looked at Caleb, saw the concern on his handsome face and knew that he was not just “any man.”

“I’m fine.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “I was just thinking.” About him, not about Tony, as Caleb must have thought.

The twinge of guilt that followed loosened her tongue. “Tony was a police officer in San José. He was killed three years ago in the line of duty.”

“I’m sorry.”

The simple words eased the lump in her throat. Her friend Zoe had often told her she’d feel better if she talked about it, but she’d never been able to discuss Tony with anyone, even her best friend. Was that why she’d suddenly decided to talk? Or was it just a cover-up for her inappropriate feelings?

“Don’t stop now.” Caleb touched her hand.

The resulting tremor rocked her to her toes.