My Name is Nell. Laura Abbot

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СКАЧАТЬ familiar clenching of his stomach gave him his answer. “Sorry, Carl, but I’d be no good to you now.”

      His partner’s tone mellowed. “I don’t mean to rush you. I know you need time. It’s just—”

      “When I’m ready, buddy, I’ll let you know.”

      “What are your plans for the moment?”

      Brady studied the cover of the local phone book, bearing a picture of a flowering pink dogwood. “It’s nice here. I may stick around a while.”

      “In Arkansas?”

      “Don’t knock it till you’ve seen it. Natural beauty, low cost of living, friendly people. A guy could do a whole lot worse.” Best of all, it was a radical change from the merry-go-round California lifestyle.

      He really should feel guilty about the company, but, ironically, that was the one thing about which he had no guilt. It would survive.

      He wasn’t so sure about himself. Two or three times a week he woke from a dead sleep drenched in sweat, the odor of diesel fuel clogging his nostrils, his heartbeat in the danger zone—and two names echoing in his consciousness.

      His friends had recommended all kinds of therapists and treatments—a regular LaLa Land smorgasbord of palliatives.

      Screw that. He’d find his own way. Picking up his billfold and keys, he headed for the door. Today was a day for exploring the area—and stopping by the library. He allowed himself a brief smile of anticipation. Maybe Ms. Porter could help him research area B-and-B’s, particularly those along the White River.

      NELL PARKED HER CAR near the square and hit her early-morning meeting at the church before heading on to work. The sun had already burned off the dew, and the temperature reading on the bank stood at eighty-five degrees and it wasn’t even ten. Another scorcher. The cool of the library would be welcome.

      After exchanging greetings with Reggie and the rest of the staff, she had just enough time to circle the chairs in the children’s area before the toddlers and their mothers began arriving for story-time. As usual Rodney Fraim’s mother could hardly control him. At every chance, he slipped out of her arms and began playing peekaboo from behind the stacks. Most of the rest, however, sat on the carpet, legs crossed, only occasionally fidgeting. Today’s book was Katharine Holabird’s Alexander and the Dragon. Halfway through the story, Nell noticed a tall, dark-haired man quietly observing the children. He looked harmless enough, but you could never be too careful. He pulled out a chair and sat at a table where he continued watching them. He seemed more pensive than menacing, an amused smile softening his strong features when one of the youngsters reacted with laughter to the idea of having a dragon under the bed.

      As Nell continued reading and displaying the illustrations, she became uncomfortably aware that the man seemed to be studying her rather than the children. Did she know him? Fighting a breathless sensation, she approached the end of the story where Alexander realizes he’s no longer afraid of shadows—or of his friend the dragon.

      A shiver passed through Nell when the man mouthed the lines with her. Why was his expression so sad? Before she could ponder his sudden change, he stood and wandered toward the fiction section.

      She shook her head to clear her mind. She must’ve imagined that fleeting moment of connection with him. She refocused on the boys and girls and completed the story. As she’d anticipated, it gave rise to a lively discussion of what and who lived in the bedrooms of her tiny listeners.

      After helping all the children select and check out their take-home books, she straightened the area and turned toward her office. The good-looking man sat in one of the easy chairs near the main desk, an open book in his lap. But his dark brown eyes followed her. Enough of this. She was uncomfortable with his attention, even though a frisson of something like pleasure took her by surprise.

      She crossed to him. “Excuse me, sir, but do I know you?”

      He closed his book—which she couldn’t help noticing was a Grisham legal thriller—and raised his eyes, a slow smile creating a devilish dimple in his left cheek. “No. I’m Brady Logan.” With athletic grace, he rose to his feet and now looked down on her. “I was at the forum last night, so, in a manner of speaking, I know you. Nell Porter, right?”

      She clasped her cold hands in front of her. “Yes.” She scrambled for words. “Did you enjoy it?”

      His eyes narrowed. “Discussion of conflict and violence is more painful than enjoyable.” He paused before going on. “I vastly preferred this morning’s activities.”

      “You’re obviously familiar with Alexander and the Dragon.”

      She detected a momentary steeling of his features. He offered no explanation but simply said, “Yes.”

      She couldn’t seem to tear herself away, but there was little more to be said. Steering from the personal, she grasped for the professional. “Is there something I can help you with?”

      “As a matter of fact, yes. I’m new to the area and am interested in doing some fly-fishing, maybe locating a nice place along the White River to stay. Have any suggestions?”

      Brady Logan didn’t strike her as someone so clueless about how to use a library, but then you never knew. “There are a couple of popular resorts near Flippin, or you might consider—”

      “I’m more a B-and-B kinda guy.”

      “Well, in that case—” his eyes found hers, as if he anticipated her next words “—you might try the Edgewater Inn.” More to escape his scrutiny than anything, she made her way to the travel section. “Here.” She pulled out a directory of Arkansas bed-and-breakfasts. “You can read all about it.”

      He took the book, thumbing through it until he found the listing and an accompanying photograph. “This looks nice.”

      “It is.” Then she found herself telling him all about her stay there.

      “Sounds peaceful,” he finally said.

      “Very.” A poignant memory came to her of cathartic tears shed on a lazy September afternoon rocking on a wooden porch swing overlooking the blue river.

      He took her by the arm, then as if realizing he’d overstepped his bounds, he released his grip. “Thanks, Nell Porter. You’ve been most helpful.”

      She found it hard to swallow. “I’m glad.”

      Reggie Pettigrew bustled up alongside them. “Nell, your daughter’s on the phone.”

      A strange look—wistfulness? sadness?—shadowed Brady’s face before he seemed to reassemble his features. He nodded his understanding.

      “Excuse me,” she said, then started for her office.

      “Nell?”

      She turned around. He smiled, then winked. “Beware of dragons.”

      On the way to her office, she couldn’t explain the tingly feeling short-circuiting her body. She had the strangest sense that he’d been waiting for her. Any number of other librarians could have helped him.

      Oddly, instead of making her СКАЧАТЬ