When A Hero Comes Along. Teresa Southwick

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      Now.

      He waited, but nothing happened. Was she standing there? Did she see him? What if she didn’t open the door? Could he really blame her?

      He really should have called first.

      “Kate?” He knocked lightly on the door. “It’s Joe. Morgan,” he added. In case she didn’t remember him.

      He didn’t think that was likely. Not after the letter and what she’d said in it. But he knew from personal experience that women could turn the right memories off when they wanted to do wrong.

      Inside, a chain scraped just before the dead bolt clicked and Kate opened the door. She didn’t say anything, just stared up at him, eyes wide, full lips parted slightly in shock. That was something he recognized. Shock was protection for mind and body—a time-out until the two were strong enough to handle trauma. He’d never actually thought of himself as a trauma. Not consciously. But now he realized he hadn’t called because he was afraid she would hang up on him. Refuse to see or talk to him.

      Now that she was close enough for him to feel the warmth of her skin, he knew how badly he’d needed to see and talk to her. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her eyes were huge and his memories hadn’t done them justice. At first glance he’d call them brown. But a closer look showed flecks of gold, reminding him that when she looked into the sun her eyes turned almost green. She was still small, and with clothes on it was hard to tell, but he would swear she was curvier than the last time he’d held her—made love to her.

      Brown hair hung in shiny layers to her shoulders, and was still the same as when he’d run his fingers through it and kissed her until her breath was a sigh of surrender. Then her eyes had turned green and the sun had had nothing to do with it. But she wasn’t smiling now and he longed to see the dimples he knew would magically appear when the corners of her mouth turned up.

      “Kate?”

      She gasped, as if his voice brought her out of shock. “Joe,” she whispered. “I—I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

      “Surprise.” He shrugged, then hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his worn jeans and leaned against the doorjamb.

      “What are you doing here?”

      That wasn’t what he’d expected, yet it provided his first clue that he’d had a script of this meeting. In his head there had been smiles, dimples, hugs and—if he was really lucky—maybe a tear or two—followed by a heartfelt declaration of how glad she was that he’d come home.

      “I wanted to see you.”

      “Why?”

      He wanted to think this was shock talking, but he knew better. She’d been hurt when he’d abruptly told her they were over. She hadn’t understood that it was for the best and he hadn’t explained why he felt that way.

      “I got the letter,” he said.

      “I wasn’t sure.” Her chin lifted. “You didn’t write back.”

      “There’s a reason for that—”

      “It doesn’t matter.” Her full lips pressed tightly together for a moment. “You made it clear that I was nothing more than a fling. We had fun. Just an affair.”

      A hot and steamy affair, he thought. Instant attraction that had burst into flame. They couldn’t get enough of each other. But she was right. He had made it clear they were over, unfortunately, his memories were not. And one of his most vivid was of the last time he’d seen her, when she’d been wearing nothing more than a sheet and a pair of dimples. Then he’d dumped her and the dimples had disappeared.

      “I remember what I said.”

      “Then you remember you told me not to bother waiting. That I shouldn’t expect—”

      “About expecting…” he said.

      She looked down for a moment, then met his gaze. “I—I only wrote because I thought you had a right to know—”

      This is where the whole right and wrong thing tweaked his tail rotor. “How soon did you know?”

      Something like guilt flickered in her eyes. “What is it you’re asking?”

      “Whether you were going to tell me at all.”

      “I did have some conflict about that,” she admitted. “I—”

      “Can we discuss this inside?” He glanced at the apartment doors on either side of hers. “Let me go out on a limb here and point out that you probably don’t want the neighbors eavesdropping on this conversation.”

      She caught her lip between her teeth and her expression told him she was seriously thinking about turning him down. Then she stepped back and pulled the door wide. “Okay. Come in.”

      Before she could change her mind, he walked inside. From where he stood he could see a kitchen and dining area with a French door that led to a small patio. The walls were painted light gold with white crown molding and six-paneled doors. Neutral beige carpet. But the painting of wine bottles and the decorative wrought-iron plate rack personified Kate. It was cute and charming and colorful.

      He turned and looked down at her. In her snug jeans and a scoop-necked T-shirt that hugged every curve, she almost made him forget that he wanted to know why she’d waited so long to tell him she was pregnant. If he’d found out sooner, would it have changed things? That’s something he would never know.

      “About the letter,” he said.

      “We hardly knew each other, Joe. You made it clear you didn’t want to be tied down. And why would you believe I wasn’t trying to trap you?”

      “Before I get blamed for something, shouldn’t I get a chance to screw up first?”

      “And didn’t I have a right to know that you only wanted sex? Somehow I missed the signs.” Her eyes flashed a color that was new to him. “For the record, I don’t blame you. No one held a gun to my head.”

      That’s for sure. She’d been warm and willing in his arms. And he’d wanted her more every time he saw her. Even after all this time, he still wanted her. “I was there. I’m back now.” Maybe he was the one blaming her when she hadn’t screwed up.

      But he’d been fooled once and that was enough. Maybe the experience had fine-tuned his cheater meter, because he believed her. “He’s my son, too.”

      In a split second, the expression on her face went from woman scorned to mother lion. “Since when? You made it clear that you didn’t want to participate when you didn’t write back.”

      He shook his head. “I didn’t write back because I couldn’t.”

      “Oh? Your arms were broken?” She sighed and shook her head. “That was a cheap shot. Look, Joe, the fact is I don’t want or need anything from you. I felt obligated to let you know about the baby. You didn’t—couldn’t write back. End of story.”

      “Not so fast. I’m here now.” He’d have been here sooner if not СКАЧАТЬ