No Ordinary Home

In the past ten years, her letters had come from a P.O. box, not a home address. Until this evening, he hadn’t known if she lived in a house, an apartment or a condo. She’d shared her dreams, her fears, tidbits about her life as a journalist, but not enough else, and he was starving for more. He didn’t know where she’d been, or why she had waited a freakin’ decade to contact him.

Where had she been? What had she been up to? Had she been safe? And that had always been at the root of his anger, of his unreasonable urge to see a girl he really barely knew. Was she safe? For years, he had worried.

And then, a letter.

How are you? Where are your comics? Why can’t I find them in the bookstores? On the internet?

And then, her heart-rattling, I’ve thought about you. I think of you.

And his heart had exploded, expanded and then rearranged itself into familiar patterns. Or not, like a bone reset, but not quite aligned. He’d been off-balance and wanting to see her ever since.

She hadn’t allowed him to visit. He didn’t know why.

A month ago, she’d changed her mind.

Come. I need help.

And here he was.

And tomorrow morning, he would see her again.

* * *

GRACIE’S EYES POPPED OPEN. She came awake suddenly, unsure what had disturbed her. A quick glance around the room confirmed that she was still alone. She caught her computer a split second before it slid from her lap to the floor.

Then she heard it—Austin’s voice in the hallway. Crap! She tossed aside the covers and had only just gotten the laptop back into her knapsack when he came through the door. What would the guy say if he knew she owned a computer?

She tried to look casual. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” He looked from her to her bag and his eyes were full of suspicion. Maybe he thought she did drugs. Not her. She was one of the lucky ones. She’d survived without them, and without alcohol, too, unlike many of her colleagues. She’d chosen a more literal escape from reality—running away and living on the road.

Austin’s cop’s eyes bothered her. She didn’t like it when he looked at her with pity, but she didn’t like this hard edge, either. She wanted that sweet, caring tenderness of earlier.

Come on, Gracie. You know how to act. You can do better to put off his suspicions.

“How was dinner?” That sounded more natural. She wandered back to the bed and slid under the covers. “Where did you go?”

“Mexican restaurant down the street.”

“Mexican.” She heard the longing in her own voice. She loved Mexican. “What did you have?”

“Enchiladas.”

“Oh.” She adored them. She salivated. “Were they good?”

“For a small town, yeah, surprisingly good.” He tilted his head. “You sure do like to talk about food.”

“I think about it, dream about it, fantasize, plan when I can eat again. Yeah, it’s a big part of my psyche these days.”

He nodded as though he understood, but how could he? He had a good job and, she presumed, a roof over his head. She doubted he ever went hungry or wore hand-me-downs, or worse, ate something found in the garbage. He couldn’t possibly relate to homeless life.

“Did the meal stay down?” he asked.

“It stayed down, probably because it was small. I nodded off after I ate. That helped.”

“Are you still hungry?”

“Always.”

Humor crinkled the corners of Austin’s eyes. He had nice eyes, blue and bright, warm when he let down his cop’s guard. He picked up the phone from the bedside table. “What do you want?”

“Anything.”

“You mean that, don’t you?”

“Yes. I’ll eat anything you order. Except maybe raw fish. I doubt I could keep that down right now.”

Austin’s smile lit up his face like fireworks piercing the night sky. She could sell tickets to the women staying in the hotel and make a bundle. Lordy, lordy.

“Doubt it’s on the menu,” he said.

Gracie returned his smile, surprised how good it felt to be playful with this man, to not be serious and worried every second of the day.

“Grilled cheese okay with you?”

“That would be good, yeah.”

He ordered a sandwich for her and a big bag of chips and a soda for himself. After they arrived, he pulled off his cowboy boots and settled himself on top of the covers, leaning against the headboard and shoving chips into his mouth while she ate a sandwich made with two cheeses on whole wheat bread, forcing herself to slow down and savor each bite. The last thing she needed was to screw up her stomach again.

Austin picked up the TV remote. “Let’s see if there’s anything on worth watching.”

When Gracie finished the sandwich, Austin caught her licking butter and grease from her fingers. She flushed. “I’m sorry. My manners have slipped while I’ve been on the road.”

“How long has that been?”

“Since I—” The sentence came to a screeching halt, like tires squealing before a car wreck. His casual tone had nearly sucked her into betraying her secrets. The ambience of the room, the low lighting that cast a soft glow on one end of a dark room, the camaraderie of two people sitting on a bed watching TV together as friends do, had lulled her. The situation was so unusual for her that she’d been seduced into trusting this stranger.

Frantic, she rebuilt the mental barriers that had slipped. Even so, part of her still wanted to pretend she could enjoy some of this time together. The pillows running the length of the bed between them offered the illusion of safety. She could appreciate his company without fear of him wanting more.

He flipped the channels, pausing briefly on a couple doing the dirty.

“Um,” she murmured. “We should watch something other than porn.” It had been so long, she couldn’t remember how making love felt. This man stretched beside her, in his confident easy male glory, made her sap run.

None of that, she ordered her unruly libido.

“Probably a good idea to switch.” He sounded subdued. “Let’s see what else is on.” He flipped channels.

“Hey! The Television Food Network. I want to watch.”