LITMIR.BIZ

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I knew the answer to that question, I wouldn’t be where I am right now.” She pulled out a file folder, skimmed the contents, then discarded it. Where was that background information for her introduction for tonight’s forum? “As for communicating with Rick about Abby, a cabbage is a more attentive listener. At some point, Abby is going to have to speak up for herself. She’s the only one I can think of who might make a dent in his self-absorption.”

      “Do you think it’s wise to keep sending her, dear?”

      “What choice do I have? Her visits are court-mandated. Besides, in his own way, Rick does care about her.”

      Her mother’s voice modulated into that concerned, faintly judgmental tone Nell had come to dread. “Are you sure you’ll be all right by yourself? It’s a whole week alone. Don’t you want to come stay with me?”

      Rolling her eyes, Nell prayed for patience. “I’ll be fine, Mother. You can count on it. Besides, I need some time at home to clean out closets and get organized for winter.”

      “That doesn’t sound much like fun.”

      Fun? What would that be like? “I’ll take peace and quiet over fun any day.” She extracted two folders that had become stuck together. There it was. Her introduction. Breathing a sigh of relief, she grabbed up the phone. “Look, Mom, I’ve got to go. The forum starts in half an hour.”

      “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

      Nell gritted her teeth. How long would it take before her family trusted her again? “Thanks, I appreciate your concern. I’ll call you later in the week.”

      With a sigh of relief, she hung up the phone and studied the bios in front of her—one for a local rabbi and another for the head of the Arab Student League. Using a highlighter, she marked the sections she wanted for her introduction.

      Yet she was distracted by her mother’s interference. Was being treated like a child a price she would always have to pay?

      BRADY FOLLOWED a frumpy-looking pair of retirees into the library meeting room and took a seat on the aisle near the back. He looked around wondering which of the librarians was Nell. Two stood at a side table arranging books about the Mid-East. Another was bent over, conferring with one of the men seated beside the podium. When she straightened, smiled around the room and asked for order, Brady’s breath caught in his chest. This was no old woman looking for a dapper widower with whom to share her twilight years.

      “Good evening and welcome to tonight’s forum. My name is Nell Porter and I’ll be your moderator this evening….”

      Brady tuned out her words. She was a tall, slender woman—midthirties he judged—with short straw-colored hair cut in uneven lengths, a style that complemented the casualness of her high-waisted denim jumper. When she smiled, her eyes narrowed in delighted crinkles. She wore little makeup and he couldn’t help noticing her ringless fingers.

      “…it’s my pleasure to introduce…”

      He became aware that a short, bearded gentleman had stepped to the microphone. Brady’s eyes, however, were glued on the graceful way Nell Porter sank into her chair, crossing one long leg over the other, smoothing her skirt, then fixing her attention on the speaker.

      She was not like Brooke, a sleek blonde made for designer clothes, Porsches and expensive, understated jewelry. Nell had a fresh, wholesome look, although her tousled hairstyle suggested an impish streak. She appeared thoroughly likeable. Comfortable.

      He’d made his living by exercising logic. The thought in his head, however, was anything but logical.

      He wanted Nell Porter to be his Edgewater Inn Nell.

      “YOU’RE WHERE?” Carl did not sound pleased.

      “Fayetteville. Arkansas.”

      “Hmm. I’d hoped you were on your way home.”

      Home. There was that word again. Didn’t Carl understand. He no longer had a home. Staring at the anonymous, monochromatic motel room walls, Brady absently brushed a hand through his hair, still damp from his morning shower. “Not yet.”

      “I don’t suppose it would hurry things along if I said we’ve got a lotta deals poppin’ here and we need you.”

      The 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

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